CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
FOURTH SESSION, HELD FEBRUARY 6TH, 1905.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORTHAND BY
ALFRED FITZGERALD DALTON,
Official Shorthand Writer to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
(For many years with the late firm of Messrs. BARNETT & BUCKLER.)
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, 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, February 6th, 1905, and following days.
Before the Right Hon. JOHN POUND, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir CHARLES JOHN DARLING , Knight, one of the Justices of His Majesty's High Court; Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M.A., LLD F.S.A., Sir WALTER WILKIN , K.C.M.G., Sir MARCUS SAMUEL , Bart Aldermen of the said City; Sir FORREST FULTON, Knight, K.C. Recorder of the said City; Sir GEORGE WYATT TRUSCOTT , Knight THOMAS BOOR CROSBY, M.D., and W. MURRAY GUTHRIE , Esq., M.P. 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 his Honour Judge RENTOUL, K.C., Commissioner; His Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
POUND, MAYOR. FOURTH 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, February 6th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
162. GEORGE BRODIE (30), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a cheque book, the property of Cecil James Barrington; also to obtaining by false pretences from Henry George Brampton a scarf, a brooch, and a pin, with intent to defraud, having been convicted of felony at this Court on October 24th, 1898, in the name of George Lyster. Two other conviction were proved against him. Eighteen months' hard labour. —
(163.) PATRICK FITZGERALD (43) , to a burglary in the dwelling house of Ellen Stewart, and stealing a silver rattle, and other goods, her property; also to unlawfully assaulting Charles Finn, a Metropolitan police constable, in the execution of his duty; also to being found by night with house-breaking tools in his possession without lawful excuse, having been convicted of felony at the Guildhall, Westminster, on April 13th, 1901. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.]Eleven other convictions were proved against him, and he had one year and eighty one days to serve. Five years' penal servitude.—
(164.) GEORGE NOLAN (23) , to unlawfully attempting to break and enter a shop belonging to the British Tea Table Company with intent to steal goods and monies therein; also to having in his possession by night house-breaking implements without lawful excuse. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Nine months' hard labour
(165.) HARRIETT FULLER (22) , to having been entrusted with £1 by Lillie Righelato in order that she might purchase milk, did fraudulently convert 19s. 11 1/2 d. of that money to her own use and benefit. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Three days' imprisonment. —
(166.) THOMAS PIZZEY (25) , to unlawfully obtaining by false pretences from Harry Wright and James Smith and others 800 feet of copper tubing with intent to defraud; also to forging and uttering, knowing it to be forged, an order for certain copper tubing with intent to defraud. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] He received a good character. Three months in the Second Division. —And
(167.) WILLIAM ALBERT BOYCE RICHARDSON (26) , to stealing, whilst employed under the Post Office a post letter containing a postal order for 13s., the property of the Postmaster-General. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Judgment respited.
MR. ROACH Prosecuted.
HERBERT WEATHERLY . I live at 268, City Road, and am the licensee of the Macclesfield Arms—I know the prisoner—on December 23rd I gave him £15 in gold to change into silver for me—I told him I was in hurry for the change—he brought me back £3 out of the £15. and said, "I will bring you back the other £12 as fast as I can"—he did not return—I next saw him when he was arrested, at Shepherdess Walk police station about thirteen days afterwards—when I charged him he offered to pay me back 5s. a week.
SAMUEL COX (Detective-Sergeant G.) On January 6th, from information I received, I arrested the prisoner—I told him I should arrest him for stealing £12, the money of Herbert Weatherly, as larceny bailee—he said, "I am very sorry; can't I come to terms with him? I have been out of work for a long time, and it was a great temptation "I cautioned him, and said that whatever he said I should use in evidence against him—we arrived at the station, and he said, "I got robbed at the White Lion public-house; I was drugged"—he was charged, and made no reply—the White Lion is at the corner of Upper Street, Islington.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. Before the Magistrate I stated that you said, "I have been on the drink for a week"—I took down what you said—this is my note—I made it as soon as I got to the station.
ROBERT CECIL COY . I keep the Northampton Arms, 205, Goswell Road—on December 23rd I saw the prisoner—I have known him casually for the last six or seven years—I saw him in my house between 7 and 7.30 p.m.—as soon as he saw me in the business part of the house he said, "Can you let me have some change?" meaning silver for gold—I said, "Yes, certainly; what do you want?"—he said, "£2 worth—I handed him 40s. worth of silver in exchange for two sovereigns—he said "Can you oblige me with any more later on in the evening?"—my reply was, "How much do you really require?"—his response was, "Could you let me have £5 worth?"—I said, "Yes"—he accordingly gave me back the £2 worth in silver and three sovereigns, and I handed him in exchange a £5 bag of silver which I had received from the bank uncounted—the Macclesfield Arms is about 500 yards from my house—I know there is a house called the White Lion at Islington, but that is all—it is about two minutes further from my house than the Macclesfield Arms.
HERBERT WEATHERLY (Re-examined). The prisoner brought me the £3 about five or six minutes past seven—he did not tell me where he had got the change from—he did not say that Mr. Coy had given him £5 in silver in a bag—he got the £3 from somebody else—I do not know where he got it, but the times do not correspond—he had the £12 in gold in his hand when he brought back the £3.
R. C. COY (Re-examined). The prisoner remained in the house for five or ten minutes after I gave him the change.
ELIZABETRH REBECCA WHITE . I am the wife of John Frost White, who keeps the Oakley Arms—I knew the prisoner as a customer before December 23rd—on that day, between 8 and 9 p.m., he came to our house and asked me if I would oblige him by changing £5 in silver into £5 in gold—he gave me £5 in a bank paper bag—I gave him five sovereigns—I did not see what he did after I had given him the money—I am sure he is the man.
The prisoner. I do not recollect going into your house at all.
GEORGE MOGG . I am a watchmaker, of 23, New Charles Street, Goswell Road—I knew the prisoner well on December 23rd—on that day I was a the Oakley Arms about 9 p.m.—I saw the prisoner there—he asked me to have a drink—I said. "No"—he protested—I said to the barmaid, "Give me a cigar," and I had one—he appeared to have plenty of money—he was asking everybody to have a drink—he had had a drink or two himself, evidently—I should not call him drunk, and I should not say he was so drunk that he would be likely not to recollect that he had set been there at all.
The prisoner. I do not recollect seeing you there at all.
GEORGE PHIPPENG . I am manager of the White Lion, in Islington; it is shout a mile from the Macclesfield Arms—I do not know the prisoner; I only saw him at Worship Street—I do not remember if he was in my house on December 23rd—I know nothing of a robbery which is said to have taken place at my house on that night—if a man had been drugged there it would be bound to come to my notice.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "When I got the £5 of silver from the boy I went into the house and changed a sovereign here and a sovereign here and a sovereign there. In one house I asked for a bag to put some silver, and I was given one and put £4 of silver in it. I then went to the White Lion, Islington, to get it all changed, and there I was robbed of all I had except one sovereign. That is all I know about it."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that the prosecutor asked him a get the change as he was short-handed and wanted it at once; that he got £3 worth, which he took to the prosecutor and said he would get the rest as soon as possible: that he went to several public-houses for change; that he was the worse for drink; that he went into the White Lion; that some girls got round him there and he, was robbed; that he did not remember going home or what had happened till next morning, when he found the money gone; and that he did not know if he was drugged or not.
GUILTY . One previous conviction was proved against him. Twelve months' hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Monday, February 6th, 1905.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted; MR. BURNIE Defended.
ALFRED EDWARD BAKER . I live at 27, Spencer Street, Islington, where my mother keeps a sweet shop—I am employed at an ironmonger's—on January 19th I served the prisoner about 7 p.m. with 1d. worth of sweets—he tendered this half-crown, which I noticed wax bad—I took it to my mother, who came into the shop and told the prisoner he knew it was bad—he gave me a penny and said he did not know that he had given me a bad half-crown, he had got it at a public-house—I know the half-crown by its brightness, and by a nick over the date—he went away rather hurriedly—about an hour afterwards I went to the police station at Upper Street, Islington, with mother, and the prisoner was sitting in the corner—I recognised him at once.
LOUISA BAKER . I am the mother of the last witness—I keep a small general shop at Spencer Street, Islington—my boy brought me a bad half-crown, and I went into the shop and said to the prisoner, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to try and pass bad money"—he mumbled something and went into the street—I followed to see where he went—I saw him detained at the station about an hour afterwards—I said, "That is the man who has been trying to pass a bad half-crown"—he said, "You are mistaken; I am sure I was not there."
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. He did not say, "I did not think it was bad"—I was cross—I thought he had done it purposely—having paid my boy, he left in a hurry.
ROSE HAHN . My mother keeps a provision shop in the New North Road—on January 19th I served the prisoner with a 1d. cheese cake between 7 and 8 p.m.—he tendered this half-crown, which I picked up off the counter—I asked him if he had any smaller change—he said, "No"—I went to two or three places to get it changed—I went to the Kenilworth Castle public-house, where Mr. Hibbs called the landlord, Mr. Levy, and we all went back to my mother.
Cross-examined. I left my smaller sister in the parlour to look after the shop—I was away about five minutes—when I returned the prisoner was still in the shop.
HENRY LEVY . I am landlord of the Kenilworth Castle—Hibbs showed me this half-crown when Rose Hahn was in the house—I broke it—I took it and went with her to her mother's place, where I asked the prisoner if he could give me a reasonable explanation of giving it to the child—he said, "Is it bad?"—I said, "Yes, very bad; you had better turn your pockets out"—he did so—he had only a penny and a halfpenny—I told him that was not a reasonable explanation, and called a police-constable, and gave him into custody.
WILLIAM MOORE (183 M.) I was called to this shop in the New North Road on January 19th, which is about 300 yards from 27, Spencer Street, Islington, where I saw Levy, the little girl, the prisoner, and this bad half-crown—Levy said, "This man has given a bad half-crown, and he cannot give me a reasonable excuse why he gave this little girl the hall-crown"—the prisoner made no reply—I asked the prisoner if he tendered it—he said "Yes"—I said, "Why did you?"—he said, "Because I had no smaller change"—I searched him and found three-halfpence on him—I took him to the police station and charged him with trying to pass a bad half-crown to Hahn, knowing it to be bad—he said, "I had no intention to cheat or defraud"—when Mrs. Baker came into the station, she said, "This is the man that came into my shop."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "In the first case I gave the publican my name and address before he fetched the policeman. I told the police my name and address, and told them I got the change in a public-house. The girl did not tell me it was bad. She went out, and the publican came back with her. I do not think I went to the first place at all. I do not think I did go."
GUILTY of uttering to Hahn. Six months' hard labour.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, February 7th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
170. FRANK BACON (26), PLEADED GUILTY to forging and uttering an order for the payment of £30 with intent to defraud. The police stated that there were several warrants against the prisoner in the country. The Recorder said that as he knew nothing about any of the other cases he would sentence the prisoner only for the one before him. Nine months' hard labour. —
(171.) ALFRED ANDREWS (26) , to stealing a box and eight dozen smoked haddocks, the property of Charles Roe, having been convicted of felony at this Court on September 18th, 1903. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Two summary convictions were proved against him. Three months' hard labour. —
(172.) ERNEST FRANK (36) , to unlawfully obtaining 15s. from Otto Heiland by false pretences with intent to defraud, having been convicted of obtaining money by false pretences at Clerkenwell Green on April 26th, 1904. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Nine months' hard labour. —
(174.) HARRY NEWMAN , to stealing a puree and 6s., the property of John Wilson, from the person of Emily Wilson, having been convicted of felony at this Court on January 15th, 1900, in the name of Alfred Austin. Vine [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] other convictions were proved against him. Twelve months, hard labour. —
(175.) THOMAS ROGERS (35), otherwise REINHARDT , to attempting to break and enter the dwelling house of Arthur Joseph Manby. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] One previous conviction was proved against him. Twelve months, hard labour. —
(176.) ARTHUR HAYWOOD (22) , to stealing a watch, the property of Alfred Edward Lindars, from his person, having been convicted of felony at this Court on October 19th, 1903, as Bartholomew Haywood. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Six other convictions were proved against him. Twelve months, hard labour —And
178. HAROLD MARTIN COYNE . (See page 323.) Mr. Leycester now produced two affidavits, one by Mr. Vicary and the other by Mr. Freke Palmer, and stated that they were substantially in agreement. He submitted that the learned Alderman could not be said to have refused to commit on the charges for obtaining by false pretences; that in his (counsel's) own view the proper description of what the prisoner had done was to obtain money by false pretences and that if he had not done that he had not done anything. Mr. Hutton submitted that as nothing was said about the false pretences before the Magistrate those counts ought to be quashed, and that if the prosecutors had wished to proceed with those charges they could have asked to be bound over to prosecute under the Vexatious Indictment Act. The Recorder stated that he did not think he would be justified in putting the defendant in peril on the counts charging false pretences, and he would therefore quash those counts, viz., 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, 15, 17, and 18.
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted; MR. HUTTON Defended.
During counsel's opening statement the Recorder said that there was no evidence of obtaining credit, and directed the Jury to return a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, February 7th, 1906.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
180. HARRY CLARKE (30), PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling house of Florence Mitchell; also to unlawfully attempting to force and break open the dwelling house of Frederick Lloyd, with intent to steal; also to breaking and entering the dwelling house of Walter George Brooks with intent to steal, having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell on October 19th, 1896, in the name of Harry Roberts. Four years' penal servitude.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
on January 4th about 2 p.m. I served William Gray with 2d. worth of Navy Cut tobacco—he tendered this shilling, and I gave him 10d. change—this is the packet of tobacco and it bears my husband's address—I thought the shilling was dirty and kept it separate—in the evening I handed it to Sergeant Roche.
ESTHER JONES . I am the wife of Arthur Richard Jones, a tobacconist, of 406, Fore Street, Edmonton—I do not know Mrs. Gambrill's shop, but Fore Street is a very long road—on January 4th I served William Gray with a 1d. packet of Woodbines—he tendered this shilling and I gave him 11d. change—I afterwards bit it and it seemed bad—I ran out of the shop and saw him about 300 yards distant walking very quickly with Willis—I overtook them and said to Gray, "Give me back my 11d.; you can keep the fags"—he said, "I have not any; I have not got it"—I said, "Yes, you have; I gave you 11d."—he said, "Take it out of this; I have not any more," and he handed me a two-shilling piece—my husband came up and I told him what had occurred—the change I gave Gray was 6d. in silver and 5d. in coppers.
ARRTHUR RICHARD JONES . I am the husband of the last witness—on January 4th I saw my wife follow and speak to Gray and Willis after crying out, "Catch hold of that man"—I gave Gray into custody and ton a policeman to stop Willis—my wife handed me this coin, and I put on it my initials, "A. J.," and took it to the police station.
JOHN DUNFORD (512 N.) On January 4th I was on duty in Fore Street, Edmonton, about 2.20 p.m.—I saw Mr. Jones holding William Gray—Willie was there—Mr. Jones made a statement to me and pointed of the woman, who was a little distance ahead—I left Gray with Mr. Jones and went after her—I said, "I shall take you back"—she said, "Why?"—I said, "For being concerned with this man in passing a counterfeit coin"—Mr. Jones then came up with Gray—I told Gray I should search him—he said, "I have no more on me, sir"—I found this counterfeit shilling wrapped in tissue paper in his waistcoat pocket—Mr. Jones handed me the other coin—the two prisoners were taken to the police station—they made no reply to the charge.
Cross-examined by Brown. I did not see you in the vicinity of the other prisoners.
FREDERICA KITCHENER . I live at 3, Sebastopol Road, Edmonton, and I am female searcher at Edmonton police station—on January 4th I searched Willis at the station and found upon her 1s. 10 1/2 d. in bronze, and 3s. 9d. in silver—there were seven sixpences—that was all good money—I also found these three counterfeit shillings wrapped separately in white tissue piper and these three packets of tobacco—one of them has the name of Gambrill on it.
JOHN MARTIN (Inspector N.) I am stationed at Stoke Newington—on January 4th I saw the prisoners at the station—Willis gave me the name of Elizabeth Willis—they refused their address—each of them said, "I refuse my address"—I told them they would be charged with being concerned in uttering—neither of them replied—when their names were put on the charge sheet Willis said, "Elizabeth Gray"—I made
further enquiries, and a search was made at No. 37, Vernon Road, Tottenham—the next morning, January 5th, I told Gray and Willis that I had ascertained that they had been living at 37, Vernon Road, Tottenham, and that thirty one counterfeit shillings had been found there, as well as the materials for the manufacturing of counterfeit coins—Gray replied, "I know nothing about them; I own up to the shilling I gave to Mrs. Jones"—Willis said, "I know nothing about them. I shall have to put up with the three shillings that was found upon me"—on January 12th on the remand I charged the three prisoners with manufacturing counterfeit coins—neither made any reply to the charge.
JANE BLACKWELL . I reside at 49, Vernon Road, Tottenham, with my husband, George Blackwell—I let out 37, Vernon Road, and 121 Compton Rood, in apartments of two or three rooms—I know Willis as Mrs. Gray, and Gray as William Gray—I let the rooms at 37, Vernon Road, to Mrs. Gray—towards the end of November I let a front parlour and a kitchen to them in Compton Road, and about December 6th two upstairs rooms on the second floor at 37, Vernon Rood, at six shillings a week—I moved them to Vernon Road—Mrs. Gray paid the rent—I have been to those rooms about three times, but a woman looks after my places for me—I have seen Brown there about three times altogether, between 11 and 12 in the day—I thought he was along with a brother—he was reading a book when I went there—I heard Mrs. Gray call him Dan—I thought he was her husband—I first saw Brown at Compton Road on December 6th, when I was moving them—he was just inside the parlour door.
Cross-examined by Brown. I never saw you with counterfeit coin—Willis and Gray were arrested before you were, but I cannot say when.
ALICE LOUISE WREN . I am the wife of George James Wren, of 37, Vernon Road, Tottenham—I know the prisoners; the woman as Elizabeth Gray, and Gray as William Gray—I thought he was her brother—she called him her brother, and I did not know any different—she told me he was her brother—the other prisoner called himself Brown, and Willis called him Dan, and sometimes Daniel Gray—when the young man knocked at the door and asked for Mrs. Gray she sent word that she was not in, because she did not want to see him, but wanted to do some laundry work, and she said, "That was my husband, Daniel Gray"—before I lived at 37, Vernon Road, I lived at 121, Compton Road, where Willis and William Gray were living together—they moved on the Wednesday and I moved on the Thursday—I did not see Brown at 121—I first saw him when he was carrying the looking-glass to 37, Vernon Road, where I occupied the downstair back—the window of my room looks into the back yard, where there is a w.c. on the right and a dustbin on the left—persons using the w.c. would have to pass my window—I have seen Brown only when he has gone to the w.c—I have seen him nearly even day while we were there—he went into Mrs. Gray's room on the higher floor—I have seen him go to the w.c. five or six times on different days—I have gone to the w.c. after ho had left it on several occasions—I found the seat was all covered in white stuff like chalk, and there was white chalky water in the pan—I have seen the white stuff wet, and I have seen it dry, sometime after he had left the w.c.—I saw
him once carrying a little pail with something like chalky water in it to the w.c.—on that occasion I went about an hour later and found the closet seat covered with something like a lot of dirty chalky water similar to what I have seen him carrying in the bucket—on January 4th, in the afternoon, I saw all the prisoners in the house—I saw Brown about 4 p.m.—he came in the back way by the side gate—there are two entrances, a front and a side one, and Brown could let himself in by the side entrance in the daytime—when I saw him come in that afternoon he walked up the stairs, where he remained about twenty minutes; then he came out at the back door and round the passage on the left to the front door, and up the alley towards the side gate—he came back a second time, then he went upstairs, then he came down and went to the w.c.—he would hare to pass the dustbin to go out—he remained in the closet some time, and I went out and said, "Is there any one out here?"—Brown said, "Yes, it is only me",—I said, "It is all right, sir"—the voice came from the w.c—I walked back indoors, but I went out there afterwards and found a terrible mess like a lot of chalk all over the seat—it was dry, and like the stuff in the packet produced; it was also upon the pan—after he left the closet he went upstairs, came down again and went out—after he had gone out about an hour or a little more the police walked in at the back door—they went upstairs—when Brown came back he started to go upstairs, and when he had got about half-way up, some children in the house said, "Oh, don't go up there; there's four men gone up there; I believe they are tecs"—he turned round, and as he was coming down the stairs he stumbled, and then came close to me—I got against the door and said, "Oh, my God, here's a man"—he shook his fist, and with that I banged the door just as he rushed out at the back door, walking very fast—I did not see him again till after he was arrested.
Croat-examined by Brown. I go out with my husband sometimes about three days a week—I was only once out late. (At the prisoner's request the witness's evidence before the Magistrate was read)—I have said that I used to nee you every morning—I unbolted the door when you came the second time, but not the first time—when I unbolted the door you walked in—my husband's name is George James Wren, but I am living with a blind man now—that is the man I go out with.
MARY ANN GARDINER . I am the wife of John Gardiner, and live with him at 31, Vernon Road, Tottenham—I have been in the habit of assisting Mrs. Blackwell with her lodging houses—I clean them, and collect the rents at times, and see that things are all right in the place—I know the prisoners—I knew Willis first as Lizzie Gray, at 121, Compton Road—I knew William Gray as her brother—I first saw Brown in December, when they were going to move from Compton Road—he was sitting at the table in the Grays' rooms in Compton Road—I cannot say how often I went to 37, Vernon Road, where I have seen Brown in the room with Gray and Willie—I have seen him in their room about half a dozen times—I have seen him going in and coming out—on one occasion I saw some white stuff, dirtier than this produced; it was dry and powdery, and was lying on the table in a heap—I thought it was hearth stone stuff
—I understood Brown was Willie's husband, as she said so to Mrs. Black-well about December 6th, the time of the removal—when the prisoners were together in the room Willis said, "This is my husband, Dan," and then they went into the back kitchen and began the moving—I had not seen him before.
Cross-examined by Brown. I told the Magistrate about the white stuff.
HENRY DAVIS (Detective Sergeant N.) On January 4th I went with Dixon to 17, Vernon Road, Tottenham, about 7 p.m., and upstairs to the rooms occupied by Gray and Willis—I searched and found two pieces of glass smeared with plaster of Paris, a file, a pewter spoon containing metal partly melted, a paper bag containing plaster of Paris, another paper bag containing dry silver sand, a saucer containing wet silver sand, a bottle of cyanide of potassium, and a bottle of turpentine (Produced)—there was a fire in the room which had been recently made up—the articles were distributed in different parts of the two rooms—on searching the dustbin in the back yard I found this canvas bag containing thirty-one shillings folded up in paper as they are now, in the packet, and separated—I also found a pot of molten metal, a saucepan and a spoon with white metal in them as they are now, also some coils of wire, and white metal, bearing the appearance of having been partly melted—on going to the water closet I found the whole of the seat was smothered with pieces of plaster of Paris—this is some that I scraped off the seat (Produced)—I found similar pieces of plaster of Paris in the yard—I did not see Brown, but I have heard of his coming there that afternoon—some of the things I found were visible in the room, but these two bottles were in a cupboard—the door of the room was un-fastened when I arrived.
CHARLES DIXON (Detective N.) I went with Davis on January 4th to 37, Vernon Road, and on January 11th I went to 4, Newton Road, Tottenham, where I said to Brown, "You know me?"—he said, "Yes, you are Dixon"—I said, "We shall arrest you for being concerned with lizzie and William Gray in manufacturing and possessing counterfeit coins at 37, Vernon Road, Tottenham"—he replied, "I have only been away two nights; I have been ill"—I took him to the station at Edmonton—when the charge was entered and read to him he said, "You know how I am situated; I met this woman in the street, went home with her, and slept with her occasionally. The last time was just before she was locked up; I read about it in the 'Tottenham Herald'—when the charge was read over to him he made no reply—when I was about to search him after he was charged he said, "You will find nothing on me."
Cross-examined by Brown. I did not say I had information from Annie Pink, referring to a prostitute of that name—other people were in the charge room at the time.
Mint—all these thirty-seven coins produced are counterfeit shillings from one mould—I have examined the articles produced—they all form part of the stock-in-trade of a coiner—the stuff produced from the seat of the water closet is of the same consistency as plaster of Paris—I cannot say if it has been part of a mould—you can get rid of a mould by breaking it up, and dissolving it in water.
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: BROWN said, "I have been very intimate with Lizzie Gray; I visited her several times at her house. On no occasion of visiting her have I seen any counterfeit coins, or the making of them." ELIZABETH WILLIS said, "I plead guilty to the possession of these counterfeit coins, but not to making them."
Evidence for Brown.
WILLIAM GRAY (the prisoner). Brown knew nothing about the making of these coins; I was going to tell him, but my sister told me not to—during the three or four times that he came to that house in the Vernon Road he never saw anything in connection with coining, and he had no idea of such a thing as counterfeit coins in the place.
Cross-examined. I have pleaded guilty to the charge of making, and some other charges—my real name is William Gray—I have gone in another tame, and I have been convicted in the name of Gray for counterfeit coinage—I have seen Brown several times at Vernon Road, but never at Compton Road—I made these coins at Vernon Road—I threw the moulds away down the w.c. after mixing them with water—I always left my room door open when I went out—I had no communications with Brown—I stayed at these rooms at night—I was sometimes out in the daytime—Willis was living at these rooms too—Brown stopped there one or two nights.
MARY JANE STAPLES . I live at 24, Newton Road—I never saw Brown in possession of coin of any description good or bad—for nine days previous to his arrest he was unable to leave his bed—he if my brother, and I took him in to lodge with me.
Cross-examined. He was arrested on January 11th—he came to lodge with me on November 26th—I was confined on December 31st—I was out of my room after fourteen days—I was downstairs in the front room—I made Brown a bed up in the kitchen—he used to go out in the daytime in the earlier part of December.
Brown, in his defence, stated that he visited Lizzie Gray, and that the Magistrate told him not to "Come it" and never gave him a chance.
GUILTY . Gray and Willis then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction on February 8th, 1904, of possessing counterfeit coin.
GRAY— Eighteen months' hard labour. WILLIS— Twelve months' hard labour. BROWN, against whom there were three convictions of felony besides three summary convictions— Four years' penal servitude.
THIRD COURT.—Tuesday, February 7th, 1905.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
LOUIS VINCENT (Partly interpreted). I live at Singleton Road and am a furrier—I am a Hungarian—I have known the prisoner for about six months—I have often met her—on January 4th I met her between 7 and 8 p.m.—she wanted me to speak to her—I said, "This is a bad place; I do not want to come with you"—that was in a public-house in the City Road—I, however, went and two men, friends of hers, came with her—I knew the men, but not by name—I saw them frequently with the prisoner—I went away with the prisoner to her house—I stayed half an hour with her—I paid her 4s.—I had £3 odd in my pocket—we both went back to the same public-house and had a little more drink—we left together—on the way back she put her hand over my neck and face and then over my eyes, and began to sing—she told some men that I had some money and a watch on me—the men got hold of me and robbed me of my money—the prisoner was leaning against a wall, looking on—the men then ran away—I went after them, when they attacked me again and took my other things—the prisoner thereupon ran away.
The prisoner. The men came up behind and pushed me and the man against a wall. When I looked round the prosecutor had been knocked down; I thought they were going to do the same with me, so I ran away; I was arrested the next day.
JAMES PULLY (Sergeant J.) I arrested the prisoner on January 5th about 8.30—the prosecutor pointed her out to me—she was with other women and men in a public-house in City Road—she said, "I was with this man, the prosecutor, last night, but I don't know anything about the robbery"—later on she said, "I suppose I shall have to put up with it"—at the police station she said to the prosecutor, "You know the two men; they were drinking with you"—when charged she made no reply.
NOT GUILTY .
in consequence of which I went to 187, Rosebery Avenue—I there saw the prisoner and told him I was a police officer, and his wife, Bertha Lily Weller, had stated that he had bigamously married Florence Wood at Southampton—he replied, "That is quite right"—he was taken to King's Cross Road police station, where he was charged—he made no reply.
HENRY CHARLES MOTT . I am the Superintendent Registrar of the Lewisham District and produce the register of marriages for the district, containing entries of March 28th, 1896—entry No. 173 relates to a marriage solemnised at the Registry Office at Lewisham, the parties being Henry Manser Weller, Bertha Lily Eden—they were married on March 28th, 1896, ages twenty-seven and twenty-two respectively, bachelor, spinster—the man is described as an accountant; place of residence, Boness Road, Catford, for both of them—the witnesses were D. Crawler and W. Rider—they were married in the presence of the Registrar and Deputy Superintendent Registrar—both parties signed the entry—I cannot identify the prisoner.
FLORENCE EVELYN WOOD . I live at 12, Oxford Street, Southampton—I have known the prisoner since November, 1900—on March 5th, 1902, I went through a form of marriage with him—I thought then he was a single man—he led me to believe so—I have one child—I have lived continuously with him as his wife—the prisoner treated me very kindly lad we have lived very happily together.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. If it is legal, I am prepared to live with you after this is over.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that his first wife left him; that he used every meant to find her, but could not do so.
GUILTY . Three months' hard labour.
185. HENRICH WOBEKE (22), JOSEPH LANDER (27), and FREDERICK BUGEL (26) , Burglary in the dwelling house of Henrik Killgren and stealing therein three overcoats and other goods, and a cheque for £5 5s., his property. WOBEKE and LANDER PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. F. J. GREEN Prosecuted; MR. GRANTHAM Defended Bugel.
HENRIK KILLGREN . I am a medical practitioner, living at 49, Eaton Square—Wobeke was in my employment as butler—he left last June—during September, October and December I missed articles from my house—on December 16th I missed a silver medal and a cheque for £5 5s.—this is the cheque.
THOMAS KING (Detective). I arrested Bugel at 28, Percy Street, a common lodging house—I told him I was a police officer and should take him into custody for being concerned with others in stealing and receiving a quantity of articles, also a cheque for £5 5e.—he said, "I had the cheque and, being afraid to change it myself, I gave it to Porges, whom you know quite well, but I had nothing out of it; the violin and
medal I took to Whitechapel with the 'Little Saxon'; he loft me in Leman Street, and after being absent for about fifteen minutes he returned with 7s.: all I had out of that was a few drinks"—I went to find Porges, but he had left—I could find no trace of him—my information is he has gone to Paris.
Cross-examined. Bugel did not try to put me off the scent by saying "Perkins" instead of "Porges"—he told me at once what he knew of the matter—he told me he had been in England eight months and was teaching the French language—that is correct.
Bugel's statement before the Magistrate: "I don't know the man who stole the things; I have never spoken to him. The first time I spoke to him was when I was arrested, and that was the tint time I heard anything of any theft. Lander gave me one morning a cheque, but said nothing of any theft. He said he could have cashed the cheque himself if he were not dressed so shabbily; could I give the cheque to anyone who could cash it? I brought it (the cheque) to Porges. That was the last I ever saw of the cheque, nor did I receive any money."
Bugel, in his defence on oath, said that he got his living by teaching French, that Lander asked him to cash the cheque, laying he had got it from Dr. Killgren: that he tried to do so; that the medal was given to him to sell, and then was handed to the "Little Saxon"; and that he never knew the things were stolen.
NOT GUILTY .
WOBEKE and LANDER— Twelve months hard labour each.
OLD COURT—Wednesday, February 8th, 1905.
Before Mr. Justice Darling.
MR. COLTMAN Prosecuted; MR. WARDE Defended.
ALFRED DAVIDSON . I am a hairdresser, of 1, Little St. Andrew's Street, St. Giles-in-the-Fields—the prisoner is my wife—on January 24th we were out all the afternoon and evening; we got home about 12 p.m.—we had some supper in the kitchen under the shop—my mother was present—there is a staircase leading from the kitchen to the back of the shop, and a door with a glass panel between the staircase and the back of the shop—I had no quarrel with my wife during supper—I found the cruet empty and I felt rather annoyed; I pushed it aside and finished my supper—I never said a word about it—I took the evening paper and went and sat down in the shop—I was there for about ten minutes—my wife came into the shop, took the key and locked the door on the inside—she came over to me and said, "What do you mean by looking so black at me at
the supper table before mother?" I said, "What do you meant"—she dashed at mo with this small white handled table knife (Produced)—I believe it was the knife she was having her supper with—it was in the kitchen—there was no table knife in the shop—there were razors and scissors there—I did 'not really know I was cut, but I felt my neck was wet—I caught her by her wrist, threw her down and held her for about ten minutes—I called out, but could get no assistance, so I broke two glass panels in the door, which brought a lodger and my mother down—the lodger burnt the door open; he got a cab and took me to the hospital—there was no quarrel between my wife and myself in the shop beyond the words I have mentioned—she has threatened me on many occasion—about a fortnight before this I spoke of something which I thought was wrong in the kitchen—she said, "You will work me up into such a passion I shall put this knife into you"—on January 24th we were both perfectly sober.
Cross-examined. We have been married going on for four years—my mother has lived with us all that time—all the family unpleasantness which there has been is what my wife has made herself—my mother got on very well with her—most of the wrong wan on my wife's side—there may have been a little on both—there has been very little quarrelling—I have not got a bad temper; I have rather a hasty one—my wife has a very hasty temper—on this night we had been to the World's Fair together—it was arranged that my mother should have supper ready for us when we got home—up to the time of our going home there had been no unpleasantness between us—I do not know if all this trouble arose out of bring no salt in the salt cellar—nothing was said when I pushed the salt cellar away—I did not say, "Why is not there any salt in the cellar?"—I did not get up and put some salt in it—no doubt I looked rather cross then—I finished my supper before I went upstairs—I may have left a little—I sit in the shop every night—my mother came up after me—I went up feeling rather annoyed and looking rather black—my mother went up to bed, and my wife sat in the kitchen—when she came into the shop I did not give her a kiss—I took what she said as a joke—she did not say, "What is the good of blaming me about the salt cellar? your mother laid the table"—she was in such a passionate temper she could not stop to say that—I did not say, "Don't you mention my mother; mind your own business"—I did not then go for her—I did not strike her—she did not pick up the knife to defend herself; she brought it into the shop from the kitchen—she did not go into the parlour—I never have knives like that in the shop to cut up soap; I have a different knife for that—I generally use my pocket knife—the soap may stick to the knife when it if cut; there is no soap on this one—I do not make a lather with a knife, I do it with a brush my wife took the key from the door and put it inside and locked the door on the inside—it is an upside down lock—I always leave the key outside the door—I know the door was locked, because when I threw her down we struggled near the door and I tried to open it after I had broken the window, and Webb could not open the door because it was locked and the key inside—after the struggle I felt very bad from the loss of
blood—I cut my finger taking the knife away—I did not strike my wife, and we did not in consequence have a struggle—I did not get my hand cut during the struggle; I was cut before I touched her—the blood which wan about me was from my neck principally, and not from my hand—I have no unkind feelings towards my wife, but I think the has towards me—she has no relations—with the exception of myself she is quite alone in the world—we have no children—I do not think that with control on both sides we could live happily together, I have tried her so many years.
CAROLINE DAVIDSON . I am the prosecutor's mother—I live with him and his wife—on January 24th my son and his wife came home shortly before 12 p.m.—I sat down to supper with them—there was no quarrel between them—my son took the evening paper and went upstairs into the shop—I believe he had finished his supper—I did not notice any temper—there were no words—shortly afterwards I went to bed, leaving the prisoner in the kitchen—about fifteen minutes after I had gone to bed I heard breaking of glass—I opened my door and heard my son call "Mother"—Mr. Webb followed me down—he was the lodger—he tried the door, but it was locked, so he could not undo it—he burst it open—the key was inside—I went into the shop—I saw my son holding his wife down on the floor—there was a quantity of blood—Webb picked my son up—I saw this knife on the floor—it is such as are on the table in the kitchen—it was on the kitchen table that night—I fetched a constable.
Cross-examined. There has not been a good deal of unpleasantness between me and the prisoner of course she is very down on me, hut I have never answered her or had a quarrel with her—I can not say it was a cat and dog life sometimes she would go off in violent passions at the most trivial things—my son may be rather hasty, but I have not heard much quarrelling between them—I have not been unhappy, because I have taken it all as a matter of course—on this night the prisoner said her husband looked black at her, but I did not notice anything—I did not heat anything said at supper—when my son went up to the shop I followed him and went to bed—I did not look black—I did not say "Good-night" to the prisoner, because I did not know if I was coming down again.
WILLIAM WEBB . I lodge at 1, Little St. Andrew's Street about 12.40 a.m. on January 25th F was in bed—I heard a crash of a window, and I ran downstairs as soon as possible—I heard the prosecutor calling out "Mother"—when I got to the bottom of the stairs I looked through the broken window and see the prosecutor on top of his wife, taking a knife away from her—she had it in her right hand—the prosecutor got it away and threw it to the other side of the room—the door was locked and, not being able to open it, I burst it open—I picked the prosecutor up and took him to Charing Cross Hospital—he was saturated with Mood and his throat was cut.
Cross-examined. I took him to the hospital in a cab.
By the COURT. I burst the door open by turning my back to it—before doing that I tried to open it—I put the key into the lock and tried to open it but it was a left-handed lock—the key wan inside the lock and the prosecutor passed it to me through the broken window—I saw him take
it out of the lock—at that time I did not know that the look was upside down.
ARCHIBALD HART (369 E.) On the early morning of January 25th I was called to 1, Little St. Andrew's Street, by the prosecutor's mother-in-law—I went to the shop and saw the prisoner sitting on a chair—her face was smothered with blood—broken glass was all over the place and blood on the floor—I asked her where her husband was—she said he had gone to the hospital—I asked her if it was right that she had cut his throat—she said, "Yes; I had no intention of doing it"—she seemed very excited—I do not think she knew what she said—she was sober—I went to Charing Cross Hospital and saw the prosecutor—I brought him back—the prisoner, when charged, said she had no intention of doing it.
CECIL LIONEL LAKING . On January 25th I was house surgeon at Charing Cross Hospital—the prosecutor was brought there between 12.45 and 1 a.m. on that morning—when I saw him his collar and front were covered with blood—there was a wound in his neck about three inches long, but it was very superficial and was not then bleeding—he also had a wound on one of his right fingers, which was bleeding slightly—he complained of fasting faint, but there was nothing seriously wrong—I should say he had lost about half an ounce of blood, which would be about one-sixteenth of an ordinary medicine bottle—that was what he lost altogether, not from his throat alone—I had to stitch up the wound in his throat—I put seven or eight stitches in—it was more than a scratch—I cannot say if it was inflicted by this knife, but it was caused by some sharp instrument—the prosecutor was sober.
Cross-examined. The wound in his neck had not gone deeper than the subcutaneous tissues.
ALFRED DAVIDSON (Re-examined by MR. WARDE.) We had dinner and tea in the shop parlour—knives and forks are brought up there for meals, but they are taken down directly afterwards—on this occasion my wife did not go into the parlour—she came straight upstairs into the shop.
By MR. COLTMAN. The parlour is a separate room to the shop—one can go into the parlour without going into the shop, bat on this occasion the parlour door was locked, so it was impossible for any one to go in—I never had meals in the shop.
The prisoner, in her defence on oath, said that after supper the went up into the shop; that the did not take a knife or anything up with her; that when she for into the shop her husband was letting the dog in and not reading a paper; that the asked him why he had blamed her about the salt, as his mother had laid the supper; that he told her to mind her own business and not to talk about his mother, and punched her in the face; that the ran into the parlour and, seeing the knife on the table, picked it up, thinking it would keep him off her, that he start, punching her head; that the must have lost her senses; that he must have got cut in the struggle; that he knelt on her head on the floor; that she did not rush at him and cut his throat; that she had no intention of cutting him, and did not know that he was cut till he came back from the hospital; and that she had not locked the door. GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. Discharged on her own recognisances in £20.
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted.
LISETTE DUCROS . I am single and lire at 17, Clarendon Street, Pimlico—I occupy the lower part of the house and my aunt the upper part—I have known the prisoner for about a year—he is the husband of the charwoman whom I employed two or three times—he lives near me—on January 18th I received this letter; I do not know the writing (Read): "To: ten ham Court Road. January 17th. Madam,—It having come to my knowledge that your house, No. 17, has been under observation and likely to be. I with to let you know that if you care to send me £5, that will engage my services and I can promise you without fail to put matters right with the man that is engaged watching. Of course I cannot tell you how much he will want, but I know that he can be squared with money as we done so before in a similar case. I see him every day, and, by what I hear, you will be perhaps brought up for keeping a disorderly house. He told me he had the case well in hand, and that one of your friends who visited you was a Mr.—in the War Office, and you had a child by him. Of course that would be very bad for a gentleman to be brought into a things like this. Perhaps he will help you out of it if he values his good name: of course I am only mentioning this to let you know that I have heard all about it, and that you should take my advice; employ me and I can assure you everything will turn out all right. You won't have to delay if you send me the amount, that is at once. I will get to business and also I can give you valuable advice and tell you what to do. You will also, whatever you do, let no one know about this matter, as it means this man's position Inst if it came to his superiors, earn. Of course I am taking thus entirely of my own accord and have not made any agreement with him yet. I do not think he will require much, and I am a private inquiry agent, and, therefore, come in to hear a lot of cases of this kind, and have done a lot of good. I shall call on Thursday morning at address given, and if you do not send money by then I know you do not require me; it might then be too late, but I will let you know to-day, Wednesday, if anything is likely to occur. I am informed you have neighbours; they are the ones to be careful of, as it is true that this man was put to watch. I do not think he will be there till Saturday again, but could not say for sure. They may raid the house when you have some gentlemen there, or perhaps will only bring you up for keeping a disorderly house, but what-ever you do, don't delay one hour if possible. I must not come near or would have seen you personally, and I am engaged in similar business so can only correspond through the post. This is a private address I give you, where, at any time, if you require the services of a private detective, hoping to serve you, Yours truly, R. Atkinson, care of Newsagent, 137, Charing Croat Road, London, W.C. P.S. Be sure to register letter. One important matter: did you ever have a woman, dark, little, engaged in your house, charwoman, I think? If so, give me her address if possible;
her husband if, I think, a coachman or waiter, but be sure to say nothing to anyone"—I took that to the police the name day, about 5 p.m.—after I had seen the police I wrote this answer to the letter "I am in receipt of you letter and before I draw a conclusion I should like to hear a little more in this matter and to know more about you. Yours truly, L. Ducros. P.S. Many thanks"—that was written under the instruction of the police I addressed the envelope to 137, Charing Cross Road—the police took charge of it.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The only true thing in the letter is that about the child, not that the gentleman came to the house.
ALBERT WOODHOUSE . I work in the Post Office and am learning the engineering trade—on the night of January 19th I was in Soho—I saw the prisoner—I did not know him before—he said, "Will you go a message for me? I want you to go to 137, Charing Cross Road," and I went—he gave me this bit of paper: "Please give bearer any letters for R. Atkinson—I went to 137, Charing Cross Road—it is a newspaper shop—I was given a letter—I was just going to give it to the prisoner, who was across the road (he had come with me) when a detective arrested him.
THOMAS TANNER (Detective B.) On the evening of January 19th I was watching in Charing Cross Road—I saw Woodhouse go to 137, Charing cross Road, and bring away a letter—he took it across to the prisoner, who I arrested—I said, "Is your name Atkinson?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I am a police officer and I shall take you into custody for demanding money by a threatening letter from Madam Ducros, of 17, Clarendon street"—he said, "I do not quite understand you"—I showed him the letter—he said, "Yes, that is my writing, I am very sorry; I have a wife and three children to keep. I have been out of work for a long time. I have done it and I suppose I shall have to put up with it"—when charged he made no reply.
Cross-examined. You gave your address where you worked.
EDWARD GREEN (Inspector B.) 17, Clarendon street is in my district—I am in charge of observations which are kept on brothels and disorderly housed in that district—no observation was being kept upon the prosecutrix's house.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I am very sorry this occurred. I had been out of work three months. I have a delicate wife and three children. At the time I wrote the letter I had no intention of demanding money. I wanted money for rent and other things. I might have got the money from the lady but had no intention to demand it.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he was very sorry; that he had no intention to demand money; but only intended to give the prosecutrix advice as the had been a friend; and he thought he could do her a service, there having been a lot of rumours about the house.
GUILTY . The police stated that he was an associate of burglars and blackmailers. Eighteen month's hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, 8th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
SARAH RUBENSTEIN .I live with Leah Cohen at 2, Lavender place, St. George's-in-the-East—I am 20 years old—we are both prostitutes—I know Woolf, but not Goldstein—on January 18th Cohen and I made a complaint at the Thames Police Court—the following Saturday night we were coming from Aldgate between 12 and 12.30 along the Commercial Road in the direction of St. George's, and had passed a coffee stall at Back-church Lane when the prisoners came up, and Woolf said. "Hello here they are. Well, have you done any good? I want two bob"—I said, "We have not got any money to give you tonight"—he said, "I know" and he lifted his fist to strike me, and called out, "Hi! Nell!" and threatened if we did not give him money he would knock our b—lights out—I said I would turn my pocket out if he did not believe me—Nell Merlow is the woman Woolf lives with—I had met her in Wormwood Street, Bishopsgate Street, and had seen her the Tuesday before—she came up and struck me and my friend with a handle of a door and a key on the 17th, before 10 at night—on this night we could do nothing because the prisoners were standing in our way—two men came over the street to us—we did not know they were police officers—they were not in uniform—Goldstein only said. "Come on, that's right"—whether that wan meant for Woolf to come away, or to hit us, I do not know.
Cross-examined. I have been in England about 12 years-my father and mother live in Cannon Street, Commercial Road—I saw them this week—father is a tailor's presser—they have six more children at home; only one old enough to work—I have been away from my father and mother about three years—I am not in employment—I have worked at tailoring—I lived at 142. Pennington Street, E., with Rubenstein, the father of my child—he has been away from me eighteen months since my child's birth—I lived with him just over a year—he was a machine working with me—I have known Cohen about a year—Rubenstein is an older man than the one in this photograph—I do not know the man in this photograph—I have not lived with Robinson or with any fellow for eighteen months—a friend of mine did not assault Woolf—Mrs. Nolett took care of my baby—I paid her about 6d. a night—Rubenstein or Robinson did not assault Woolf when he wan going with me to Mrs. Nolett's—I used to have meals at Warschawski's restaurant, at 103, Backchurch Lane, before these boys started on me, but not with Robinson—I did not go to Alfred Cohen at the Coleridge Arms to ask how I could bail Robinson for assaulting Woolf—I do not know any Robinson, nor anything of Woolf being assaulted—the conversation lasted about five minutes on the night of the assault—we did not call out, "Do you rant money? We have got no money to-night"—I said, "I have pot no money for you," but I did not holloa out—since thin prosecution
I have seen missionaries, and have the prospect of leading a better life—I have been my father and mother again.
Re-examined. I met Rubenstein three years ago when I was 17, and adopted his name, because he ruined my life, and I went to live with him—after six months he left me—when I came out of the hospital, after my baby was born, I never found him any more—I had only a few shillings—my father and mother had a large family, and I was thrown on my own resources—I could not keep myself at my trade, so I had to go out—in slack times I earned 5s., and, when trade was not so slack, about 12s.—good people have offered to take my child, but I will not part with it—I have had no offer of money—the first time 1 heard that I had any connection with an assault of Woolf was at Arbour Square, when the prisoners were charged—I know nothing of it—Nolett lived in Wine Court when I took my child to her about eight months ago—she only took charge of it when I used to go out from about 6 to 12 for about three weeks—I left of going to Warschawski's, because I was afraid of these boys, and if I paid I could go where I liked—thirty or forty people go there—some are prostitutes—I have not allowed any man to live on my prostitution—I have never lived with any man except Rubenstein, who seduced me.
LEAH COHEN . I live with Sarah Rubenstein—I know Woolf—I have seen Goldstein with Woolf once or twice, but Goldstein has not spoken to me—on January 18th I made a complaint at the Thames Police Court—on Saturday, January 21st, I was with Rubenstein, returning home is the direction of Aldgate some time after 12 and just past a coffee stall, star Backchurch Lane, in Commercial Road, when the prisoners stopped us—Woolf said, "Well, have you done any good? I want some money"—we both said, "We ain't any money; we have not got much"—he said, "Well, give us 2s. each if you cannot give any more; if you do not give at something you know what we will do with you," and he called his girl up and said, "Nell, come on, let's do it on them"—Woolf lives with Nell—two gentlemen came up and took him as he was going to hit us, as he has done many times before—we have paid him money before, when Rubenstein has been with me—Goldstein said, "That's right, come on"—I do not know what he meant—I did not know the gentlemen were police officers, but they said, "Come on," and took the prisoners to the station—when they attempted to strike they said, "We heard what you were doing."
Cross-examined. The conversation lasted ten to fifteen minutes—an officer and another man, or two officers, saw us home from the Court, because we were afraid—I did not tell the officers where we were going that evening—I came from Russia five years ago to some relations in Leeds, who were bad to me, and I came to London—I was in Leeds three years—I went to an aunt of mine—I was employed as a finisher in tailoring—I name to London alone, and went to the Cambridge Road, among strangers—I asked a woman where I could get lodgings—I tried to get work—I began to lead the life I am living about two years ago—I do not know Abraham sack, nor Robinson—I have been living three months with Harry Zisman—he told me he was a working man, and would take me off the streets,
but he said, "Go on the streets and get some money" and he went away, and I found out that he had three months in Pentonville—he lived on my prostitution—I have not lived with anybody else—I have known Rubenstein nine or ten months and lived with her eight—no man lived with us—I was with Zisman in March—I went to Pentonville and told him I did not want him any more I have seen missionaries, who are arranging as to my future—I have not been in Warschawski's restaurant with Sack or Robinson—I have Keen Woolf there.
He-examined. I did not know the men who took the prisoners were officers; they were in plain clothes—the men who took us home from the Court were in plain clothes—I heard Zisman give evidence before the Magistrate—he is a witness for the defence—I did not see him on the night of the assault.
FREDERICK GOODING (Detective H.) In consequence of a telegram on January 18th from the Thames police to the Shadwell police I kept observation with Pye on January 19th, 20th, and 21st, for this class of offence among other things—on January 21st I was in Commercial Road dressed roughly, with a muffler round my neck, and a cap—I know Rubenstein and Cohen—I did not see them speak to anyone between the 18th and 21st—I saw the prisoners in Commercial Road. I think, about 10 o'clock, but I am positive I saw them about 11.30 together standing near a coffee stall about 30 yards from Backchurch Lane on the South side of Commercial Road—I was on the opposite side of the road—I waited there for some time—Pye and I were not together then, but we were, within a few yards of one another—about 12 o'clock I saw the prisoners about 8 or 10 yards from the coffee stall—I saw Rubenstein and Cohen come from Aldgate, and down the Commercial Road, where they passed the prisoners—I saw the prisoners stop them—Woolf was in front of the other one—I crossed and came up within a few yards of where they were standing—I heard Woolf say, "Have you done any good to-night? We want some money"—Goldstein was then close to him—some people passed, and I could not catch the next conversation—next I heard one of the girls scream, "We have got no money"—Woolf put up his left hand and shouted, "Hi! Nell, come here!"—I did not see anybody answer, but I caught hold of him and I think the other one started running—I said to Woolf, "I am going to arrest you, and you must come with me to Leman Street police station"—he said, "All right, governor, we have got nothing. She is only a pros.; you know her"—I took him to the station, where the girls told the Inspector their story—he was charged with demanding 2s. of the girls with menaces—in reply he said, "It has got to be proved"—the other man said, "They do not know me"—he was brought in sharp behind me—I know Zisman by sight—I did not see him that night.
Cross-examined. I have been in the H Division about nine years—I have seen these girls about in the neighbourhood for about eighteen months—I have known their names from other people—I did not receive any instructions except to look into the mutter—they were general instructions.
ALFRED PYE (detective H.) I was directed to keep special observation in the Commercial Road on January 19th, 20th, and 21st—on Saturday, January 21st, I was standing opposite the coffee stall in Commercial Road, in plain clothes—I saw the prisoners close to the coffee stall, and the two females coming along from Aldgate—the prisoners stopped them, and I heard them wrangling together—I heard one of the women shout, "We have got no money for you to-night; go away"—I ran across the road—Goldstein was walking hurriedly away—I stopped him—he said, "I ain't got nothing. They ain't given me anything; you have made a mistake"—I took him to Leman Street police station—the other officer took the other man—when they were charged Woolf replied, "It has got to he proved, sir"—Goldstein said, "They have never seen me before."
Cross-examined. I have not seen the girls before, to my knowledge.
Goldstein, in his defence on oath, said that Woolf Hopped him and asked him how long he had been back from Canada, when the two females passed, and then looked back and shouted, "Do you want any money?" but he could not make out what was the matter, when the officers rushed across and look them.
Woolf, in his defence on oath, said he stopped to speak to Goldstein, whom he had not teen for a lung time, when the girls shouted at them, "Governor, we have got nothing, "but he did not answer; that he urns taken into custody; and that it was a malicious plot arising out of an assault.
Evidence for the Defence.
POLLY WARSCHAWSKI . I keep a restaurant at 103, Backchurch Lane—the original of this photograph used to come to my place with Mary Sarah Robinson from about three months up to six weeks ago—I have also seen a gentleman named Sack there.
Cross-examined. Sack came to my place, made a row, and threatened to throw a glass at my head, about two months ago—my place was raided by the police through Abraham Sack—the police did not search the place—my husband lives with me—he was never charged with keeping a gaming house—I have been there nine months—my customers are respectable.
ALFRED COHEN . I am licensee of the Mallard Arms, Commercial Road—I know Rubenstein and Robinson—the original of this photograph is Peter Rubenstein or Robinson—he was charged with assaulting Woolf—Rubenstein lived with Robinson at Cannon Street Road till eight or ten weeks ago—she called at my place for Robinson—they have been in my place a dozen or fifteen times about two years and a half ago.
Cross-examined. I came voluntarily to give evidence in the interest of justice after the prisoners were committed—a man named Toby came and asked if Robinson had been in my house—that is the man (who stood forward) I know as Toby—I said, "If the girl Rubenstein says she does not know Robinson I shall go and say she does"—I came from Africa after having been in His Majesty's forces ten year's—I have seen Goldstein in my house once or twice—I have seen Sack. Rubenstein, Davis, and Zisman in my house—I do not know "Dutchy."
Re-examined. I served in the 8th Hussars—I finished my reserve of twelve years in October—as soon as I got my discharge I went into business.
KATER NOLETT . I know Sarah Rubenstein—this is the photograph of her husband—they came to fetch the baby every night about three months ago—I have seen them frequently—sometimes one came, and sometimes the other—the man sometimes carried the baby.
Cross-examined. I last saw the man about two months ago—my husband and I lived two years ago in Wine Court, but not in Garden Street, Whitechapel.
FREDERICK GOODING (Re-examined). I accompanied these girls from the Thames Police Court after the case was heard, first on the Monday and again on the Tuesday or Wednesday, by direction of the Magistrate on January 23rd.
By MR. PURCELL. A gentleman came out of this Court to-day, and asked me who the officers were who saw the girls home on the 18th—I believe I said that Pye went part of the way with me—I was not at the Police Court on the 18th.
GUILTY . They then PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions of felony. GOLDSTEIN at this court on June 22nd, 1903, in the name of Alfred Gould and WOOLF at Clerkenwell on February 7th, 1899. WOOLF,** against whom were three other convictions— Five years' penal servitude. GOLDSTEIN* who received a good character from the Army— Eighteen months' hard labour.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, February 8th, 1905.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
190. ALFRED ELLIOTT (46) , Having been entrusted by Alice Diesch with certain property, with instructions to apply it to a certain purpose, unlawfully and fraudulently converted the proceeds of the same to his own use; Second count. Converting to his own use £7, with which he was entrusted; Third count. Obtaining £7 by false pretences, with intent to defraud.
MR. JAY Prosecuted. MR. ROOTH Defended.
ALICE DIESCH . I am the wife of Alfred Diesch, who keeps a lodging-house in Hugh Street, Pimlico—last December I met the prisoner at my sister's house in Vernon Street. Clapham—I knew him fourteen years ago, when my husband bought a looking glass and sideboard from him—during the course of conversation I said that I was going to Mayney's in Clapham, to buy two articles for £20—he said I was stupid to do that, as he could do it of half-price in the trade—I said. "Well, I want to exchange a bedroom suite," and he said he would come down the next morning and see it—he came and said he would allow me £4 15s. for it—I told him I was satisfied with that it was sold at auction by him and fetched £5 10s.—he said he would take me to the warehouse, the following Monday, and show me the suite in the rough that he proposed I should buy—he said the warehouse
was Hollington's, in Curtain Road—he told me he got £900 a year, and a 1s. in the £ commission, being employed by Hollington's—he did not say how long he had been there—on December 31st he came and told me the furniture was ready, and it looked beautiful—I paid him on December 19th, when he brought the bill in—he said on that day that he had called for the balance of the money, which was £7—I said, "I would rather see my furniture, Mr. Elliott, as you promised to bring it in"—he laid, "You cannot have it, because the governor will not let it come out of the firm without the bill in paid"—I asked him for Hollington's bill, and, after seeing it was for £11 15s., I handed him £7—the £4 15s. he got for my suite he kept on account—on Saturday, December 24th, some furniture was brought to my house, but the carman would not leave it as it was not paid for—I have got had the furniture and I have lost my £7 cash and the value of my suite, £4 15s.
Cross-examined. I saw one of the articles brought by the carman and it was not such as I ordered—the order I had given was from a book of designs—the article brought was not the article the prisoner promised to give me—the furniture was brought on the Saturday, and on the Monday I went to see Mr. Dutton, solicitor—I do not know whether, if the furniture had been left, I should have accepted it or not—on the Saturday night I went to see the prisoner, but he was not at home—I left word that if he did not come and see me, I should put it in the solicitor's hands—on the Monday morning at 10 o'clock I went to the solicitor, and by my instructions he wrote a letter to the prisoner—he replied to that letter—he is a distant cousin of my sister's husband—I was prepared to spend £20 at Mayney's for things that the prisoner said he could get for £11 15s.—I thought I was doing him a good turn; he said I was—I paid him the price he asked me, and he showed me the things on paper—one of the reasons for giving him the order was that I should save £8—he told me he could buy them wholesale—my sister was present when he represented what position he held—she is not here to-day—she was not called before the Magistrate—I have no corroboration of my statement—the prisoner told me that if my suite, when put up for auction, did not fetch £4 15s., he would make up the difference—I saw one of these circulars issued by the prisoner [Stating that he could supply furniture at 25 per cent. lest than ordinary retail salesman]—the prisoner called on me on the Monday afternoon, soon after I went to Mr. Button, and told me he would deal with Mr. Dutton—he did not at that interview offer me back my money—a detective was then in my house—I never received a letter from the prisoner offering the money.
Re-examined. What I have said about the prisoner being at Hollington at a salary of £200 and 1s. in the £ commission is not an invention—I know nothing about the prisoner being an intimate friend of my family—I parted with my £7 to the prisoner in this way: I told him I wanted the furniture in before Christmas and he said he could not supply it till the governor had been paid—I said, "Have you got the bill?"—he said "No, I have left it on the desk at the warehouse. I am going back to fetch it"—he came again at 7 p.m. with the bill, and when I saw it, it had Hollington's name on it—I gave him the money.
ROBERT HOLLINGTON . I am of the firm of T. & R. Hollington, 54, Rivington Street, Curtain Road, E.C., furniture dealers—I have seen the prisoner before—he was never in our employment—he never received a salary from us of £200, or commission or anything of the kind—he has introduced a few customers to us—this billhead is one we use for shipping goods—it is not one of the ordinary ones made out to customers—I have made enquiries, but cannot find out how the prisoner obtained it—we received an order by telephone from the prisoner for some goods, amounting to £6 10s.—this is the invoice—I told him I wanted the money before the goods were delivered—we received 10s. deposit—I delivered the goods to the address to be paid for before delivery, but the prisoner was not there as arranged, to pay for them, so I had to take the things back again.
Cross-examined. My brother's name is Thomas—he is not here—my first communication with the prisoner was about December 17th—he asked me if I had a 4 ft. 6-wing bedroom suite in stock for £6 10s.—he also wanted a little suite for £1 10s.—I told him I could not do one at £1 10s.—the right price was £4 17s., but I said he could have it for £4 15s.—he ordered the two at the same time—I knew him by name—I attend to the shop and my brother to the dispatching of the goods—my brother was subpoenaed by your clients to attend here, but he asked the detective who had charge of the case if he was wanted, and he said, "No, your brother is the one; he did the business," and so he went away—my brother did not give a proof of his evidence—I went to our solicitor's office, Mr. Turner Charles Square—I have had two or three dealings with the prisoner—I do not think my brother could speak to more orders—I would serve any private customer who came into the shop, as well as the trade—we do not turn money away—we should charge them a little more—I do not know how the prisoner got a blank invoice—I never sent him one. (The COURT directed that the brother should be sent for.)
RICHARD CORDEREY . I am employed by Mr. Arthur Williams Collins, auctioneer, trading as Harding & Co., Wilton Road—last December the prisoner asked us to remove a suite of furniture from Hugh Street—we did so on December 5th—it was sold on December 9th and fetched £5 10s. our charges, including commission, etc., came to 13s. 6d.
ALBERT CHAT (Detective B.) About 5 p.m. on January 8th I saw the prisoner at 14, Hugh Street, the prosecutrix's house—I told him I was a police officer and should like to speak to him outside for a minute—when in the street I told him I had a warrant for his arrest for obtaining £11 15s. from Mrs. Diesch—he denied it—I took him to the police station and read the warrant to him—he said, "I deny it; it is false"—when charged he made the same reply—I did not know Mr. T. Hollington had been served with u subpoena—Mr. R. Hollington Yesterday said he had been told to fetch his brother here—I said to him, "I understand you can give all the evidence in the case; you were there all the time and knew of all the transactions"—he said, "So I was"—then I said, "I should not think it is necessary for You to get your
brother, but you had better see the counsel in the said"—I did not tell him not to fetch his brother here.
Cross-examined. The only charge in the warrant was obtaining money by false pretences—the warrant mentions several sums—the prisoner went to the station quietly—he bears a very good character as for as I know.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, stated that he was a buying agent in the wholesale cabinet and upholstery trade; that he had had thirty years' experience in the trade; that he had known the prosecutrix fully twenty years; that he never told her he had £200 a year and 1s. in the £ commission; that he never represented he was employed by Messrs. Hollington; that they sent him two invoices for the goods, one made out for £6 10s. and the other in blank, so that he could put the price on to charge the customer; that he wrote to them asking when the goods would be sent, when he would pay the carman; that they replied the next day that the goods would be sent that morning, but he did not receive the letter till too late to meet the carman; that he received the letter from Mr. Dutton; that he went to see the prosecutrix to arrange the matter, when he was arrested and that he offered her the money back.
Evidence for the Defence.
THOMAS HOLLINGTON . I carry on business with my brother—I have seen the prisoner about seven or eight times in our shop—my brother does the selling—the prisoner has sometimes brought people in to buy goods—he did not bring me a sheet of paper as being the statement of the evidence I was going to give here—he gave me a long piece of paper to give to my brother—when goods were brought by him they were invoiced to him—a blank invoice was not, that I know of, supplied to him for his customer—if the prosecutrix had come to us direct, we should have served her—we might have charged her a little more for the goods—the goods supplied to the prisoner were not such as would be sold in the West End at a high price; they were not West End finish.
Cross-examined. I never took the prisoner's order—I have asked my clerk whether he sent the prisoner a blank invoice and he said "No"—this invoice (Produced) is what we call our shipping invoice—we should not have charged the prosecutrix £11 15s. for the goods supplied; we might have charged £6 15s.—the paper the prisoner gave me was a sort of summons paper—he told me to give it to my brother.
Re-examined. I never had a proof—the prisoner could not have got one of our invoices unless he came into the office and took one, and we should then have seen him do so.
GUILTY on the third count only. Three months' imprisonment.
FOURTH COURT.—Wednesday, February 8th, 1905.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
191. THOMAS CHARLES SMITH (18), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing three post letters containing orders for £1,12s. 6d., and £9; also toforging and uttering endorsements on those orders with intent to defraud.
He received a good character two months in the Second Division.
MR. FITZGERALD Prosecuted.
(the evidence was interpreted where necessary.)
POLLY LUSTERICK . I am the wife of Samuel Lusternick, of 19, Bell Lane, E.C.—I know the prisoner—on Thursday evening, January 5th, I gave him 10s. deposit to buy two fore-quarters of beef for me on the Friday morning—I saw him in the market the next morning and he gave me a receipt for £5 15s. 1d.—I gave him £4 5s. 1d., leaving £1 balance, the price of two fore-quarters of beef being £5 15s. 1d.—I said I would give him the £1 when I had sold some of the fore-quarter—I sent for one fore-quarter, and my man brought it—the prisoner came later in the morning, and I paid him the £1—he said he would bring me the remaining fore-quarter—I waited till 12 a.m. for him, but he did not bring it, so I sent my man to the market to look for him—he did not find him, so I went to the prisoner's house and found him there—I said, "Where is my meat?" and he said, "Leave my house immediately. I will never buy meat for you. I will show you what I can do"—he said that the second fore-quarter was in the hands of a butcher, and he was going to sell it"—I laid, "I am a poor woman; give me my meat," whereupon he said, "You go away," and he drove me out of the house—I called a policeman, who took his address.
PHILIP GOLDBURG . I live at 2, Malcolm Street, Commercial Street. E.C., and am a butcher, working for Mrs. Lusternick on Thursday night I saw the prisoner come to the shop, and Mrs. Lusternick gave him 10s. deposit to buy two fore-quarters of beef on the Friday morning—next morning I saw Mrs. Lusternick give him £4 5s. 2d. in the market, saying that she would give him the other £I when she had sold some of the meat, and then he was to bring her the other fore-quarter—he came back and I saw Mrs. Lusternick give him the remaining £1—he never came back with the other fore-quarter.
By the COURT. He was to bring it to the shop at Bell Lane—Mrs. Lusternick sent a porter for the first fore-quarter.
WILLLIAM HENRY KENDAL . I am manager to Henry Nathan, butcher, of Aldgate Market—on the morning of January 6th the prisoner came to the shop and bought two shorts of beef, at 3s. a stone—the total weight, thirty-eight stone, three dwt, came to £5 15s. 1d.—he paid 10s. deposit, and we gave him this memorandum (Produced)—he took one fore-quarter away—he returned about an hour afterwards and paid £4 5s. 1d.—subsequently he brought the remaining sovereign and took away the remaining meat.
WILLIAM NEWELL (Detective-Sergeant). About 5.30 p.m. on January 6th I went to No. 22, Chelsea Buildings, Booth Street, Brick Lane, where I saw the prisoner in bed—I told him to get up, but he only shook himself and covered himself over with the clothes—I again told him to get up, and, on his refusing, I got one of his daughters to interpret for me—I said that I was going to arrest him for stealing a fore-quarter of beef that he had to take to 19, Bell Lane, that morning—I took him to the station, and through an interpreter he was told that he had been given £5 15s. 1d. to purchase two shorts of beef—I asked him what he did with the fore-quarter, and he said in Yiddish, "I sold it to a butcher named Isaacs, of Buckstone Street"—I asked him how much he sold it for, and he said, "I received £1 on account and I was going to receive the balance on Sunday morning"—at the station and on the way there he kept repeating," £3 16s. 1d."
By the COURT. went to the man's shop to whom he had sold the beef and arrested him for receiving stolen property, but he was discharged at the Mansion House, as there was not sufficient evidence against him—he said that the prisoner had sold it to him, and he had given him £1 on account, the prisoner stating that the beef had been ordered for a wedding which had not come off.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he had bought two shorts of meat for £5 15s. 1d., borrowing £1, and paying 10s. deposit; that at Mrs. Lusternick's request he sold them to her, receiving in payment altogether £3 15s., and giving her one fore-quarter; that with another sovereign he borrowed from his brother he then took away the other fore-quarter, but that Mrs. Lustenick would not pay the balance, saying that it was bad meat, and telling him to keep it.
Evidence for the Defence.
LEWIS GOLDMAN . On the morning of January 5th the prisoner, who is my brother, told me that he had bought two fore-quarters of beef, and that he had sold them to Mrs. Lusternick, who had paid something on account, and he had given her one fore-quarter, but that she would not pay him for the other, saying that it was bad meat, and that he wanted £1, so that he could get the other fore-quarter from the wholesale butcher and sell it to somebody else—I lent him the £1.
Cross-examined. I am a butcher—I was not in the shop when Mrs. Lusternick said that it was bad meat—I have no recognition of the fact that I lent the prisoner a sovereign—I sometimes lend him money as often at three times a week—of course, if he had sold the fore-quarter, he would have paid me—I think this happened about 8.45 a.m.—I cannot say why I recollect this particular loan.
KATE ISENBERG . I went to Mrs. Lusternick's shop on Friday morning, January 6th, to buy four pounds of meat—the prisoner came in and asked her for some money for Some meat, she said she did not want the meat, and they had a quarrel—she banged some meat on the table and said, "I do not want any more; it is no good for my customers"—I then went out of the shop.
Cross-examined. I am a hairdresser and have a shop of my own—I go twice a week to do my shopping there thin happened between 8.45 and 9 a.m.—on the Monday morning after, the butcher from whom I buy incest on the other days of the week asked me if I knew on the bother between Mrs. Lusternick and the prisoner, and that in how I came to give evidence—I haw known the prisoner for several years—it was Mr. Jacob, of Liverpool Road, King's Cross., who gave me the information about this case—I always buy live chicken there I said when I heard of it, It is a shame to do such a thing"—Mrs. Lusternick served me herself—the boy stands outside.
ANNIE MITTLESTUCK . About 8.30 a.m. on Friday, January 6th. I went into Mrs. Lusternick's shop and bought three pounds of meat—the prisoner came in and wanted some money—Mrs. Lusternick knocked the meat on the counter and said, "I do not want no more meat off you, because that meat is too common for my customers."
Cross-examined. I do nothing—my husband is a baker—on Saturdays or other holidays I always buy my meat at Bell Lane, and at other times I shop near where I live.
Evidence in reply.
WILLIAM NEWELL (Re-examined). I have heard the evidence, given by Lewis Goldman—on the night that the prisoner was charged at the station, Lewis Goldman said there that he gave the prisoner a sovereign over night, that being Thursday night, to buy some meat for him.
PHILLIP GOLDBURG (Re-examined). I know all Mrs. Lusternick's customers, and I have never seen Mrs. Isenberg or Mrs. Mittlestuck in the shop before—I always serve the customers and Mrs. Lusternick weighs the meat—I remember January 6th particularly, and I never saw the two women.
WILLIAM HENRY KENDAL (Re-examined). I should hardly think that the meat that the prisoner bought was bad, as he came very early in the morning and he had his pick—I have known him as a buyer in the market for some years—if one fore-quarter were bad the other would be as they both would come off the same animal.
GUILTY . One month in the Second Division.
MR. TURNER Prosecuted; MR. THORN Defended.
of January 15th I was passing down Flower and Dean Street, when I saw the prisoner standing in a doorway in company with another man—as I got close to the corner of the street I saw they had suspicions of me, and when I had just got by the doorway I heard the prisoner say to the friends he was with, "You have done a nice thing"—soon after, the prisoner came up to me and caught hold of my jacket, and watch and chain—another man struck me a blow in my face with something in his hand, knocking me out of my tenses—I cannot say where the prisoner and the other men went—when I gained my senses, I walked on and saw a constable—I told him what had happened—he went to one end of the street, and I went to the other—I saw the prisoner standing in a doorway with another man—I pointed him out to the constable, who said, "Have; on got the right man?" I said, "Yes"—the constable then arrested him—I went to the police station with them, and had my nose dressed—after that I went to the hospital in City Road, where I remained a fortnight—I cannot see so well with my left eye now as I could before the blow.
Cross-examined. This happened about 12.15 a.m.—I left work at 8 p.m., and went to the Cambridge Music Hall by myself, remaining alone the whole evening—I am a teetotaller—the music hall closed at a little after 11 p.m., and I was taking my time going home to Osborn Place, about half-an hours walk; you might walk it in ten minutes if you walked sharp—I looked in some paper shops on the way home—I went home to get an overcoat, as it was cold, and came out again to see a friend, whom I had met on my way—I sometimes get a little queer in the head through a wound I had in my head in the South African Campaign—I told all I remembered it the Police Court—Flower and Dean Street is not a brilliantly lighted meet—there was no light in the doorway in which the prisoner was standing—I was not feeling at all well that evening, and I was all of a shake when I passed them—I knew what I was doing—on October 15th I came out from an asylum, where I had been for five months—I have been subject to fits since August 13th, 1900—I have not had any fits since I have been out of the asylum—I saw the prisoner in the same doorway after the assault as I had seen him in before—I have known him for some years—he was alone the first time I saw him—he said, "You have done a nice thing" to a man across the road—when I came down the road the second time, as I was passing by the prisoner he tried to get my watch and chain—I saw him three times—I have been deaf for the last ten months, and it is getting worse—I could hear the prisoner shout, "You have done a nice thing" across the road—[The witness here retired, indisposed].
MICHAEL SULLIVAN . I was on duty at Spitalfields on the night of January 15th, when the prosecutor came up and complained to me that he had been assaulted and robbed in Flower and Dean street, which is about 100 yards from where I was—I told him to go to one end of Flower and Dean Street whilst I went to the other—he then pointed out the prisoner, who was standing in a doorway with another man, and said, "That is the man who stole my watch, while the other man assaulted me"—the prisoner said, "This man has made a mistake. I know nothing about it"—I took him to the station, and he said, "It is a wonder I did
not break the chain when I pulled it"—Flower and Dean Street is very well lighted, and the common lodging houses there have lamps outside and on the staircases—to Cambridge Music Hall shuts about 11.20 to 11.30, and sometimes later on Saturdays.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor had his watch and chain on at the time I arrested the prisoner—he said there was no bar on the chain; it was simply drawn across into the pocket the other side.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he left the Wonderland that evening about 11.45 p.m., and was walking about when he was arrested about 1.5 a.m. by the prosecutor while he was speaking to a man named Goodwin in the doorway of a lodging house; that he did not know where to find Godwin, that he did not commit this robbery.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Thursday, February 9th, 1905.
Before Mr. Justice Darling.
194. JOSEPH HOLLOWAY (41), MARY ANN HARMAN (56), and HERBERT ROBINSON (35) , Feloniously and without lawful authority or excuse, being in possession of a forged bank note for the payment of £5, purporting to be issued by the Bank of England, they well knowing the same to be forged.
MR. MATHEWS and MR. LESSE Prosecuted; MR. JOHNSON appeared for Holloway; MR. JENKINS for Harman; and DR. COUNSEL for Robinson.
ARTHUR COLLYER (Constable City Police). On December 22nd, in consequence of instructions, I went to the Royal Standard public-house. Wells Street, in the afternoon, when I saw Robinson—I was in the Navy before I joined the police, and I went disguised as a sailor—Robinson said "I believe you wish to do business with me?"referring to a note—I said, "Yes"—we had a general conversation about other matters—he asked me if I was all right—I made this note about half an hour afterwards—from the Royal Standard we went to the Red Lion in Leman Street—he asked me how many notes I wanted—I said, "What is the figure?"meaning the price of each note—he said, "£1 each"—I said, "That is too heavy," meaning the price—he said, "It is like this: I am not on my own. I am working for the man who makes the notes so I have to make a bit out of it for myself when I can I said. I will take three now at 15s. each; that is my price"—he said, "I must see the boss, and hear what he says about the price"—I said, "Perhaps you can introduce me to the boss"—he said, "No, I cannot do that, as I do not know enough about you, but if you wait here I will bring one for you to inspect"—that was all that was said—we then went to the Unicorn—we left the Red Lion because two men came in who knew me and, thinking they might recognise me, I thought it advisable to leave—from the Unicorn we went to the George and Dragon in Hackney Road, where Robinson left me, saying he was going to see the boss—the George and Dragon is not far from 20, Victoria Street—he returned in a short
time, and said he could not get one, as the boss and the old woman had gone to the music hall—after a time I went into the fish shop, which is next door to the George and Dragon—I parted with Robinson just before I went in—he went down Hackney Road—I waited in the fish shop—Robinson returned and said, "They are not back yet"—we then went to the Horns at Shoreditch, which is close to the George and Dragon—Robinson left me there—he was absent a short time, and on his return he called me on one side of the bar saying, "It is all right," and produced a piece of paper, from behind which he showed me what purported to be a £5 note (Produced) numbered 34350, and dated June 11th, 1904—Robinson said, "There it is; what do you think of it?"—during the conversation he looked up and said, "There is the boss; I will introduce you to him," and he introduced Holloway to me—we were in the private bar—Holloway asked me what I was—I replied, a seaman about to sail for the Mediterranean, where I could get rid of a few notes for him—he replied, "All right"—I was dressed like a merchant sailor—I asked Holloway if he made the notes himself and he said, "Yes, they are very good; what do you think of it?"—I said, "Very good"—he and Robinson then had some conversation, which I did not hear—Robinson came to me and said, "You can have this one for 15s."—I said, "All right" and gave him the money—he asked for 1s. for himself, which I gave him—Harman came into the bar while the conversation was going on, she stayed by Holloway's side—after I had bought the note Robinson went across to them, and eventually beckoned me over to them—Holloway said to me, "That is the only one I can let you have at present, but could let you have two more by Saturday afternoon, as it takes forty-eight hours for them to dry"—I said, "All right"—the 22nd was Thursday—Robinson said in the other prisoners' hearing, "For God's sake do not try to split them in the United Kingdom, or you will get done in"—shortly afterwards Holloway and Harman left the house together—I left with Robinson, and left him at the corner of Commercial Street—the same evening I give the counterfeit note to Inspector Ottaway, who initialled it in my presence—after each meeting I made a report to Ottaway, who had charge of the case—on Saturday, December 24th, I met Robinson at the Royal Standard—we went to the Horns—he left me for a short time—when he returned he said, "I have seen the boss" at the same time producing from an envelope two Bank of Engraving notes—I said, "They are no good to me"—he said, "No; they are flash ones, but they are all the boss has got by him"—I did not take one of them—on December 27th, at 5 o'clock, I met Robinson at the King Lud, on Ludgate Hill—from there we went to a coffee house in Bishopsgate Street, and then to the Horns—we got there shortly before 7—I then said to him, "What about the business?" meaning the note—he replied, "All right, I will go and see the boss directly; it is no good me going in before 7"—he left the Horns and returned in a few minutes, saying, "There is someone following me, so I will wait a few minutes"—after a short time he went out again to see the boss—he returned shortly and said, "You cannot have any more notes unless you let the boss have the one you bought the other night, as
that was his copyright, and he cannot make any more without it"—I said, "I cannot do business like that, but if you like, tell the boss to come and see me—we can talk the matter over"—he said, "All right, I will see what I can do"—he left the bar and returned in a short time with Holloway, who said, "I remember you from Thursday night"—he and I went into another bar, and I said, "What about the business?"—he said, 'I cannot make any more for you unless you let me have the one you had the other night, as it was my copyright; I have no machine, but do it all by hand; I will give you my address, but it must be in strict confidence between us"—he asked the barman for a pencil and paper to put his name and address on—the barman gave him a piece of paper, and he wrote his name and address upon it: "J. Harman, printer, 20, Victoria Street, Cooper's Gardens, Hackney Road"—he made an appointment for me to meet him on the 28th, and said I could bring the one he sold me or a good one the latter would suit him better—I replied, "All right"—he said, "How many do you want?"—I said, "Five"—he replied, "All right"—he then said, "When you knock at the door, if my wife comes, say,' An invitation from Joe '; if my daughter comes, say the same, and you will he admitted. You can then see me make them, and you can have what you want at 10s. each. If you require any more while you are away you must let me know and I will send them to you. Don't have anything to do with Robinson, as he is robbing us both. He only gave me 5s. out of the 15s. which you paid for the note on Thursday. My wife know what is going on, but my daughter does not. My wife is much older than me; in fact, she is boss, so you will have to talk with her, but we must be careful, as there are some policemen who live close by"—I entered into the ordinary conversation—on December 28th, about 8 p.m., I went to 20, Victoria Street, Hackney—I knocked at the door—a young woman opened the door—a voice asked who was there—I said, "An invitation from Joe"—I got into the house—I found Holloway there with some friends—no business was done that night—I went out into Victoria Street with Holloway, and had some conversation with him—he said to me, "Have you got a good one with you?" meaning a note—I replied, "Yes"—he said, "Let me look at it"—I gave him a note—this is the one, number 73334—he examined it with a lighted match and said, "It is poor paper, but I can see it was good one"—he asked me to leave it with him and he would get the others ready by the next evening—I said, "No, I cannot do that, as I do not know much about you"—he said, "Well, you know where I live if you think there is anything wrong"—I said, "Can't you do them to-night?"—he replied, "No, I cannot leave my friends and go upstairs, as that is where I do the work; so if you can't leave the note with me to-night you must come to-morrow night at 7 o'clock and bring the note with you, and I will have everything ready except the transfer, as me and my wife will be alone"—I replied, "All right—next night I went to his house about 7.30 p.m.—Holloway opened the door—I went into the front room, and Holloway said, "I am a bit of a carpenter"—he was making this frame (Produced)—it is a kind of easel—he said, "I Suppose you know what this is for?"—I said, "Yes "after he had
finished he stood the easel on the table in this manner—then he took from the table a frame with a piece of glass in it, covered with a piece of white paper—he then asked me for my note, which I gave him—I cannot place this paper as it was then, because it was pasted over the note, or had some sticky substances to keep the paper in its place—this lamp (Produced) was placed on the table behind the easel—I watched him—he then took a piece of pencil and sat down on the stool and took a copy from my note on to the piece of white paper; this is the result—Harman was present, and part of the time her daughter—the operation took two and a half to three hours—when it was finished Holloway put it into this little black box with the frame, and the easel he put on the floor under the piano—I asked him if he would make the other notes from that copy, and he said. "Yes, but it must be inked over first"—Harman was prevent when that was said, but not the daughter—Holloway said the daughter knew that he made Rank of Engraving notes, but not the other ones—I said, "We cannot do business"—he said, "If you like to write I can send them to you. Don't be afraid to send the money; you will be sure to get the notes. You have got my address, so I cannot afford to lose my place for a couple of pounds"—I said, "No, it would be rather too dangerous"—he said he would send them to any part of the world if I liked—he handed me back the genuine note—Harman was then present, but not the daughter—after the daughter had left the room Harman said, "She knows we make the Bank of Engraving notes, but not the others; we could not trust her. We might have a few words and she might open her mouth "—that is all that happened in the house then—I left about 10 o'clock—nothing was said on that evening about inking the tracings over—that was mother time—Holloway showed me some Bank of Engraving notes that evening—I was present on the 30th at the arrest of Harman.
Cross-examined by MR. JOHNSON. I was with Robinson a good while on the 22nd—we visited three or four or five public-houses before I saw Holloway—I first saw him at the Horns, when I went into the public-house with Robinson—we had some rum—when Holloway and Robinson came into the Horns, Holloway did not stand at the back while Robinson spoke to me—when Robinson produced the note I had had no conversation with Holloway—I do not remember saying at the Police Court that, to the best of my belief, the note produced to me then was the one shown me by Robinson—I identified it by the initials—I handed the 16s. to Robinson and it was before that that he introduced Holloway to me—that is the only forged note I saw that night, or in connection with this case—the whole of that transaction took a very few minutes—I took the forged note away and gave it to Ottaway directly afterwards—it did not then go into Holloway's possession—I never saw him even look at it—he offered me some Bank of Engraving notes—they are used by men on the turf for the purpose of pretending they are flash—I do not say that they do not intend to deceive anybody—I have heard there is a considerable trade in them, they are called "lils"—Holloway first asked me to give back the forged note—subsequently he said the other one would do—he never showed me a forged Bank of England note—I do not know how Bank of Engraving
notes are made—I do not know how the forged note was made—the pencil drawing would not be put into circulation.
Cross-examined by MR. JENKINS. I only saw Harman to speak to on the 22nd and the 29th—I did not take any note of the time that she came into the Horns—it was in the afternoon—I should not like to say if the had a shawl over her head or not—I did not notice her drop anything, or if she had anything in her hand—I did not notice her ask for anything in a jug at the bar, or drop the change, or a man pick it up—I took very little notice of her when she came in; only sufficient notice to know her again—the bar is a good big one—I believe the district is pretty populous; I do not know much about it—there were other people in the bar; I cannot say how many—Holloway came in before Harman—I had had some conversation with him before she came in—that is when he told me he made the notes—when Harman came in Robinson left me and joined her and Holloway—up to that point Harman had not heard a word of the conversation—the only part that she could hear was, "This is the only one I can let you have at present. I could let you have two more by Saturday afternoon. It takes forty-eight hours for them to dry"—I said, "All right"—Robinson said in the hearing of Holloway," For God's sake don't try to split that in the United Kingdom or you will be done in"—Harman was sitting within hearing distance—I cannot say if she is deaf—I did not see or speak to her between December 22nd and 28th—no business was done on the 28th—her daughter is about twenty-two years old—she is married—she was backwards and forwards during the whole time that Holloway was tracing the note—she could not see the front face of the note he was tracing—he concealed nothing when the girl came into the room.
Cross-examined by DR. COUNSEL. I went to the Royal Standard about 5.20 on December 22nd—I was there several minutes before Robinson came in—he came towards me and sat at the end of the bar—I cannot say how long I was with him in the Royal Standard—I think we had a half quartern of rum each—it was not a stiff glass—then we went to the Red Lion—I think Robinson had rum there—I cannot say how much—I had a glass of mild and bitter—we were not there many minutes—we had not finished our drink when it was time to leave, because of the two men who came in—Robinson finished his drink before we left—then we went to the Unicorn—we were only there long enough to have a drink; I had mild and bitter—I cannot say what Robinson had; I believe he had a drop of rum cold—I cannot say how much—it was rather a cold night—we were there about ten minutes—I have entered the time in my note book—we went to the George and Dragon—we had no conversation there with regard to the note—I believe I had mild and bitter, and Robinson rum—I cannot remember how much he had—I have not got the time down that we were at the George and Dragon—then we went to a fish shop—we were there long enough to have supper—we had no drink there—we went to the Horns for a drink—I cannot say for certain what we had there—I asked Robinson to drink—I paid for them—I did not always ask him—he asked me in some cases to treat him he had no money—he suggested more drinks than I should—I cannot say how many drinks we had in the Horns—it was during
the drinking that he produced the note—I identified it by the initials in the corner—I cannot say how long it was after I received it that the inspector initialled it—after Holloway came in we had some drink—I do not know what time that was, or when we left the public-house—after we left we went to the corner of Commercial Street—we did not take anything to drink on the way—I left Robinson at the corner of Commercial Street—that is not a long way from the Horns—Holloway and Harman left the Horns before we did—I am sure we did not leave with them—after parting with Robinson I met Ottaway—I cannot exactly say where—it was a very few minutes after I had left Robinson—I met Robinson on December 24th at 4 p.m.—we had a half quartern of rum each at the Royal Standard—I do not remember how long we stopped there, or how many drinks we had—we then went straight to the Horns—I cannot say how many drinks we had there—we had some drink—he produced from an envelope two Bank of Engraving notes and said, "They are all the boss has got"—I said they were no good to me—he knew what I wanted—I told him the first night I met him that I wanted £5 Bank of England notes—I did not say forged ones.
Re-examined. Robinson was not drunk on December 22nd.
CHARLES ATKINS (Detective, City) On December 22nd I was keeping observation in Wells Street, Leman Street—I saw Robinson go into the Royal Standard about 5.20 p.m.—I saw Collyer sitting the saloon bar, tailing with him—about 6 o'clock they went to the Red Lion and remained there about fifteen minutes, then to the Unicorn and then to the George and Dragon—about 7.50 I saw Robinson leave the saloon bar there—I followed him—he went to 20, Victoria Street—upon the door there is a brass plate with the name, "G. Harman, Printer"—a woman answered the door—he spoke to her—it was a foggy night—I could not hear what he said, but the woman answered "No"—he went into the house, remained there a few minutes, and then went back to the saloon bar of the George and Dragon and joined Collyer—about 8.451 was watching 20, Victoria Street—I saw Robinson come there—the same woman opened the door—he said, "Has he come home yet?"—she said, "No, they were only just gone out when you were here before"—he said, "Tell them I want to see them particularly; I shall be round in the fish shop"—she said, "All right, I will send them round to you"—Robinson went to the fish shop, which is next door to the George and Dragon, and joined Collyer there—I went into the shop, but could not hear what was said—they went to the private bar of the Horns—20, Victoria Street, is not far away from the George and Dragon and the Horns—at 9.15 Robinson came out of the Horns, living Collyer behind—I followed him to 20, Victoria Street—he knocked at the door—I left another officer watching and went back to the Horns—at 9.45 Robinson came back to the Horns with a man who I now know as Holloway—Robinson went into one bar, leaving Holloway in another—I know Collyer and another man were in the bar—Robinson soon afterwards went into the same one—I did not go in—I was on the opposite side in another bar—I saw Collyer, Robinson and Holloway all talking together—I did not see Harman—at 11 p.m. I saw Holloway and Robinson
come out of the Horns and go to Cooper's Gardens—on December 24th, at 5.10 p.m., I was keeping observation opposite 20, Victoria Street—Robinson came and knocked at the door—Holloway came out and spoke to him—Robinson returned by himself to the Horns and joined Collyer—on December 27th I was keeping observation in Hackney Road—at 7.20 p.m. I saw Robinson coming down Hackney Road—he went down Cooper's Gardens—he returned at 7.35, went to the Horns and joined Collyer—I saw them talking together in the private bar—at 8.5 Robinson came out of the private bar alone and went in the direction of Victoria Street—he was followed by the late Detective-Inspector Orsman—I remained in Hackney Road—at 8.15 Robinson came out of Coopers Gardens with Holloway—they went into the private bar of the Horns and joined Collyer—I saw them talking together—at 8.25 Collyer and Holloway came out of that bar and went into another, leaving Robinson in the first—I went into the bar and saw them sitting together, talking very deeply—they came out a little before 9 and parted—I followed Holloway down Hackney Road to Victoria Street—on the 26th, at 7.55, p.m., I saw Collyer go to 20, Victoria Street—he came out about 9 with Holloway—they went to the Horns—they stayed talking in there until 9.25—they returned to Victoria Street—at 10.15 they came out of Cooper's Gardens and went to Shoreditch Church, where they parted—on the 29th, at 7.25 p.m., I was in Victoria Street and saw Collyer go into number 20.
Cross-examined by MR. JOHNSON., When I went into the Horns on the first occasion Collyer and Robinson were talking together, and Holloway was with another man.
Cross-examined by MR. JENKINS. I did not say at the Police Court that the woman had said, "All right, I will send him round"—I said, "Them."
Cross-examined by DR. CONSEL. When I saw Holloway and Harman come out of the Horns at 11 o'clock Robinson had already left.
JOHN OTTAWAY (Inspector, City Police). On December 22nd I was in the neighbourhood of the Horns, when Collyer brought me this forged note (Produced) which I initialled—I had been keeping observation during that evening, and can give a detailed account if necessary, and I say the same with regard to December 24th, 27th, 28th and 29th—between those dates Collyer was acting under the orders of his superiors—when he gave me the note on December 22nd he was quite sober—on the morning of December 30th I arrested Holloway in Chiswell Street—I said, "I am a police officer and shall arrest you on the charge of forging and uttering on the 22nd inst a £5 Bank of England note"—he said, "You have made a mistake"—on the way to the police office he said, "What makes you suppose I have done this?"—I said, "This is the charge against you"—I took him to the police station, and said, "I want to see what property you have upon you"—he said, "Before you go any further, I want to say I have some lils on me which I was going to sell. My wife's uncle used to make them; he has been dead about four years and left about 1,000 behind"—I said, "What are lils?"—he said, "They are Bank of Engraving notes which people have to make them appear flash. I know nothing about Bank of England notes. I have never seen one in my
life"—I found 19 Bank of Engraving notes for £5 and 3 for £10 on him; also this memorandum: "Paquin, 10, Denbigh Street, London, W."—later that morning I went to 20, Victoria Street, Hackney Road, with lnspector Holmes—we knocked at the back door—a woman answered that the door was bolted, and after some delay we forced the door and entered the house—I saw the prisoner Harman sitting on the bed—I told her who we were and the charge—she said, "Good gracious me, I have never seen a Bank of England note; only Bank of Engraving. I have seen that man before "(pointing to Collyer), "having a drink with Holloway. I did not see what they were doing. You say we have been changing Bank notes; I have never seen one"—the house was then searched—that was directed by Inspector Holmes—amongst the articles found, I found this pencil tracing of this £5 Bank of England note—I showed it to Harman—she said she had never seen it—there were some letters found—one upon the kitchen mantelpiece (Read): "19th December, 1904. Dear Mrs. Harman,—Jack Wilson gave me your address and told me to mention his name. I want three fifties and the rest twenties and tens for the enclosed postal order. Send them to this address as soon as possible. J. Marsden. Send those with the blackest ink"—other letters were also found, principally addressed to Mrs. Harman—they come from Manchester, Newcastle, Salford, and Birmingham—they have relation to forged or flash notes—later that same day I arrested Robinson at the White Hart, Holborn—I said, "I want to speak to you outside; we are police officers. I am going to arrest you on a charge of being concerned with a man named Holloway and a woman named Harman for being concerned on the 22nd inst. in having forged and uttered a £6 Bank of England note"—he said, "I know absolutely nothing about it"—I took him to Old Jewry—on the way he said, "Who do you say I am charged with?"—I said, "A man named Holloway and a woman named Harman, of 20, Victoria Street"—he said, "I do not know them or where they live"—he was searched at the police office, and on him was found a Bank of Engraving note—when that was found he said, "Now it it coming to me"—a visiting card was found on him with the name, "F. C Pearce"—a letter was also found from a correspondent at Cambridge, signing himself, "Yours sincerely, Eddie"—the three prisoners were charged at the station—I then produced the forged note and the tracing—I said to the prisoners, "This is the document you are charged with forging, and this I found at your house, Holloway"—he said, "It is false; I have never seen a forged note. A man came to my house on Christmas Eve and said a man wanted to see me very particular. I did not know the man. The other man said, 'I know you sell lils,' and asked me if I would print a note for him. I said, 'Not for you or Jesus Christ.' He said 'That's him,' pointing to Collyer. Next night he came and threatened to shoot me if I did not make one for him. He said, 'Take a copy from this and make two by to-morrow morning.' The first time I saw him was on Christmas Eve. He sent a man over to my house; I have not seen that man since. The first time I saw him (pointing to Collyer) was in a public-house; the other man took me to him. When I left him last night
I went home, and the missus said to me, 'What business has there been on?' so I told her. She said, 'For God's sake don't have anything to do with it. When he comes to-morrow morning tell him to do it himself'"—pointing to the tracing he said, "I knew all about that being in the box; that's what I did last night as he promised me money"—pointing to the forged note, he said "I have never seen it before "Harman said, "I knew nothing about it; it has never been in our house"—I said, "Evidence will be called to prove Robinson got the note from Holloway and sold it to Collyer for 15s., and that Robinson afterwards gave Harman the money"—Holloway said, "It is false; we do not know this man," pointing to Robinson—Harman said, "I have never seen this man (Robinson) in my life"—Robinson made no reply—Holloway described himself as single, and Harman said she was a widow—I and Holmes found this printing type at 20, Victoria Street—they were left as they were found—I also found type letters consisting of "land "and "k "in the same size type as "Bank of Engraving "; also some copper plates with "5 "and" "10" cut out from them, and this plate with "ten "engraved on it—it is from that plate this impression is taken.
Cross-examined by MR. JOHNSON. I come across a good many people with Bank of Engraving notes—they are used by men getting their living by fraud—confidential trick men generally carry them; they also use them for appearing to be flush with money—there are a large number in circulation and have been for years—I should say these plates have been cut out recently, within the last month or two; it may be within the last week or two—there was a complete copper plate and a Bank of Engraving note and three stones—I found nothing on the stones except what related to the Bank of Engraving—all the Bank of Engraving notes have apparently been printed from lithographic stones—the Bank of England note has been drawn by hand; the letters "L, a, n, d," were loose, but all in the same box—since they were found they were put together and printed by the police—the "ten "could be used on a Bank of Engraving note or a Bank of England note—I found nothing from which a Bank of England note could be printed, or a Bank of England note set up in any form.
Cross-examined by MR. JENKINS. When Harman said, "I know nothing about it, I have never seen it," she was referring to a forged note—it is supposed that Harman received the money for the note from Robinson; it has never been given in evidence.
Cross-examined by DR. COUNSEL. I marked the note that Collyer brought between 11 and 12 p.m.—that was not the first time I saw it—I saw it in Kingsland Road immediately after he bought it—he came out of the Horns leaving the three prisoners, and showed it to me—I examined it, and gave it back to him and he went back to the Horns—it was after Holloway and Harman had left the Horns that I saw it for the first time—they left about 11 p.m.—Collyer was to go back and join the prisoners—I thought it possible that Robinson would want to see the note again, so I thought it was not advisable to tamper with it then—I got a report in writing from Collyer next morning, I think about 10.
By MR. JENKINS. I have not noticed that Harman is deaf.
Re-examined. These Bank of Engraving notes have been passed as genuine Bank of England notes—they are issued in large quantities in this country—the plant I found at 20, Victoria Street, was sufficient to turn them out in any number.
FREDERICK HOLMES (Chief Inspector, City Police). On December 30th I went with Ottaway to 20, Victoria Street—I searched the premises and produce a list of the things I found there—amongst them there was a black box containing this frame and a quantity of paper and tracings—I also found this easel and some stones for making Bank of Engraving notes—the things which Ottaway spoke to were also found there.
HUGH McLEAN (Detective, City). On December 28th I was keeping observation on 10, Denbigh Street—I saw a man come there and later on that day he was joined by Robinson—this (Produced) is a photograph of that man—he left 10, Denbigh Street, with Robinson—they remained together for some time during that day—on December 30th I saw the same man come from 10, Denbigh Street, and go to Piccadilly Circus—by that time the newspapers had got placards out announcing the arrest of certain forgers, and I saw the man's attention called to one of them—I kept him under observation for some considerable time that afternoon—he went and knocked at the door of 20, Victoria Street, where Holloway and Harman had been living.
EVA SWANN . I am the daughter of Mrs. Emma Swann, and live with her it 10, Denbigh Street—she lets lodgings—in December last I remember having some lodgers named Mr. and Mrs. Paquin—I do not know if parcels came for them in that name—I remember one Saturday evening opening the door for Robinson—I do not know the date—I had only seen him once before—I also saw him at Brixton, where he was placed among a number of others.
CHARLES HELEN . I live at 106, Western Park, Crouch End, and I am manager for the foreign money department at the Credit Lyonnais at 4, Cockspur Street—on November 15th a bank note was received by us from the Union of London and Smith's Bank, Charing Cross—on November 26th we exchanged some French money for a person who inquired for it and in exchange gave away that £5 Bank of England note—I made out this memorandum—this note bears our stamp—I passed the note away about 10 a.m.—the customer gave the name of Pearce.
Cross-examined by DR. COUNSEL. We always note the name of a man to whom we sell a note—we have special rules to ask the name of a person when we give bank notes.
WILLIAM REEVES . I live at 23, Tottenham Court Road, and am an assistant to Mr. James Smith, pawnbroker, of that address—on November 23rd a lady's coat was pledged with us in the name of Mr. Paquin, of 10, Denbigh Street, Pimlico, this is the pawn ticket—on November 26th the coat was redeemed between 1 and 2, a £5 note was given in payment—on November 29th, I sent six £5 notes to the Tottenham Court Road Branch of the London, City and Midland Bank to be exchanged for gold and silver—that £5 note was amongst them—I had previously had
dealings with Paquin, and once or twice afterwards—this is a photograph of the man who gave his name as Paquin.
MARTIN EDWARD SHUFFELL . I am a cashier at the Tottenham Court Road Branch of the London, City and Midland Bank—on November 29th Messrs. Smith, who trade as James Smith, pawnbroker, at 23, Tottenham Court Road, sent some £5 notes to he changed at the bank, amongst them was this one numbered 34350, dated June 11, 1904—those notes sent to the Bank of England the same day.
EMMA SWANN . I live at 10, Denbigh Street, Pimlico—I had Home lodgers named Mr. and Mrs. Paquin at the end of November and the beginning of December—I recognise this photograph as that of Paquin—a parcel came for them in the name of Pearce.
ALEXANDER GOUDGE . I am deputy principal in the Bank Note Office of the Bank of England—this note, number 34350, for £5 is a forgery—a genuine note of the same number was issued to the Union of London and Smith's Bank on November 11th, and returned to the Bank of England on November 30th, 1904.
Cross-examined by MR. JOHNSON. I have seen many forged Bank of England notes—I have never seen one exactly like this—I have seen pen and ink forgeries, but better than this—I should not say this is the worst forgery I have ever seen.
MR. JUSTICE DARLING said that he was of opinion that there was not sufficient evidence of Harman being in possession of the note. The Jury therefore returned a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
HOLLOWAY and ROBINSON GUILTY — Five years penal servitude each.
MR. MATHEWS for the Prosecution, offered no evidence, and the Jury returned a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Thursday. February 9th, 1905.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
196. LAZARUS LINSBERG and FANNY LEIES . Assaulting and imprisoning on January 16th, 1905. Edgar Arthur Shirvell, and detaining him. Second count. Imprisoning and detaining the said Edgar Arthur Shirvell. Third count. Assaulting the said Edgar Arthur Shirvell They both PLEADED GUILTY to the second count.
and MR. BOHN Defended.
The facts as disclosed on the depositions of the said Edgar Arthur Shirvell were that on January 16th he was called at 7.40 to attend the confinement of Mrs. Linsberg; that he attended and ascertained that the birth of the child would not take place for about seven hours: that he went again to the house of 12.30, and, finding that the birth was not likely to take place for forty-five minutes
of an hour, wished to leave the house, but found that the door was fastened and he was unable to do so; and that he had to wait two hours in the room, the child being born at 3.15.
The Common Serjeant said that he doubted whether a conviction would be food on this point. MR. GILL submitted that it was an indictable offence and quoted Pocock v. Moore (Ryan and Moody's Reports, 321); Hunter v. Johnson (Law Reports, 13 Queen's Bench); Stephen's Digest of the Criminal Law, 3rd edition, 177; Hawkins' Pleas of the Crown, Chapter 60, Section 7; and Russell on Crime.
MR. BOHN submitted that in the case of Pocock v. Moore it was the exercise of a superior authority, that of a police-constable; that in Hunter v. Johnson it was the exercise of parental authority and school discipline; that this case did not come within those decisions; that in all similar cases it was the circumstances that had to be considered and that the ones was on the prosecution to show that this was a criminal offence.
The Common Serjeant, in delivering judgment, said: In this case of The King v. Linsberg and Leies a very important question arises, and that is whether the mere act of false imprisonment without any assault or battery is not only a wrong for which a civil action could be brought, but is also an indictable offence. I am satisfied, after some doubt, by the authorities quoted by Mr. Gill, that the mere false imprisonment without an assault can be, and in this case is, an indictable offence. The authorities show that the actual imprisonment of a man, depriving him of his liberty (it happens in this case it was by locking a doctor up so that he should not go about his business, obliging him to stay in the house or room of the particular patient)—the authorities show that such an act may be indictable; but there is a real distinction between a civil case which is merely the subject of a civil action, and one which may be made the subject of a criminal prosecution (of course every false imprisonment and assault which may be the subject of imprisonment may also be treated at a cause for civil action for damages) and the difference I am satisfied is this: where a defendant imprisons another without having any belief in a legal right, not by mistake, but without any belief in a legal right, he knowing that he is merely exercising a strong hand and using his own power to imprison a man—where a defendant commits such an act, he is first guilty of what the law calls an assault that is of rather a technical nature , and in the second place of a criminal assault. The case of Hunter v. Johnson (Law Reports, 13 Queen's Bench) would seem to be an authority that even where a man believes that he has a right to imprison another, his act may be treated as an indictable offence. I, however, doubt that, but where a man takes upon himself to imprison another, depriving him of his liberty, merely exercising the force and power to serve his own object, without any belief in a legal right to do to, then he is guilty of a criminal assault. As a fact, it is clear on the depositions that this is what the defendants did in this case, but after the plea of guilty there is no need to go further into that—it is conceded by the counsel who appears for the defendants, and, the matter having been argued, I have only to decide that this is a criminal act, that amere false imprisonment
without any lawful authority, without any belief in a lawful authority is a criminal act, and, there being a conviction on this one count, it is unnecessary to state a case for a higher Court to determine the point. As to the prisoners themselves, the case is one in which it is not necessary to inflict any punishment unless the offence is repeated. It in important that they and people of their class, against whom it is useless and hopeless to take any civil remedy, because they never can pay any damages, should know that they may be criminally dealt with if they take the law into their own hands in this way." Discharged on their own recognizances in £10.
(For other cases tried this day see Essex and Surrey cases.)
NEW COURT.—Thursday and Friday, February 9th and 10th, 1905,
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted; MR. FOWKE Defended.
ELIZABETH HARRIS . I am a pedlar, of Waxwell, Pinner—on January 18th I was travelling with my basket of brushes, combs, and things like that—I got into conversation with the prisoner at the Marquis of Granby, Harrow—I was going to Pinner—he gave me the offer to ride in his cart, which I accepted—Pinner is three miles from Harrow—he took my basket off my left arm and put it in his cart—he got up, and I got in afterwards—we drove towards Pinner—we stopped at the Havelock, where I had 2d. worth of peppermint—the prisoner got in the cart, and I afterwards, and we drove to the Roxburgh, about a quarter of a mile further on, where after his pressing me to have stronger liquor I had more peppermint—then prisoner went out—I remained in the house about ten minutes, and then went to look for my basket—the prisoner and his horse and cart were gone with my goods—I gave information to the police and went with them to look for my basket—I waited at the top of the road while they went to 5, Ferndale Terrace, Wealdstone—then I went to the prisoner's house—my basket was in the kitchen on the floor—a pair of slippers, three purses and three nail brushes were gone—I have not seen them since—he was taken to the station.
Cross-examined. I have four children—my husband died four months ago the 14th of this month—I had not seen the prisoner before January 18th—I had had one glass of ale before I met him—I gave him a penny for three oranges and a penny for a dog collar—I was never drunk—I am a respectable woman—I did not ask him to come and live with me—I never saw that man (Bowell)—the prisoner did not drive me home—he said he was going to Pinner to sell fish.
JOHN HILLS (609 s.) On January 18th I was on duty at Wealdstone in uniform—the last witness made a complaint to me—I went with her and Mann, another officer, to 5, Ferndale Terrace, where the prisoner
lives, about 4.45 p.m.—I went to the front door and Mann to the back, leaving Harris in the street—a woman opened the door—I heard the prisoner shout," Shut," or "Lock the b—door, they are after me"—I know his voice—he is a costermonger—I went straight into the kitchen—the prisoner said, "What do you want?"—I said, "I have come about a basket belonging to Mrs. Harris"—he said, "I pinched the basket, but she pat it in my cart"—he was sober—he had been drinking—the room was partly in darkness, there was no light in the room—in a corner I found this basket, covered with sacks—Harris identified it—when I lifted the basket up the prisoner made a bolt for the door—I seized him by the left arm, and he took up a large knife used by fish hawkers for filleting soles, shouting," I'll chop your I—head off"—he made a blow at my neck, and I knocked the knife out of his hand—we struggled and fell to the floor—I was injured a little—Constable Mann came to my assistance—we carried him into the street, and with further assistance strapped him on an ambulance, and took him to the station—he was charged with stealing basket, and further charged with wounding.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner about eighteen months—he has been in prison for cruelty to a dog—the record is at Edgeware—he was fined £1 and costs, or fourteen days—from Harris's description I recognised him—I had no warrant.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did not steal them."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he got drinking with Harris and others, and drove home, but remembered nothing more.
Evidence for the Defence.
HENRY BOWELL . I live at Grove Road, Canning Street—I was with the prisoner and Harris on January 18th at the Marquis of Granby, at Green Hill, Harrow—I paid for glasses round, then the prisoner paid, then the woman paid—we had three glasses round—she wanted to stop with the prisoner.
GUILTY . (See next case.)
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted; MR. FOWKE Defended,
JOHN HILLS (609 S.) repeated his evidence in the last case and added; Police-Constable Mann, who had gone to the back of the premises came to my assistance, and we carried the prisoner through the passage into the street—he was struggling violently, kicking, and biting—he threw himself on the ground, kicked up his right foot, saying to Mann, "I'll kick your f—head off," and struck him on his left cheek, cutting it in several places—as I caught hold of his arms and leaned over him to hold him when on the ground, he kicked me on my ear, causing a slight wound—Bentley came to help us, and took the prisoner's boots off—we held him till an ambulance came from the station—we sent another civilian for it—I went back, after he was taken to the station, to the house to look for the knife, but the doors were locked, and I got no answer.
Cross-examined. The knife went across the floor—we could not secure it then; we had too much to do—Dr. Williams was called.
ALLAN MANN (583 X.) I assisted Hills to arrest the prisoner—I went to the bark of 5, Ferndale Terrace, Wealdstone—I saw Hills struggling with the prisoner in the ground-floor back room, and went to his assistance in carrying the prisoner into the street—he threw himself down on his back, and, seeing his feet coming up, I said, "Look out for his feet"—I had hardly got the expression out of my mouth when his foot struck me on my left cheek—at the same time he said, "I'll kick your f—head off"—the blow broke the skin in several places, causing my cheek to bleed—his boot struck Hills on the right side of his head behind the ear—his prisoner was sober.
Cross-examined. The prisoner did not appear to me to be drunk.
ALFRED HENRY WILLIAMS . M.D. I practice at Harrow, and I am divisional surgeon to the police there—I saw Mann on January 18th—he was bleeding from wounds on his cheek and was very much collapsed from shock—the wounds were caused by a violent grazing blow from something rough—the skin was torn in several places—he was bleeding from the nose as well—he has been on the sick list about a week—he is between forty and fifty years old.
Cross-examined. I do not remember seeing any scratches—I do not suggest a knife—Hills is not in my division.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I do not remember nothing till I got to Harrow."
GUILTY . Six months' hard labour for the stealing , and ninemonths ' hard labour for the assault; to be concurrent.
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted.
WILLIAM JAMES CACKERTON . I am manager of a fish shop at 199, Park Lane, Tottenham—on January 2nd, between 10 and 10.30, I was away from the shop a few minutes round at the back—when I returned I missed three large plaice from the slab inside the shop—I looked down the road and saw the prisoner about thirty yards from the shop on the other side—I ran over to him, as he was the only person I could see in sight—he had three large plaice in his hand—I said, "Where did you get those from?"—he said, "I stole them from over there," nodding towards the shop—their heads were hanging downwards with the tails in his hand—I asked him for them, and said, "You will have to come with me"—I handed the fish to the boy who works at the shop to take back—the prisoner struck me a violent blow on my nose—I fell and became insensible—on recovering I went back to the shop—the prisoner was nowhere to be seen—I sent a young man for my employer—my face is
painful at times and tender—I gave information to the police as soon as I left the hospital, about two hours after the assault—I am still an out-patient—I know the prisoner as living in the neighbourhood—on January 23rd I charged him at the police station with stealing the fish and assaulting me.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The fish were not lying on the ground—nobody was in sight but you.
PERCY HOLLIS . I work for Mr. Cockerton—on January 2nd I saw him go out of the shop after the prisoner—I ran out to see what was the matter—I saw the prisoner talking to Mr. Cockerton—the prisoner had three plaice in his hand—he was holding them by the tail—my manager took the plaice from the prisoner and handed them to me, and I took them back to the shop.
HENRY DAVIS (Detective-Sergeant N.) I am stationed at Tottenham—On January 23rd I arrested the prisoner in Red Lion Square, Holborn—I told him he would be charged with stealing three plaice, value 6s.—I took him to Tottenham police station—he made no reply to the charge—it had disappeared from the neighbourhood of Tottenham—I was searching for him—I had information—he went quietly a short distance—then he tried to get away—there was violent struggle (The prisoner had his arm bandaged)—when we were in the railway carriage coming from Liverpool Street I was wiping blood off my arm—he held his finger up and said, "My finger appears stiff."
Cross-examined. I looked for you at your mother's address, and at 7, Laurel Terrace.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "On this night in question I was going home; I was very drunk; and a man came up to me and showed me these fish, and wanted me to buy them. Whilst he was showing them to me I expect he saw the fish manager and dropped the fish in front of me, and they were on the ground when Mr. Cockerton came up to me. He asked me where I got them from, and I told him a man had dropped them who was showing them to me. He said, 'Well, I am going to have you for it.' He put his arms round my neck and tried to drag me to the shop. I struggled with him, and we both fell down."
The prisoner. "That is my defence."
GUILTY . (See next case.)
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted.
HENRY DAVIS repeated his evidence in the last case and added: I held the prisoner by the cuff of his left sleeve—when we got to High Holborn he said, "Let me go off mate,"—I said, "No, I cannot do that"—we walked a little further—he said, "Let me go; don't show the game up"—I said no, I should do nothing of the sort—we proceeded a few paces further, when he deliberately struck me with his clenched fist in the chest—I clutched him by the scarf he was wearing round his neck—a severe struggle took place—he threw me on to the kerb, striking my left hip—whilst on
the ground I still clutched the prisoner—he struck me with his right hand a number of times on my right wrist, causing me to bleed very freely—someone came to my assistance, and he was conveyed to Tottenham police station—he may have hurt his wrist in the struggle—it was not bandaged when he was at the Police Court—in answer to the charge he said, "You know, Sergeant Davis, I did not assault you"—I am on the sick list from injury to my left hip and to my right hand—I was confined to bed three or four days.
Cross-examined. I did not twist your arm round—two men did not cry "Shame!"—you did not say, "Now you have done it."
Re-examined. The prisoner made no complaint to the Inspector at the police station as to my having broken his wrist.
JOHN REID , M.D. 'I am a master of surgery, and practice at Tottenham—I acted as divisional surgeon for Dr. Wainwright, who was sick—on January 23rd I saw Davis about 6.50 p.m.—he was suffering from an abrasion of the right wrist with fusion into the joint, and injury to the muscles of the left hip—he is still on the sick list—his injuries were caused in the way described—I did not see the prisoner.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I saw no injury to Davis' chest.
The 'prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "When he arrested me he took hold of my left wrist, and twisted it through his arm. I could not walk with him as I was in such pain. I asked him to let go and catch hold somewhere else three or four times, as he was breaking my wrist. All the more I asked him, the tighter he got hold, and the more he twisted it. I was in such agony I had to try to drag away from him; we both fell down then. I never struck him. I have not had the use of my left hand since."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, repeated in effect this statement, and added that the prison doctor said two bones were broken at the back of his hand and ordered it to be put in splints.
GUILTY .** He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court on October 20th, 1902. There were three other convictions against him. Six months' hard labour for the stealing , and nine months' hard labour for assault; to be concurrent.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted; MR. BOHN Defended.
(The evidence was interpreted where necessary.)
ANTONIO PERSINI . I came to England a year and eight months ago—I deposited £280 at the Deptford Branch of the London, City and Midland Bank, at New rose—I made the acquaintance, in a public-house, of a countryman named Carlo Angelotti—I went with him to the British Museum, where another Italian named Brunetti came and spoke to me—he said he was ho pleased to hear his native language—I went with Angelotti on January 4th to the London, City and Midland Bank at Deptford—I drew out £185 in thirty-seven £5 notes—I put them in an envelope,
which I put in my pocket—I then went with Angelotti and Brunetti to a restaurant kept by Rattazzi and Gatti in Holborn—Angelotti there asked if my notes were safe—I took them out of my pocket and showed them to him—he took them in his hand, looked at them, and handed me an envelope back—I put it in my pocket—Brunetti then wanted to go out,. because he said he did not feel quite well and wanted to take the air—he asked me to go to the Italian Church to find a priest to say mass for his dead father—I went to the Italian Church—on my return I did not find Brunetti or Angelotti—I waited forty-five minutes; then I put my hand in my pocket, and found this envelope, but the notes were gone, and there was some tissue paper and something about Holloway's ointment—I gave information to the police—this envelope resembles, but is not the one I handed Angelotti—this one has "Parkins & Gotto "printed on the flap where the gum in, and is similar to one found at the prisoners' lodgings—this it's photograph of Brunetti, but the name on it is "Brunelli"—this other photograph is that of Angelotti.
Cross-examined. There is no writing on either envelope—I had never seen the prisoners before I saw them at the Police Court.
JAMES HATLEY . I am cashier at the London, City and Midland Bank it Deptford—on January 4th Persini came to the bank with another foreigner and drew out of his deposit £185—I handed him thirty-seven £5 notes, of which I kept the numbers—I produce a certified copy of them from the bank-book.
Cross-examined. I made the copy—I knew the prosecutor as a customer—the other man was a stranger.
HYMAN WARSCHAWSKY I am an apprentice of Samuel Wenter, trunk maker, of 107, Charing Cross Road—the prisoners came to the shop on January 5th about 9 a.m.—Rosignani bought a trunk for 22s.—she tendered a £5 note—they waited in the shop while I went to the Charing Cross Branch of the City and Midland Bank and got change—I gave the change, £3 18s., to Rosignani—she said, "I will leave the trunk here and go out shopping and return, then you can take the trunk home for me"—they came back in about an hour with three parcels—they were put in the trunk and I took it to 18, Greek Street, Tottenham Court Road, and put it in the first floor front—there were two gentlemen there—this it a photograph of one, but he had no moustache—I do not know the other photograph.
CHARLES PERCY MYERS . I am cashier at the Cambridge Circus Branch of the London, City and Midland Bank, where Warschawsky's employer, Wenter, has an account—I handed Warschawsky the slip produced in exchange for a £5 note, No. 99360—I wrote on the back "ex Wenter."
CHARLES PIGIER I am assistant to Mr. Harris, hosier, 45, Old Compton Street—two women came to the shop on January 5th, about 10 a.m., and purchased hosiery to the amount of £1 2s.—one of them tendered a £5 note to Mr. Harris, who gave her the change—she wrote her name on it.
WILLIAM AUSTIN HARRIS . I am a hosier of 46, Old Compton Street—two foreign women purchased hosiery in my shop, for which one of them tendered a £5 note—I asked her to endorse it—she wrote something foreign on it—I paid it into my bank, the Cambridge Circus Branch of the City and Midland, the following day—this is the note 10890—I asked the lady to explain the writing to me after she had endorsed it—she said it was intended for Gerrard Street.
Cross-examined. She endorsed it readily—I always ask people I do not know to endorse a note that is tendered—the purchase was of shirts, braces, sleeve links, and gentlemen's underclothing.
ALEXANDER BANFIELD . I am a salesman at Charles Baker's Stores, Tottenham Court Road—the prisoners came into the shop on January 9th, in the afternoon—a boy and a girl were with them—they bought children's clothing amounting to £1 16s. 8d.—Macchi tendered a £5 note in payment—I put the number of the bill on the back of it and passed it in the cash desk and gave Macchi the change—this is the suit and girl's costume purchased—they went to another department—the cashier Bowden then observed the number of the note corresponded with missing notes advertised in a morning paper, in consequence of which the police were communicated with at once—a policeman on duty outside came into the shop—I gave the duplicate bill up at the Guildhall Police Court—the number is H 4433—that is marked in pencil at the back of the note—the police came for the goods
GEORGE HAINES (Detective Sergeant D.) On January 9th, in consequence of information, I went to Baker's shop in Tottenham Court Road, where the last witness is salesman—I saw the prisoners leaving the shop with two children, each carrying a parcel like these produced—I followed them down Tottenham Court Road, where they entered the shop of Messrs. Thompson, drapers—they remained two or three minutes, made a purchase, came out, and proceeded towards Oxford Street—I stopped them and explained that I was a police officer, and that the £5 note they had just changed at Messrs. Baker's was one of a number that had been stolen from a gentleman in the City two days previously—Rosignani replied in broken English, "We do not understand much English"—I took them to Tottenham Court Road police station and detained them—Macchi seemed fidgetty with her dress—I asked her what she had there—she put her hand under her skirt and handed me eight £5 Bank of England notes, numbers 39995, 39996, 39998, 39999, 40000,99354,993356, and 10891, and then said, "That is all"—I said, "What have you in your side pocket?"pointing to her jacket—she handed me £7 10s. in gold, 6s. in silver, and 3d. bronze—I communicated with the City police—I took the prisoners to Snow Hill police station and handed them over to Inspector Crouch.
Cross-examined. I have not found any letter from Josse Leon, of November, 1904—Crouch searched their rooms—I subsequently ascertained their address.
I sent for an interpreter and the prisoners were charged with feloniously receiving Bank of England notes to the value of £185—the charge was explained to them by the interpreter and they made a statement through him—they were searched by the female searcher, Sarah Taverner, who produced to me six Bank of England notes from Rosignani and £7 in gold, 10s. in silver, and 5/4d. in bronze—I afterwards went to the room where Warschawsky took the trunk, 18, Greek Street—I found the trunk produced, and other things not relating to the charge—I also found some Parkins & Gotto envelopes similar to this one produced, in which the tissue paper was found.
Cross-examined. Parkins & Gotto no doubt sell thousands of those envelopes, but they are not a common site—I found papers relating to a marriage inquiry in Italy, and there is a birth certificate in the name of Madileni Bartolini, and another of Angeleno Bartolini (Produced)—I know nothing about Macchi's character—I believe she has been in the country twelve months—I believe the prisoners were living with men as man and wife at 18, Greek Street—I cannot speak as to Gerrard Street—there is an address, 50, Greek Street, where Rosignani was formerly living—I cannot say the prisoners were living with two thieves—one man has been wanted for two years.
PETER DIVIANI . I was called to Snow Hill police station on the night of January 9th—I was told the charge against these women and explained it to them in Italian—I read the charge as it was given to me and translated it—Macchi said they were innocent, and that they received the bank notes in Paris—Rosignani did not say anything.
Cross-examined. I told them they were charged with stealing, and having in their possession bank notes which had been stolen a few days before—I put the question asked by the Inspector, and translated the answer—they said they came from Paris the previous Saturday to London—they were a little bit flurried, not to say frightened—Macchi said she was married, and living apart from her husband—Rosignani said she was single.
SARAH TAVERNER I am female searcher at Snow Hill police station—I searched the prisoners on Monday. January 9th—Rosignani handed as these Bank of England notes which she had in her stocking in a blue envelope—I handed them to the Inspector, and saw these numbers taken: 99366, 99367, 99364, 99361, 99355, and 39986—I also found in her sachel £7 in gold, 10s. in silver, and 5 3/4 d. bronze and two foreign notes—on Macchi I found £3 in gold, 6s. in silver, And 3d. bronze.
JAMES HATLEY (Re-examined). I prepared this report under the Bankers' Evidence Act—among the notes handed to the prosecutor were numbers 9395, 9396, 9398, 9399, 40000, 99354, 99356, 10891, 99366, 99367, 99364, 99361, 91355, and 39986.
Rosignani, in her defence on oath, said she knew Rubini Zeisser when she was a nurse in the hospital at Marseilles; that he met her in London and gave her the notes in exchange for her own money; that she trusted him because
he promised to marry her; but she had not seen him since January 7th that he told her to buy goods; but that she had no suspicion the notes were stolen.
Macchi in her defence on oath said that her married name was Gueseppe Bartolini; that her husband gave her 3.300 francs, which she changed after arriving in England that she got the notes from the man she had been living with; and that she had caused enquiries to be made at the Credit Lyonnais in London and Nice as to what had become of her own money; that she lived in a room to herself in the same house, and so became acquainted with Rosignam; but she did not suspect the notes had been stolen.
GUILTY. The Jury strongly recommended the prisoners to mercy, believing they acted under the coercion of men. To find a surety by the first day of next Sessions that they will leave the country, or in default nine months' imprisonment.
FOURTH COURT.—Thursday and Friday. February 9th and 10th. 1905
Before Lumley Smith, Esq., K.C.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted; MR. OVEREND Defended
EDWING MARSHALL FOX . I am a director of a public company, and for the purposes of my business I have an office on the second floor of 28, Victoria Street—I have other offices also—when I am not there Miss Toovey is in charge—she has been in my service a considerable time, and I have absolute confidence in her integrity—I have a banking account with the London Joint Stock Bank, at 22, Victoria Street, which is two doors from my office—I have a key to my office now—in September, 1904, I used to have a key which I always placed on the rack downstairs, which in in charge of the hall porter, whenever I left—I also have a key to my safe, and Miss Toovey holds a duplicate key—this cheque book (Produced) was with me from the day I received it from the bank for three weeks while I was motoring on the Continent in August—in September it was put into the safe, but as it was my personal cheque book it was principally in my pocket, or at my house in charge of my servant—my used cheque books were kept in Miss Toovey's office, which in adjoining mine, and not under lock and key—on September 22nd my current cheque book was in the safe—I remember on that morning sending my valet to the office to instruct my secretary to draw a cheque for my hotel bill and to bring it back to me to sign—he did so, and later in the day I signed it—about 5 p.m. of that day this cheque (Ex. A.) was shown to me—I was not at the office on that day, and Miss Toovey telephoned me the signature on this cheque is not mine; it is a forgery—this is a book full of my used cheques (Produced)—I notice that in signing a cheque
for £200 here I have used a cross line in the letter "F," which turns round and then comes down—there is another genuine signature of mine with the same cross to the letter "P"—I had never seen the prisoner before I saw him at the Police Court—my pass book is generally in my safe—if any one looked at it they could see that there was sufficient ordinarily in the bank to meet a cheque for £619.
Cross-examined. I received the cheque book that I took to the Continent with mo from the bank on July 30th—my servant informed me that ho found some cheques missing from the cheque book in Paris, and therefore they could not have been taken out in London—my chauffeur is here, but I have dismissed my valet.
Re-examined. My two servants did not inform me that the cheques were missing until after September 22nd—of my own knowledge I cannot say whether that is true or not—my valet was going over my cheque book when we were in Paris, which he had no right to do—he called the chauffeur's attention to the missing cheques, and the chauffeur then said he would toll me, but he did not do so then.
By the COURT My valet was a; Belgian, of middle height, rather slim, clean shaven, and about thirty-four years old—I should call him fair rather than dark—he is nothing like the prisoner—it was the same valet who went for the cheque on September 22nd as was with me in Paris.
MARY ELLENA TOOVEY . I have been, in the service of Mr. Marshall Fox for nine years, and I have charge of his office at 28, Victoria Street—on September 22nd his valet brought me his cheque book—I made out a cheque from that book, and put the book in the safe where it is usually kept—I have a key to the safe, which I carry either in my pocket or in a bag—I gave the cheque to the valet, locked the safe, and went out with the key in my possession—I cannot say whether it was in my pocket or my bag—if I have on a dress that has no pocket in it, I put it in my hag—I left the office at 12.30 a.m. and after ringing up the firm on the telephone I returned to the office, having been out five or ten minutes—I put the key of the office before I left on a hook in a box arrangement at the door—in the ordinary course I should not take it with me—on returning I found the key was not there—I simply cast my eyes there; I did not go there to feel for it, as it very often falls down on the floor—I got into the office by a key to another door, which I carry about with me always on the bunch with the safe key—I did not notice anything about the office nor did I take much note of the key being gone, as Mr. Fox sometimes takes it, and I thought he had done it this time—I cannot absolutely say whether this used cheque book (Produced) came from the safe or from an open box in the room; I rather think it was the latter, as the old cheque books are kept in that box-the old cheque books that are required for auditing at the end of the year are kept in the safe—our financial year is December 31st and our auditing would take place after that the cheques in this book are 1903, so it would be kept in the open box and anyone having access to the office would have access to that box—I did not find the office key again until the bank manager came up and informed me of the forgery about 5 p.m. on the same day—after I
telephoned for Mr. Fox 1 came back and saw the manager—I just cast my eyes up at the place where the keys were and I saw the key hanging up in its proper place—I have never seen the prisoner before.
By the COURT. I do not absolutely need that office key; I have got my own key—there are hundreds of keys hanging there—it in quite possible I may have overlooked the key in the first instance; I have done so many times before—there are three or four rows of keys on hooks.
WALTER HARVEY . I am Mr. Fox's chauffeur, and his valet showed me a cheque-book belonging to our employer in August, 1904, in Paris—I cannot swear that this (Produced) is the one—I noticed that one cheque was torn out from the centre of the book, but I cannot tell the number of it.
RICHARD HILLS . I produce a number of bank notes which have been returned to the Bank of England, amongst them being two £50 notes Nos. 58037 and 58038, dated January 12th, 12th—those numbers and dates are peculiar to those notes only—they were returned on September 26th from the London and Westminster Bank's head office.
By the COURT. Differently dated notes might have the same number, but we do not issue two notes of the same number and date.
ROLAND YALLOP . I am a cashier of the London Joint Stock Bank, 22, Victoria Street, Westminster—I remember cashing this cheque for £819, made payable to Walter Stone, or order and endorsed "Walter Stone," drawn by Mr. Marshall Fox, on September 22nd, at a few minutes to 4 p.m.—the prisoner appeared at the counter and placed that cheque on the counter for payment—I looked at it, and felt that the signature was correct, and I asked him how he would take it—I did not see the prisoner come into the bank, and I did not see him endorse the cheque—he said, "Half in £50's. half in £20's, and £19 in gold"—the notes were being made up for the day as it was just closing time—I went round for them, and got the £50's, and as I had not got sufficient £20's I said I should have to give him two £10's—he said that that would do, it did not make any difference, so I cashed the cheque—these are all the bank notes (Produced) which have come back to the bank, making up the £800 with the exception of one £20 note—they all came back within October 13th—he counted the notes and went out, having been in the bank about eight minutes altogether—about ten minutes after, the manager came up and wanted to see the cheque, and we looked at it jointly—we thought it was genuine, but to make certain we sent to the drawer's, Mr. Fox's, office at once—we had an answer from that office in about ten minutes—I should think it would be about half an hour after the prisoner had left that we knew this cheque was a forgery—we gave information with a description of the prisoner to the police—about January 6th I went to the Westminster police station and saw in the yard there thirteen men—I looked down the line to try and see the prisoner, and I was a little bit undecided between him and another man, but I went to the prisoner and touched him, and then I went to the other man, but I felt really that I was doing wrong with the second man, and on closer scrutiny I felt convinced in my own mind that the man 1 touched first, the prisoner, was the correct man—I
did not say anything in his hearing—I am convinced now that the prisoner is the man—I heard the prisoner speak when he was cashing the cheque, and I noticed that it was a striking voice, what you might call a pronounced voice—I have heard the prisoner speak since he has been in custody and it seems to me to be the same.
Cross-examined. I do not think there was any undue haste about the prisoner when he cashed the cheque, but he might, perhaps, have counted the notes a little more carefully—we have a large number of customers coming in in the course of the day, and there was nothing about the prisoner to cause me to take any close observation of how he was dressed; there was no reason for my taking particular notice of him—I said at the Police Court with regard to his voice, "I have heard him speak. I do not think it differs from the normal accent of an Englishman"—it was rather a deep voice, but not unusually deep—I did not say anything about his voice when giving a description to Inspector Filler—my description, which was a verbal one, was, "A big man dressed in black frock coat with silk facings, and a tall silk hat; showing what seemed to be a white waistcoat, or shirt front; big build; tall and stout"—the prisoner is tall, and decidedly broad, and I should tall him a man of big build, and rather stout—he is not very stout now; I think he was a little stouter; he looked stout at the counter—I am not positive that I said anything about his height in feet and inches; I said he was tall—it is possible that I may have said at tat Police Court, "I do not remember the colour of the waistcoat"; the prisoner having his coat buttoned up it was difficult to tell; there was very little waistcoat to be seen at all—January 6th was a fine day; I think it was a little muddy under foot—when identifying the prisoner I noticed the men's faces and general build; I did not look at their boots—it struck me that there was a resemblance between the two men I picked but, but or closer examination it did not seem to me that the second man was the right one; he was of rather coarser countenance—I think the prisoner was the most respectable looking man of all of them—the man who passed the cheque was a respectable looking man.
By the COURT. Three of us at the bank gave our descriptions to Inspector Fuller together; each of us heard what the other said.
Re-examined. This is the style of frock coat (Produced) with silk facings that I saw the prisoner wearing.
ALBERT JOSEPH SISMAN . I am a clerk in the London Joint Stock Bank, 22, Victoria Street, Westminster—I remember this cheque for £819 (Ex. A.) being cashed on September 22nd—it was my duty to receive from the cashier the notes that had not been used during the day, and for that purpose I was next to the cashier while he was paying this cheque—I saw the man who cashed it for the space of a minute to a minute and a half—I was detained by reason of the cheque being cashed—I did not see the man leave the counter—some ten minutes or so after, it was discovered that the cheque was a forgery—I went to Mr. Fox's office to make enquiries as to the cheque—I then went back to the bank to
return the cheque, and then to the police station to gave information to Inspector Fuller—the man who cashed that cheque was the prisoner—on January 6th I identified the prisoner from amongst fifteen or more men at Horneferry Road police station—I walked into the yard, and had a look at the men who were present, and then I looked at the prisoner and recognised him as being the man who presented this cheque—I was satisfied, and I touched him, in accordance with instructions.
Cross-examined. Beyond the fact of it being so late, and being kept waiting, there wax nothing unusual about the transaction with the prisoner—there wan another customer there at the time, but I paid attention to the prisoner standing by the counter on account of the large amount of the cheque which was being paid close upon 4 p.m.—there have been cheques of large amounts cashed for Mr. Fox, but there is generally more notice taken of a cheque of that amount being presented so late in the day—we do pay large amounts over the counter, but not so often as we do through bankers—it was not my duty to be at the counter except at that time of the day—I remember the prisoner's face more especially—I noticed he was wearing a tall hat, and a frock coat, the lower button of which was buttoned up—I am not prepared to way he had a white waistcoat on, but whatever kind of waistcoat he was wearing, it was a very open one and exposed an amount of shirt front—I said at the Police Court, "All of the prisoner's dress that I can remember is his frock coat and tall hat"—I do not think I mentioned a white waistcoat—the men were side by side in a long row—the prisoner was not direct I opposite me when he was cashing the cheque, but I bad a good full face view of him—it does not necessarily follow that because I am behind the counter I am directly opposite to him—as near as possible the description I gave of him to the police was "Dressed in a tall hat and frock coat; of fairly gentlemanly appearance; inclined to be dark, with a fairly broad face, and rather inclined to be sallow complexioned"—I think January 6th was a fairly bright day; as far as I recollect, I do not think it was particularly muddy underfoot—I did not look at the men's boots; I had no reason to do so—there were a number of them dressed in a gentlemanly sort of style, and of gentlemanly appearance—I should not care to say that the prisoner was the most gentlemanly looking of them all—I believe I walked once or twice up and down the line before I identified the prisoner; he was not quite in the centre but towards the right end of the line—the principal cause of my identifying him was his features—he had a dark moustache, somewhat of the same colour as the prisoner's, but not in the same shape as he has it at the present moment; it was slightly straighter—he was more of a French appearance than the prisoner—the prisoner is inclined to be of a sallow complexion—I daresay three months makes an alteration in a complexion.
Re-examined. In giving my description I said I thought the man was from forty five to fifty years of age, and slightly taller than myself. I being five feet seven and a half inches—while waiting for the notes I had nothing to do except to look at the customers.
Victoria Street, Westminster, and it is part of my duties to open and shut the door—the closing time of the bank is 4 p.m.—I remember this cheque (Ex. A.) being cashed—I was on duty at the door about closing time when a man drove up in a hansom, came into the bank, and presented this cheque—I noticed he was very white—after he presented the cheque and as time went on—I thought he had come over a bit queer; he looked whiter than usual, and I thought he seemed rather timid—when he had got the notes, and when he was going away he changed colour, quite a flush coming over him—I opened the door and let him out, the bank having closed, and I think I said "Good-afternoon "or "Good-evening," or something of that kind—he got into the cab, and drove off—there was only one other customer in the bank at the time—the man who cashed the cheque was Roland Yallop, and the customer was the prisoner—he was in the bank eight or ten minutes—I watched him till he went out—he drove eastwards towards the Abbey—the next time I saw him was at the Police Court in Westminster—I went into the yard and walked down the rank of fifteen or sixteen men, and I spotted the man whom I saw in the bank, the prisoner, and I put my hand on him—my attention was called to the fact that the cheque was a forgery about five minutes after the transaction had occurred, and I gave the prisoner's description to the police about half an hour after.
Cross-examined. I should say it was between three and five minutes to 4 p.m. when he came into the bank, and he left somewhere about 4.10 p.m.—it might have been a quarter of an hour that he was in the bank—I did not keep any observation on the two clerks behind the counter—the prisoner was waiting at the counter about a minute to a minute and a half—the reason for his remaining so long was that he had to wait for the notes to be brought out—I do not suppose that the cashier and the clerk would notice that the prisoner was white and nervous, because they were behind a frosted glass; they might have taken a glance at his features, but not the same as I did—I do not suppose I found the prisoner nervous when I identified him—I was about three yards from him in the bank—he pretended to count the notes—I do not know what the cashier said in evidence—I did not mention about the prisoner's changing colour before the occasion at the Police Court, because I was never asked—when giving a description I said he had broad cheek bones, and a peculiar mouth, and it was by those features that I identified him—I do not think I mentioned his height—some of the men from whom I identified him were better dressed than the others, but I cannot say whether the prisoner was the best dressed man.
Re-examined. When at the bank he was dressed in a black frock coat, dark trousers and a tall hat, and when I identified him he had a grey over-coat and a high hat—I should say he was kept waiting about five or six minutes for the notes, which had been put in the manager's room for the daily stocktaking, to be brought out—I cannot say whether he really counted the notes; he went through them the same as anybody would do—I think he was rather hurried.
Cook's tourist Agents and bankers, and in September, 1904, I was at the Ludgate Hill branch—I remember cashing these two £50 notes (Produced) very well—this writing "Exchange F. 2 "on them is mine, and shows that they passed through my hands—about 4.30 p.m. one day, a gentleman rushed in and asked for £100 of French gold—I said I had only about 1,000 francs, out, if he would like to wait, I would see if the head cashier had it—in the meantime I went to Mr. Bode, to ask him what the rate was—I gave the prisoner 1,000 francs, £10, in gold, and 1,500 francs, £60, in French notes—he then went out taking the gold and leaving the notes on the counter—Mr. Bode called out to him, "Hi! you have left some of your money behind," and he rushed back, picked up the notes and rushed out again—the gold mainly consisted of 20 franc pieces—this is a 20 franc piece with a cock on the reverse, which has been in circulation for about seven years (Produced)—I should say there were some of those coins amongst the gold—I gave the facts and the description of the man to the police a day after the transaction—I have just travelled back from abroad to see whether I could identify this man, and I have had an opportunity of doing so this morning—I believe there were six or seven men, among whom were two men both the same height, with the same kind of moustache—I could not fix on one or the other for the time being—one was very shifty eyed, and the other was very straight eyed; they both eyed me well—I said to the detectives, "There are two men here I am not quite sure about," and they said "Pick which you think is the one"—I hesitated and picked out the wrong one—then the detective came up and said, "You have picked out two men; which is the other man?—I then picked out the prisoner—I do not know why I picked out the wrong man first—I should say now that there is more reason for the prisoner being the man than the man I picked out first—I would not swear that the prisoner is the man who passed these £50 notes.
Cross-examined. I was instructed to touch the man who came to the bank—if the detectives had not said, u Which is the other man," I should probably have said, "Well, I am not absolutely certain that this is the man"—I should not have said that there were two men I was not quite sure about if I were certain of either of them—I will not swear that when touching the first man I did not say, "This is the man; "probably I did say that.
HAROLD BODE . I am a clerk in the employ of Messrs. Cook & Sons, at Ludgate Hill—I remember these two £50 notes being cashed—about 4.30 p.m. on September 22nd, a gentleman came in and I heard him ask for £100 worth of French money—as I was some two desks away I did not pay much attention to him—my colleague asked me what rate he should give, and I heard some discussion as to whether he should take gold or notes—just at that moment I left my desk to go down to either ask a question of or do something to my colleague, and when I got to him I saw the prisoner going out, leaving half the money on the counter; I would not be sure whether it was the notes or gold—I called out, "Here, you are leaving half your money behind you," and he turned round, took
the money, and rushed out of the office—that is all I saw of him—what attracted my attention was his leaving half the money behind—customers usually take the trouble to count and see if the amount is correct—the following morning the police left a note saying that certain notes had been stolen and giving their numbers—I then saw the numbers on the two £50 notes corresponded with two of the numbers on the list—the police did not know that anybody had been to us with the notes before sending us the letter—they did so as a matter of course—in the course of business it bank with the London and Westminster Bank, Temple Bar branch, and notes taken after 4 p.m. would be paid into the bank the next morning about 10 a.m.—the next time I saw the man was on January 13th, at the Westminster Police Court—I was asked to pick out from nine or ten men in a line the individual who, as far as my recollection served me, resembled the one who presented the notes—after some hesitation I picked out the prisoner—of course, the transaction took place very hurriedly, and with the exception of getting sight of his dress, I did not see very much of his face—I could not pick him out by his dress, as he was dressed is a different attire; I picked him out by his general bearing as I had a idea of that—I can only say to the best of my belief he was the man who presented the notes.
Cross-examined. There is nothing unusual in a man changing £100 into French money—a man hurrying to catch a Continental train might leave half a sovereign behind, but it is unusual to leave £60—I cannot recollect very much about the police coming and seeing me in December—when describing him to the police in January I said that he had a frock coat, a silk hat, and what we call a wide waistcoat on, showing a good hit of his tie—it was not a white waistcoat—when I identified him at was wearing a grey overcoat with a tall hat—there were four or five others wearing silk hats, and one or two with frock coats—before identifying the man I had the idea that he was a man of fairly moderate height—I only caught a glimpse of his face—I cannot say whether ho had a black moustache—I said at the police station that there was some resemblance between the prisoner and an acquaintance of mine—that was the thing that made me look—that resemblance certainly gave me the impression that the prisoner was the man who changed the notes when I identified him.
Re-examined. The first time I thought there was a resemblance was the following morning, when I discovered the notes were stolen—I still see there is in the prisoner a slight resemblance—I remember him more by my friend.
JOHN KANE (Detective-Inspector D.) The first time I knew of the passing of this forged cheque was in the afternoon of September 22nd, and I prosecuted inquiries with regard to it for some months—on January 6th I went with Inspector Fuller to High Street, Chiswick, where we saw the prisoner coming from his house at 11 a.m.—I said to him, "Mr. Holmes!" and he turned round—I said, "That is your name, I believe?" and he said, "Yes"—I said, "This is Inspector Fuller of the A Division and 1 am Inspector Kane of the A Division, and we are going to arrest
you for forging and uttering a cheque for £819 about 4 p.m. on the afternoon of September 22nd last, at a bank in Victoria Street"—he made no reply at the moment, and I said, "Do you understand what I have just said?" he said, "Yes, I understand, but I know nothing about it"—he made no sign of surprise whatever—on the, way to the station, he said, "You know I shall deny this"—he gave me his address, but, of course, I knew it already; we had been waiting for him to come out—I went to that house in the evening and found in a small ante-room hanging behind the door, the frock coat with silk facings, which has been produced to Mr. Yallop.
Cross-examined. It did not strike me that the prisoner was a timid, nervous man; he appeared very blanched, but, of course, I did not know his natural colour—he appeared to me as if he had been expecting us there—he was unquestionably nervous—I have arrested thousands of men in my time, and if a man is expecting us, his nervousness has generally worn off by the time we arrest him—he was fairly cool and collected under the circumstances—his demeanour might be consistent with that of an innocent man—the description of the prisoner in the 'Police Gazette" of September 30th, 1904, is an accurate reproduction of the description given to me over the telephone on September 22nd: "A man aged forty-five to fifty; height, six feet; complexion, sallow; hair and moustache, dark; wearing a black frock coat with white vest and silk hat"—the prisoner, in my judgment, would be five feet eleven inches with his boots on—Inspector Puller measured him since he has been in custody, and he is five feet eight and a half inches without his boots and five feet nine and a half inches with them—I ascertained he had been living as tenant in the house at Chiswick for some years—when I went there for a frock coat I asked a lady whom I saw there if she had seen a white waistcoat, and I think she said she had never seen one in his possession in her life.
ROBERT FULLER (Detective-Inspector A.) I received information of this forgery on September 22nd, and the description of the prisoner in the "Police Gazette," which is a combination of about five descriptions, was given to me—I have, in conjunction with others, been prosecuting enquiries, and on January 6th I went with Inspector Kane to Chiswick for the purpose of arresting the prisoner—in reply to Inspector Kane, when arrested the prisoner said, "I understand, but I know nothing about it"—I was present when the three witnesses from the bank identified the prisoner on January 6th—after they had identified him, Inspector Jarman, who was in charge, said to him, "You see you have been identified by these three men"—he thon beckoned to me, and on my coming up, said, "You see that man has been identified by these three witnesses," and I said, "Yes"—I then said to the prisoner, "These three men are from the bank who have identified you"—he said, "Yes, I am satisfied with the identification"—I understood that to mean that he was satisfied with the fairness of the process—he was shown the cheque, and charged with forging and uttering it—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. He did not say, when arrested. "I deny the charge'—I was with Inspector Kane when he searched the prisoner's house—we
may have asked Mrs. Holmes for her husband's clothes—I think we asked her if there were a white waistcoat, and I think she said the had not seen one, and that her husband had never had one—when I searched the prisoner I found a very trifling sum of money on him, so much so that I lent him a shilling to send a telegram—I also found some pawn tickets, which he said belonged to another man whose name he gave me—I found a letter relating to them—I have reason to believe that the word "about" has been omitted from the description of the prisoner in the 'Police Gazette "; it should be, "Height, about six feet"—I took the original statement, and am responsible for that notice—the original statement in my pocket-book is: "A man forty-five to fifty; height, about six feet; complexion, sallow; moustache dark; appearance of an American; drained in black frock coat, silk hat"—one of the representatives of the bank said he looked something like an American—the word "about" is from the original note that I took of the first witness that saw me—Mr. Sisman was the first one I saw, and the others confirmed his description substantially—on the last occasion that I measured him he was five feet sine and an eighth inches in his boots; that was when the question of height had been raised in the prisoner's presence—the first time I measured the prisoner he was five feet eleven inches—any man can alter his height one or two inches if he likes—I found no objection to the way he stood up on the second occasion.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have nothing to say. I desire to call witnesses at my trial."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that in September he was in the employ of Dr. Bridgwater as a dispenser, dispensing medicines in a room, access to which could not be obtained without going through the consulting room; that on September 22nd, returning from lunch about 2 p.m., he remained on the premises, and assisted at an operation about 4 p.m., not leaving the premises, except for about five minutes, till 8.30 p.m.; that he did not go to the bank at Victoria Street at all; that he left Dr. Bridgwater's employ about September 26th or later, going to Lincoln, his native, place, for a rest; that he returned about October 8th and attended at the Brewers' Exhibition a week afterwards; that he had never seen or heard of Mr. Fox or Miss Toovey before; that he did not know Dr. Bridgwater was in possession of any French money; that he received from him £2 10s., his wages, when he left his employ; that the reason he remembered the operation was because of the abnormal hamorrhage which took place; that he had known a man named Shackell as an acquaintance for about seven years, and recommended him to Dr. Bridgwater as he was out of employment; that he knew Shackell had made a faux pas, but did not know that he was a convicted forger,
Evidence for the Defence.
TALBOT BRIDGWATER . I am a consulting specialist, of 69, Oxford Street, where I have been between seven and eight years—I had a lease there—I have been acquainted with the prisoner for about eight or nine years—he has been a dispenser for many years, and I employed him as such at intervals during that time—he came into my service in August,
I believe, of last year—he attended at 10 or 10.30 a.m.—I was not particular to half an hour, and he was allowed one hour for dinner—he gave me minor assistance at my operations—on September 22nd I had a chronic tonsilitis case—I have my book here (Produced), and I find recorded in it an operation on the tonsils, the name of my patient being Oswald—we do not call removing the tonsils a severe operation, it is a matter of a septic afterwards to arrest hemorrhage, and the prisoner prepared that for me on this occasion—there was very little hemorrhage; the solution of iron prevented that—my patient arrived at a few minutes to 4 and the operation took something like half an hour—the prisoner was in attendance at the time; he had been there from 3 p.m., which is his usual time to return from dinner—he must have been there from that time, as he was never out after that time—he works in the dispensary, the door of which opens into the consulting room—it was originally one room with the consulting room, but I had it partitioned off for convenience—it would certainly not be possible for anyone to leave the dispensary without anyone in the consulting room knowing about it—during the time the operation was taking place the prisoner was in and out of the dispensary—he prepared the septic and brought it in to me—he certainly did not go out immediately after the operation—he remained till he left in the evening about 9.30 or 9 p.m.—he left me, I think, the first week in October—I gave him £4 in cash—I am relying on my memory for that, as I have no record—I had no banking account—I understood that after that ho was at the Brewers' Exhibition exhibiting there at a stall—he informed me that he had done so for some years—I believe, besides helping me to dispense, he travelled in brewers' accessories—this is a leaflet I have published with reference to my practice in Australia and the Colonies—I have letters from many well-known persons with whom I am intimate.
Cross-examined. The reason the prisoner left me was because I thought I could get someone cheaper—I was paying him by way of results, sometimes as much as £2 and £3 a week—sometimes I paid him daily, and sometimes after a few days—£3 of the £4 I gave him when he left may have been in lieu of notice—it is impossible for me to remember—I am quite certain I paid him £4—I should imagine it was in gold—it would be quite untrue to say that I paid him only £1 10s.—£2 10s. may have been the sum in lieu of notice—it is absurd to expect me to remember the day on which I paid him—I am quite sure that was in October, as he was in my employ till then—it would certainly not shake my belief if the prisoner said that he was in Lincolnshire on September 26th—the operation followed the usual course; it occasionally happens that one cuts some small blood vessel, but it did not happen at this operation—I have got the patient's address also recorded—he is not here—I was present at the Police Court, but I was not called—I made a statement as to the evidence I was going to give to Mr. Overend—I saw a man named Simmonds, who is acting for the prisoner here—just before I came into Court he came out and said to me. "I am glad you are here; you will be called presently," and then he went upstairs to quite another part—my patient is still living
it London—I have certainly not tried to find him—I have nothing to do with instructing Mr. Simmonds for the defence; I am only here to prove the innocence of an innocent man—it is a pure coincidence that Mr. Simmonds has acted for me on other occasions—on June 12th, 1901, at the Bow Street Police Court, when I believe two men in my employ were fined for distributing indecent literature, Mr. Binham acted for me—as a medical specialist I advertise—it is a matter of comment whether there is anything indecent in the bills I distribute by way of advertisement, I have had so many little persecutions of this nature it would be impossible to remember them all—sometimes I have no representative in Court what-so ever—my men are sometimes taken up at 11 a.m., taken before the Magistrate, and in quarter or half an hour sometimes fined and sometimes dismissed—very probably a man named Foster was fined on November 18th, 1902—all the tines were paid by me—some of the men preferred to go to prison for seven days and have the fine from me when they came out—I would not allow a man to suffer in my employ—I know Dr. Eliza Foster Macdonach, M.D.—I saw her a few weeks back in Town—she has nothing to do with my business, and I do not know where she is now—she is one of the first qualified women in England—the might be the same woman as Dr. Foster Macdonach or Mrs. E. Foster—she qualified in England under the name of Eliza Foster Macdonach, but when she married in Switzerland she had to take her husband's name, Frickart—there is no Mrs. Bridgwater, and there is certainly not anyone passing under that name to my knowledge—I do not live with any woman—I cannot account for the prisoner saying that he knew Mrs. Bridgwater—it must be a pure hallucination on his part—I was in partnership with a lady once, some years back, but it does not follow that she is my wife—I first knew of this forgery when I saw the case in the newspaper some time last month—until that time my mind had not been called back it all to September 22nd—I have never heard of Edwin Marshall Fox except through this case, nor that he had an office at 28, Victoria Street—I have had the honour of knowing Miss Toovey three or four years as a patient—my relations with her were purely those of medical man and patient—beyond seeing her at my consulting rooms, and at the Court here I have not seen her anywhere—I have not the remotest idea what she is—" Mrs. Toovey "is the name she gave, and with her address it is entered in my book (Produced) in 1903—I believe that she changed her address from Battersea to Streatham Hill—I suppose she attended something like twenty times altogether—I cannot tell you the last time she attended—I have no record of it, as it was a private case—I have never been to her house—if Miss Toovey said, "I had a sweetheart who was a doctor, I say now that the doctor referred to is Dr. Talbot Bridgwater, of Oxford Street," it is purely imaginary on her part—as to her saying, "I have known him for two years, and always understood him to be a bachelor, that is from the time that I said she first consulted me—it is quite correct if she said, "I first made his acquaintance through consulting him professionally. I saw him several times professionally"—if she said "I believe we got fond of each other some time after we became
acquainted," that was a belief expressed by her—I cannot, account for it, except on hysterical grounds—as to her saying, "First I used see him professionally about once a week, but since then less than once a month." it was very much less than once a month—at first it was necessary for me to see her once and twice a week, but as she got better there was no cause for her to call so frequently—I do not think I have seen her at the last twice in twelve months—if she said, "Somewhere about twelve months ago Dr. Bridgwater mentioned to me that he had a passing thought that he would like to leave England and go back to Australia," it is true—probably I have said it to hundreds of people—as to her saving that I had been in England ten years, it is true that I have been in England eleven years—if she said, "In the course of conversation about this, there was a suggestion as to whether I would cure to go with him," It certainly is not true—" I asked in what capacity, and he replied that perhaps we could work together in a medical way"; it is ridiculous to ask me to remember a conversation twelve months ago, but to the best of my belief that certainly is not true—it is impossible for me to remember whether she said, "I should like to learn dispensing work"—I am aware that for the last twelve months she has been taking lessons, but she was certainly not doing so for the purpose of qualifying herself to act with me—I understood she was learning painting and dressmaking—lady patients will tell you of their troubles and their little affaire—it is very possible that eighteen months ago Mr. Marshall Fox saw me with her in Odone's Restaurant in Victoria Street—I remember I said that I had not seen her outside my consulting room—that is the one exception—I remember her calling upon me some time after September 22nd—I am quite sure she did not tell me anything of the forgery within a week of its occurrence—she may have mentioned it to me some time after—she told me she had a lodger, an American, who had gone away, and she was rather in doubt whether he had anything to do with the affair, and she said she would dearly like to have it found out—she said there had been some trouble "in the office," by which I thought she meant the typewriting office—she said there had been a robbery of a lot of money, £800, and the man who had robbed the bank was over six feet high, and spoke with an American accent—she said her lodger had gone a day or two after the robbery—I have told you all she said—she did not tell me anything of the description of her lodger—she said it was a cheque stolen from her employer's cheque book—I can almost swear that she did not tell me the name of the bank, nor did she tell me the name of her employer, or where his office was—it was no business of mine—I said, "I am very sorry to hear it. I hope you will soon have everything discovered and everything all right," and I expressed my sympathy with her—as to her saying, "Somewhere about a week after the forgery, on September 22nd, I went up to see Dr. Bridgwater, and I told him all about the forgery. He was greatly surprised, and sympathised with me," I did not express any surprise—now you have refreshed my memory I remember that it was on that occasion that I first heard of the forgery, and not from reading it in the newspaper, as I mud before—a man named Shackell entered my
employ in July or August of last year as an outside man—he came and liked for work, without any introduction or recommendation, as I never want any—this was ho fore the prisoner entered my employ—he may have told me that he had known Shackell seven or eight year, but he certainly did not introduce him to me—he was a superior bill man, looking after the other bill men—I had known him five to nine years—I knew he was a clerk with a man named Keen, a house and estate agent, in New Oxford Street, and he drew up the agreement for my premises in New Oxford Street about nine years ago—I knew nothing of him since then, and before he came into my employment I knew that he had made a faux pas, but I did not think that that should bar every channel of honest labour to him—I did not know that he had been convicted at this Court for forgery—it was reported in the newspapers that he was on ticket-of-leave—I had a man in my employ named Albert Boxall on September 22nd—he left some three or four months after he came to me—Shackell left my employ, I should say, some time in January—I paid him every night—I could dismiss him at any moment—he could only work when the rather was fine—I gave him a reference to get some furniture at the time, but only for a few pounds' worth—Mr. R. Simmonds, of 231a, Euston Road, furniture dealer, came to see me on October 16th, and asked me if I knew a man named Shackell—I believe he asked me whether he was a straightforward man, but I cannot tell you what transpired now—I simply told him that he was in my employ—very likely I told him that he was employed by the day,' and might be dismissed at any moment—I knew that he had been trying to go straight, and I gave him the best reference I could under the circumstances—I have never been to the Punch Tavern in Fleet Street in my life—I was certainly not in Cook's office in Ludgate Street in September, nor did I change any French money there on September 26th—I did not have any French money in that month—I have never given one of these Napoleon pieces (Produced) to the prisoner, to my knowledge, nor have I ever seen one in his possession—I have certainly not any bank thieves among my acquaintances, nor have I any reason to think that any of my patients have been such—I knew Billy Wigram some years ago at a patient—it is very probable that I have been seen in his company—I like to make my patients my friends—as a professional man I know all sorts and conditions of people—I have known James Duncan Robertson for some twenty-five years—I knew him on Australia, and I should be very proud to be seen in his company—his father was one of the wealthiest man in Australia—I do not know a man named Henry F. Cook, nor do I know him by the name of Burns—I see Robertson's and Billy Wigram's photographs are here ("Police Gazette "of August 14th, 1903, Produced), together with that of Burnt—it is very possible that these three men were convicted of stealing £1,500 from a stockbroker's clerk in a bank in Glasgow—it was all in the newspapers at the time and everybody knew of it—I knew there was another man implicated in the charge, besides Robertson and Wigram, but I did not know Burns—I will certainly swear that I did not help them with money for their defence—a man named Joseph
Haynes is at the present moment my dispenser—I believe that some money was subscribed for their defence by some racing men, and Haynes went to Glasgow with the money—I was not in the position, neither had I the inclination, to subscribe anything—if there were any forgers amongst my acquaintances they would not tell me so, I suppose—I have never heard of a man who went by the name of Dr. Ross, otherwise Captain Gill, otherwise Douglas Coleman, in my life, nor do I know a man named Kimpton—I am certainly not acquainted with any abortionists, and I do not know a man named Leone Tomaso—I knew a man named James Adie who was sent to prison for seven years for abortion—I knew him as a doctor—I did not know that the man with whom he was convicted was Tomaso—Adie certainly did not live near me when I lived at 1, Park Mansions, Vauxhall, in 1898—I think 1898 was the year of Adie's faux pas—I was in New Oxford Street—I had no residential premises in 1896 or 1897—I did not go from Vauxhall to where I am at present—it may have been that I left my address at Vauxhall at the time Adie made his faux pas, but I cannot tell you now—he lived in Blackfriars Road at that time.
Re-examined. Mr. Binham has nothing to do with the prisoner's defence—I have policemen amongst my patients—Shackell was in my employ five or six months and that was the only time I ever employed him.
MARY ELLEN TOOVEY (Re-examined). At the time that this forgery took place I had a lodger who was tall and came from America; I cannot say whether he was an American—he left the last week in September, about a week after the robbery—when he came he told me he was leaving at the end of September for America—he would not have the slightest opportunity of getting at my keys.
The Jury, being unable to agree, were discharged without giving a verdict, and the trial postponed until next Session.
OLD COURT.—Friday, February 10th, 1905.
Before Mt. Justice Darling.
MR. SHERWOOD Prosecuted; MR. FRAMPTON Defended.
(The evidence was interpreted where necessary.)
LORONZO MAURINO . I keep a restaurant at 21, Arthur Street—I know the prosecutor and the prisoner—about 10 p.m. on Monday. January 9th, the prisoner came in—about 11.30 the prosecutor came in—the prisoner was still there—they saw one another, but did not speak to each other—the prosecutor spoke to me, and at the same time went out—he was above five paces from the prisoner—I do not know if the prisoner heard what
he said—the prosecutor said nothing about him—he said, "Somebody has given me an address which is a wrong one," and he went out—about two minutes afterwards I went into the kitchen to get some coffee, but I did not stay more than two minutes—when I returned the prisoner had gone—I did not see either of the men again that night.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had been a customer of mine; now he only comes sometimes to take a cup of coffee in the morning—he worked for me about four years ago—I nave not seen him frequently since—a fortnight rarely elapsed without my seeing him—as far as I know, when he worked for me he was always a steady, quiet man—as far as I know, he has never had a disturbance with anybody apart from the prosecutor—he complained to me about the prosecutor about two months ago; he said the prosecutor had assaulted him—he had his face quite spoilt and damaged, and his eye was swollen—it was not done with a knife; it was a black eye—I cannot say that he told me that the prosecutor had robbed him of over £60; I did not pay much attention to what he said—when I went to get the coffee it was for a customer—I had no reason to notice how long I took at the time—I only served about two or three customers with coffee that night.
LEONARD BOYS . I am house physician at Middlesex Hospital—I know Walter Allen; he is at the hospital under my care—I saw him to-day; he it suffering from influenza and heart complication—it would not be right for him to come and give evidence here to-day.
WILLIAM FITT (Inspector E.) I am in charge of this case I was present on January 10th at Bow Street Police Court when the charge against the prisoner was before the Magistrate—Walter Allen then gave evidence—I was present—he was cross-examined by Mr. Wilson.
Cross-examined. I charged the prisoner—Allen came into the police station on that night.
The deposition of Walter Allen was then read: "I am an hotel porter out of employment. I live at 36, Hutton Street, Salisbury Square, City. Shortly after 11 p.m. on January 9th I was standing at the top of Hart Street, outside the Crown public-house. I was by myself. I saw a man running in the middle of the street towards New Oxford Street, and another man was running about four yards behind him; they were about fifty yards from me. I saw the man who was behind, namely, the prisoner, draw up to the first man and strike him with his hand. I do not know if he had anything in his hand. When the prisoner got up to the first man the latter turned round, and it was then the prisoner struck him about the face or cheat. The man gave two or three screams, and fell down backwards. The prisoner then walked away. The man who had fallen, then got up and followed the prisoner. I saw the prisoner afterwards retrace his steps towards the other man and go up to him and speak to him, and then turn away and walk away again. They went up to the corner of Hart Street in the High Street, the injured man calling out. I saw a policeman come from the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue and take hold of the prisoner, and said, "Come along with me." I followed as far as Endell Street, and then went away. I went back to the place where the constable arrested the
man, and I then noticed blood on the pavement. I did not know either of them. They both appeared to be sober. When he was struck I was about thirty yards away, and it was about thirty yards away where the constable arrested the prisoner. Cross-examined. I had not seen the men before I saw them on that night."
CYRIL PRICE . I am a solicitor's clerk, and live at 12, Belgrave Street, King's Cross—late on January 9th I was near Arthur Street, the High Street end, just by St. Giles' Church—I heard a shout and looked up Arthur Street in the direction of Oxford Street—I saw the prosecutor fall between fifty or sixty yards from me—I stayed where I was—I kept my eyes on the man who fell—he picked himself up and commenced to walk down the street towards me—I saw the prisoner there; he came first—I waited at the end of the street until they came up to me—the prisoner seemed to be walking at an ordinary pace; the prosecutor was following him—when the prisoner passed me he seemed somewhat dejected, so I waited till the prosecutor came; he also seemed dejected, and screamed out that he had been stabbed—he pulled his clothes open all in a bunch, and I saw blood—a constable ran across from St. Giles' Church—I took the prosecutor to Bow Street; the policeman took the prisoner—I took the prosecutor to Long Acre without assistance, when he became faint and I had a job to get him to Bow Street—I did not hear anything said by the men before the prosecutor came to me—I did not see any blow struck.
Cross-examined. I have seen Maurino's restaurant in Arthur Street—I was about two doors away from it when my attention was first directed—I cannot say who it was who shouted—the men appeared to me to be fighting from the moment I saw them both until the prisoner was arrested—the prisoner was out of my sight for two or three seconds while he was coming round the corner towards me—he made no attempt to run away.
GIOVANNI REBUFFO . Lately I was a wine merchant—I live at 38, Cassidy Road, Fulham—I have been in England for twenty one month—I knew the prisoner almost at once after I came—I was on tolerably friendly terms with him—we were not particularly interested in each other—I had some trouble with him about two months before January 9th—we had a fight; we saw each other once after that—on January 9th I went to Maurino's restaurant at 21, Arthur Street—I saw the prisoner there—I spoke to the owner of the shop, not to the prisoner—I left the prisoner in the shop when I went away to go to New Oxford Street—that was 11.15 or 11.30 p.m.—about a minute afterwards I saw the prisoner in Arthur Street—he beckoned to me and said he wished to speak to me—I turned round to speak to him and he seized me by the collar—I fell to the ground and remained there for about a minute without knowing what I was doing—when I got up I asked him why he was doing this to me as I had not harmed him in any way—he said nothing, and went away—I unbuttoned my coat because I felt I was bathed in blood—I had had one blow in my chest before I fell—I then went towards the church—I was taken to the police station—I saw something, but I do not know what I was struck with—I did not strike the prisoner at all that night.
Cross-examined. I do different kinds of commission business, in furniture
mostly—latterly I have also undertaken dealing in wine—I do not keep an account of my transactions—I have acted as agent for Orlindini at 5, Richmond Buildings, nine months ago—I defend myself with my fists, not with arms, when people assault me—I may want money sometimes, but I do not want the prisoner's—I do not rob people—I was sentenced to twelve and a half years' solitary imprisonment in Italy for robbery with violence—I served the whole of the sentence—I got three years' imprisonment in Paris for gambling; the Court looked upon it as swindling—I have only been in prison twice—I did not know the prisoner in Italy—we do not come from the same village; my province is Cuneol, close to France—I may have been in this country one month or two before I found the prisoner—I did not rob him of £50—I did not assault him when he asked for it back—two months before January 9th I did not assault him; he assaulted me—I struck him with my fist—I do not know where—I did not see him again—the police came and separated us, and I went away—he wanted me to give back to him £51 which I did not have—when I went into the restaurant on the 9th I saw him sitting there—I left first—I did not wait outside; when he called me I was going away, about fifteen paces off—I did not go up to him and ask for money—he did not refuse it—I did not then strike him or attempt to stab him—I had a knife with me; I showed it to the police—I was not searched at the police station—they asked me what I had—the prisoner did not close with me.
Re-examined. I have never been prosecuted for any offence in England—when the police separated us before, I was not summoned before the Magistrate—I only felt one blow on January 9th—I had this knife upon me on that evening (Produced)—it was closed—I did not use it at all that night—I had it when I went to the police station.
BARTLETT WHITEHOUSE (357 C.) On Monday, January 9th, about 10.55 p.m., I was on duty in High Street, Bloomsbury, close to the end of Arthur Street—I saw a number of people coming from Arthur Street into High Street—I went up to them—I saw the prosecutor with his coat and waistcoat open—I noticed a large patch of blood just above his left arm—I did not see the prisoner till I arrested him some distance away—I took him back and said to the prosecutor, "Is this the man who stabbed you?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Will you charge him?"—he said, "Yes, I will go to the police station"—the prisoner heard that—I spoke in English and the prosecutor answered in English—the prisoner said nothing—I was not present when the prisoner was charged—I took him to the station and the prosecutor followed—he was seen by the divisional surgeon at once—later on the prisoner made a statement to me in the cell passage; he said the prosecutor had stabbed him fifteen years before with a poinard on the eyebrow, and he showed me a healed wound over his eyebrow—he also said they were natives of the same province in Italy—the inspector searched him—there seemed to be nothing the matter with him, he seemed to be very sullen—there were no signs of his having been struck.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was about forty yards away—the prosecutor
pointed in the direction he had gone in—I searched to see if I could find any instrument—I did not find anything.
GEORGE ALBERT HAMMERTON , M.R.C.S. I live at 57, Russell square, and am divisional surgeon at How Street—on January 9th, about 11.30 p.m., I was called to see the prosecutor—he was sitting in the surgeon's room looking very pale—his coat was partly open, showing that his shirt was covered with blood—I proceeded to move his shirt, and I saw a vertical wound on his left breast about two inches long—it was deep—I introduced my finger and found it went as low as the ribs—it was deeper in this direction under the skin, as though the blow had been struck from above downwards—it was not bleeding much—his clothes were cut over the situation of the wound—there were corresponding marks—the wound would be caused by some sharp cutting instrument—the cuts in the clothes were perfectly clean—I did not see a knife at all—it would have to be a very sharp knife with a long narrow blade—I should say, roughly, it must have been five inches or six inches long—I got the whole length of my little finger into the wound—I have seen this cork (Produced); there is a slit in it as though something had been struck into it—sharp pointed knives are often carried in that way—it seems to have been stuck in twice—the cut is of a V shape—it gives one an idea of the width of the blade—I can make no comparison with the slits in the cork and the wound in the prosecutor—I did what I had to do as rapidly as possible, and then sent him to King's College Hospital—he needed immediate attention—he was in danger at that time—no intimation had been given to me that any other wound had been given—it would have been wrong for me to strip him in that condition—I saw him again at the Police Court, I think, on the 17th—he has got well very rapidly.
Cross-examined. This is an ordinary wine cork, I should say—I cannot say if the knife which has been inserted in it was the knife which caused the wounds.
Re-examined. It would be quite impossible to compare the wound and the slit in the cork in regard to width.
By the COURT. I could feel the ribs, but there was no impression on the bone as though the knife had struck it—it was a dangerous wound—if it had gone in straight, it would have pierced the upper part of the heart and the lung.
RICHARD GOMERTZ . I am house surgeon at King's College Hospital—I remember the prosecutor being brought to the hospital on Tuesday, January 10th—I attended him—I found a second wound at the back of his chest on the left side—it was in an oblique direction and appeared to go in about two inches, or a little more, perhaps—it was just oozing, but nothing much—it was not serious, but it might have been—I attended to it—it healed rapidly—he left the hospital the following day—I Agree with Dr. Hammerton about the size of the instrument which must have caused the wound in front—I think a similar instrument caused the other wound.
Cross-examined. I do not think the wounds could have been caused in a struggle; they might accidentally—it is possible that the one in front could have been caused if the wounded man had the knife and the
other one directed his hand—neither of the wounds were dangerous in themselves—they both yielded to treatment at once—the prosecutor is now quite recovered.
Re-examined. The wound at the back could not have been dealt if the knife was in the wounded man's hand.
WILLIAM FITT (Re-examined). I was at Bow Street when the prisoner was brought in on this night—I charged him—the prosecutor was not present then—he was brought in by Price—the prisoner said, "Him; he struck me one or two or three times. He gave me a black eye and has robbed me for two months"—I was taking his description and he showed me a mark on his left eyebrow, which he said the prosecutor had done—it was not recent—he said, "About a week ago he asked me to come out in the street and fight; my landlord can prove that. He has had fifteen years for killing a man in Italy"—before I sent the prosecutor to the hospital I took the prisoner into the room where he was, and asked if that was the man who inflicted the wound—he said, "Yes, that is him"—the prisoner said nothing.
Cross-examined. I found a mark of a recent blow on the prisoner's cheek, which was puffed—the prosecutor was not searched—he said he had a small knife on him, which he produced—it was perfectly clean.
Re-examined. I found this cork in the prisoner's right hand trousers pocket.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that the prosecutor had given him blows and robbed him of £51; that on January 9th he asked the prosecutor to give him his money; that the prosecutor put his hand into his pocket, took out a knife, and came towards him; that he (the prisoner) jumped upon him got hold of his hand round his wrist and drew it backwards; that he did not know the prosecutor was wounded; that he had no knife in his possession" that night; and that he had not gone up to the prosecutor and stabbed him
GUILTY of unlawful wounding. Six months' hard labour.
THIRD COURT.—Friday, February 10th, 1905.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
(For the case of William David Jones, tried this day, see Surrey Cases.)
OLD COURT.—Saturday, February 11th, 1905.
Before Mr. Justice Darling.
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted; MR. WATT Defended.
ARTHUR WILSON . I live at 8, Cambridge Road, Hanwell—I have some stables at Southfield Cottages, Oakland Road, for fourteen horses—there are some other stables there also—the prisoner was employed by me until July, 1904. when I prosecuted him for assaulting me—he was convicted and fined—he never came back to my service—I saw him about the stables on two or three occasions after that—on one occasion it was in the very early morning, when it was dark—in August a fire took place at ray stables—I counted it in three or four places—it was put out, without much damage, by the Fire Brigade and the police—that was in the early morning—on December 9th it was found that three of my horses were tied together in such a way that if one of them had fallen, the others would have been strangled—the rope was so tight that a man could not get a finger in someone had broken into the stable, but the door still remained locked—on the early morning of January 9th I was called to my stables—they had been on fire, but had been put out—one horse lay dead—the amount of the damage to myself was over £1000—the staples of the door had been pulled away—it is generally fastened with a padlock attached to the upper part of the door—when the staples are removed the upper part can be opened and a man could lean over and unbolt the lower part—that is apparently what had been done—I examined the fowl house in the yard—some of the fowls were dead—on that night the stable yard was not dry.
Cross-examined. My loss was covered by insurance, but it is not paid yet—the insurance company does not deny the liability in regard to the amount of the actual loss—I have been in business nearly three years; sometimes I employ twenty men, sometimes forty—I have frequent changes—where you have a number of men there is bound to be some point raised—I do not think I have seen the prisoner in Hanwell except near my stables—he spoke to me on one occasion, not knowing who I was; he shouted out, u Is that you, Bill?"—that is a horse keeper—I said, "What do you want?"—he said, "I want a job"—I said, "We do not want anybody, thank you"—nothing more was said—I have never spoken to him since—on all the occasions I met him it was in the morning, and he turned his head away—on each occasion he was close to the stables in Oakland Road—I do not know where he was working—when I saw him he was not walking along as if he was going to work—it was 6.15 or 6.30 a.m. in December—I did not know he was working at the gravel pit in the vicinity—on January 9th my stable yard was muddy—it has been very muddy since November—January 9th was a very dry day; there had been no rain for three or four days—the yard was wet owing to its being made of ashes or clinkers, which were ground up by the traffic, and there were no drains in the yard—it comes over your shoe-tops as a rule—the road outside is of different metal and would not be in the same condition—I know the canal—there is a considerable amount of traffic there—the towing path would not be in the same condition as my yard if there had been rain recently, because it is different material—a man walking along the towing-path on January 9th would not get his boots muddy—my yard is drier now than it has been during the winter.
EDWARD PHILIPS (263 A.) At 1.10 on January 9th I was on duty in Boston Road, Hanwell, near the Victoria public-house, in the shadow of a gateway—I saw the prisoner coming along Boston Road towards me from the other side of Rosebank Road—he was very excited, out of breath, brushing his clothes down, and rubbing his boots, which were very muddy, one on top of the other—a man named Jolly was also in Boston Road—the prisoner spoke to him—I joined them, and told the prisoner it was time he was home—he said, "I have just come across the fields. I must be off to the top of Ealing"—I said, "What, do you live up there now?"—he said. "Oh, they are always after me"—I said, "They won't be after you at long as you don't get up to none your tricks"—he said, "Good-night," and I went away towards Orange Road—he did not go away—about three minutes afterwards I saw flames and smoke coming from the stables—I went there—I was the first person there—I found that the staples of the stable door had already been removed and the upper part of the door was open—I blew my whistle—somebody else gave the alarm, and the firemen came—when I got there the fire was in the middle stable, in the part separating the stall where the dead horse was from the loose box—I saw another fire which had burnt itself out in the right-hand stall in the corner—there were three fires altogether—we saved the rest of the horses, and the fire was put out—later that morning I went with Sergeant Hedley to the prisoner's lodgings at 17, Glenfield Terrace—the prisoner let in—he was dressed—Hedley arrested him—he said, "I do not know anything about the fire at Wilson's stables."—that night was very dry—the stable yard was very wet and muddy.
Cross-examined. I had seen the prisoner that morning before I came to Rosebank Road—I am quite sure he had not come up Rosebank Road—when I first saw him Jolly was standing between us—when the prisoner was rubbing himself down he was standing still with Jolly—my talking to him did not cause his agitation—I cannot say if his clothes were muddy, he had his back turned to me a good deal while I was talking to him—when I noticed him it was really a passing salute, I knew him and stopped—Jolly had passed me and was going in my direction, but quicker—when I saw the fire there was smoke and flames—that would not be seen from a considerable distance—anyone at the other side of the cemetery would not see it—the cemetery wall would obscure the whole of the sky—the wall in about 10 feet high—the stables are in a hollow—I do not know if the wall would prevent anyone from seeing the sky if it was well hit up—by the time I got to the stables they were well alight—I gave the alarm by blowing my whistle, and some one pulled the alarm and the engine came along—the alarm would ring a bell at the fire-station and would be only heard there—I did not make any remark to prisoner about his boots or clothes—we had not had any rain for two or three days—I cannot say if the fields were in a soft condition—there is not a good deal of clay about—it is a gravel soil—I do not know if they are wet fields; I have never been over them—I did not hear any bells ringing.
saw the prisoner—I knew him before—I cannot tell which way he came from—I think he had been running, as he was exhausted—he was brushing his clothes—I noticed that his boots were wet—we had some conversation—Philips came down to us—the prisoner said he had been to the Hare and Hounds—I believe he said that he came back by the canal and across the fields—when Philips left us I remained speaking to the prisoner a minute or two longer—he then left me and went along Boston Road—immediately before I saw him I had been looking towards the Victoria, so he came up behind me.
Cross-examined. I had been to my sister's shop, nearly opposite to the Victoria—when I came out I stood opposite Rosebank Road—I was not walking in the same direction as Philips—I did not pass him—I saw him walking towards me—I noticed the prisoner's boots were muddy, as if he had been in some wet—I do not suppose he could get any mud or wet by the canal that night—he might get some dew on the grass, which might account for his boots being wet—there is always some dung on the tow path in certain places—horses go up and down all day and at night, but not so much on Sundays—after the prisoner left me I stood still for about a minute—I saw the fire—I was standing in the same position when I heard a whistle blown—I ran down and then saw a reflection in the sky over the tops of the houses—I saw it from the side of the Red Lion—I was asked by someone who was trying to get the horses out to go and direct the engine and I did so.
ALBERT CLARK . I am an officer in the Hanwell Fire Brigade—my father's stables are next to Mr. Wilson's—on January 8th, at 7.40 p.m. I was at those stables—I looked round to see if everything was all right—Mr. Wilson's stables were properly locked with a padlock on the door—there were then no signs of fire—I received a call about 1.20 a.m.—it is partly a volunteer brigade—during the day we fire a maroon to call the members of the brigade, and during the night and evening we use electric bells—we do not use a maroon at night—no maroon was used on this night.
HENRY HARWOOD . I lodge at 17, Glenfield Terrace, West Ealing and am a carman in Mr. Wilson's service—the prisoner lodged in the same house—I was at home asleep when he came home on Sunday, January 8th—I do not know what time it was—he said, "There is a fire it old Wilson's stables down in Oakland Road," and added that he expected the police after him for it—I did not have any more conversation with him—I went to bed then.
THOMAS CRUMP . I am a carman employed by Mr. Wilson—I knew the prisoner when he worked for him—I remember seeing the prisoner at the "Black Horse," West Ealing, on December 5th, in the evening—he had had several drinks—he said, "You have got a bit of a job for Mr. Wilson"—I said, "No, I have not"—he said, "I am going down to Han-well"—I said, "I have nothing against Mr. Wilson; he has been a good friend to me and helped me when I was in trouble"—he said be would do Mr. Wilson in.
Cross-examined. I said I was going to see Mr. Wilson next day to see if he could give me another stall—the prisoner wanted to go to the
stables—he did not say he was going to speak to Mr. Wilson—I told him I would have nothing to do with him—I did not supply the money for the drinks—he had pawned his clothes and bought the drinks.
ELLEN BYFIELD . I am married, and live at 25, Oakland Road, Han-well—I was there on Sunday, January 8th—I stood at my door from 11 till 11.15 p.m.—I saw the prisoner pass—he went a little way, came back again, and stood at the corner of Southfield Cottages, close to the stable—that is the last I saw of him—I knew him before, as he passed my house going to and from his work at Mr. Wilson's—I left him standing there.
Cross-examined. I knew him for about twelve months, but only by sight—I never spoke to him—he passed quite close to me—my attention was called to him because I go out to confinements, and I was expecting I case on—I went to the door because I thought it was the man for me—that is the reason I was up at that time—there was no one else going by.
JOHN HENDLEY (Detective X.) After the fire I went with Philips to 17, Glenfield Terrace, about 2.20 a.m.—I knocked at the door; the prisoner opened it—he had his coat and shoes off, otherwise he was fully dressed—I said, "I am a police officer and shall arrest you on suspicion of causing a fire at Wilson's stables in Oakland Road"—he said, I do not know anything about a fire at Wilson's stables"—he put his shoes on in the kitchen—I took him to the station—when we got there I examined his shoes; they were very wet and had a lot of black mud on them and dung and hair—it is there now (Produced)—it is much lighter now; it was wet then—the mud in the stable yard is black—the soil on the tow path is yellow coloured gravel—the mud on the shoes was not like it—the prisoner was charged at the station—he said, "You will have to prove it"—the same night he made a statement which I took down in writing—he signed it—I cautioned him—he volunteered to make it—(Read). I am a labourer and am thirty-four years of age. I reside at 17, Glenfield Terrace, West Ealing. I left my home about 6 p.m. on January 8th, 1905. I went to the Victoria public-house and remained there about one hour. I then went to the Hare and Hounds public-house, Norwood, and remained there about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. I walked in Zion Lane and when I returned and walked past, the public house was closed. I was walking about one hour. I then came to Hanwell across the locks, along St. Margaret's Road and up Rosebank Road, where I met Harry Jolly. I spoke to him; he was standing in the centre of the road when I came up. He could see me coming up Rosebank Road. A policeman then came and spoke to me. I cannot say what time it was. I then went home"—next day, when I took him to the Police Court he said, "I made a mistake in the statement I signed last night. I had some drinks and cannot remember what I did"—the public-houses close at 10 o'clock on Sundays—the prisoner smelt of drink a little.
Cross-examined. You would not get black mud from the fields; it would be yellow like this in the instep—he got this on his way home, after he was seen by the witnesses—there in some hair on these shoes—they are a little drier now than when I got them.
The prisoner put in a written statement:- "This is my true statement of Charles W. Colebrook, now in custody, and charged with arson, which I am innocent of, this day of our Lord, January 17th, 1905. Your Worships, I left home as usual on Sunday night at 6 o'clock, January 8th, 1905, and proceeds to the main road, along of a man, a fellow-lodger, Mr. Rouse, and went into the Green Man Hotel, and we had a drink together. Then we came out together, and he went to Acton and I bid him good-night and went to Hanwell to go to my young woman's house, as I had been accustomed to do for the past eighteen months or one year and six months, which, your Worships, I failed to do this night. I went into the Victoria public-house, and there I stopped drinking with one man and then another, and of course I got the worse for drink, which I had kept away from since I was summoned for an assault on Mr. Wilson last summer. Your Worships, while I was in the Victoria public-house, one man that lives next door to my young woman said to me, 'Now, Charlie, why don't you go down below?' I said, 'No, I shall not go down now, it is too late,' and then I stopped till turning-out time, which was 10 o'clock, your Worships, And then, instead of going home to my lodgings in 17, Glenfield Terrace, Westfield Road, Ealing, I went down towards St. Margaret's Road down St. Dunstan's Road, where my young woman lives at the bottom, and instead of going there then I proceeded towards the Fox public-house, which is at the bottom of Green Lane, and then I wandered up the tow-path to the locks, which takes you across the fields to the Hare and Hounds beer-house. I went across the fields and out into the road. Then I went up the road towards Mr. Macklin's gravel-pit, which we called Norwood, where I worked several times, and then I must have fell asleep against the gate of the pit, where the carts go in and come out. When I came to myself a little and woke up cold I stood there for a little while and wondered what I was doing there that time of night, then I walked on past the Hare and Hounds, and there was no light. After going some distance up Zion Lane, I turned back to go home again. When I turned back 1 heard it strike 12 o'clock by Spring Grove Church. then I pulled myself together and came out and came on across the fields again, and over the locks and along the tow-path, where I got my shoes covered in mud and horse dung, then 1 came along St. Margaret's Road again by the girl's house, but I did not stop. I went on and up Rosebank Road, by Mr. H. Jolly's house, and then to the top of the road, where I saw the said Mr. H. Jolly, and he said to me, 'Hullo, Charlie, where have you come from?' I said, 'Across the fields by the Hare and Hounds.' He said, then, 'I am up a bit late because the mother is not very well,' or words to that effect. While we were talking together a policeman came from the direction of the Victoria public-house, and both me and Mr. Jolly spoke to him, and then the constable said to me, 'Ain't you going home, Charlie?' I said to him, 'There you are again; you want to know my business again.' He said to me, 'We do not so long as you do not get up to no tricks.' With that he went away and left me and Mr. Jolly together. I then said to H. Jolly, 'Good-night,' and went straight home. When I was going up the Cambridge Rood I heard the fire-call, and when
I got to the symmetry gated I could see the flames, but they did not last long, and I heard voices call out distinctly on the wind, 'Wilson's stables is on fire. 'From there I went home. My fellow-lodger was in the kitchen. I said to him, 'Wilson's stables is on fire.' He said, 'Is they?' and went to bed and said 'Good-night.' Soon after, Detective Hedley and a constable came to my lodge and said, 'We are going to lock you up for the fire at Mr. Wilson's stables.' I said, 'I know nothing whatever about them.' I went to the station."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, repeated this statement and said that he had not caused the fire; that he knew of it by hearing the bells going in Mr. Williams' house, who is the captain of the brigade, that when he got home he said to Harwood that there was a fire at Wilson's stables; that he expected the police would come after him for it; that he was not drinking with Crump on December 5th; that he had not told Crump that he was going to "do Wilson in ", that he had never seen Mrs. Byfield; that he was not in Oakland Road that night; that at 11 p.m. he was in the fields leaning against a gate asleep; that he had made a statement to the police, best was not well at the time he made it, and did not know what he was saying; that was always expecting something to happen at Wilson's, and that he would be taken for it, but that he did not leave the neighbourhood as he would not run away, and his work was there.
ELLEN BYFIELD (Re-examined by the prisoner). I believe you worked for Mr. Wilson from March to June—I saw you in the mornings and nights—I have no animosity against you—there is a lamp outside my house, the road is quite near my door; it is not eight feet away.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Gravesend on July 25th, 1902, as Walter James. Two other convictions were proved against him. The police stated that other fires had occurred, but they were unable to get evidence against the prisoner, and that he was one of the meet dangerous men in the neighbourhood. Ten years' penal servitude.
NEW COURT.—Saturday, February 11th, 1905.
Before Lumley Smith, Esq., K.C.
205. GEORGE THOMAS VERNEY PLEADED GUILTY to wilful and corrupt perjury in three affidavits which he had sworn as Liquidator of the Copiapo Gas Company, Limited. He received a good character. Three months' imprisonment in the Second Division.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Old Court, February 6th and 7th, 1905.
206. JOHN THOMAS HARRIS HAYLER (21) PLEADED GUILTY to forging and uttering two authorities for the payment of £1 17s. 6d. and £3 15s. 6d. with intent to defraud; also to obtaining by false pretences from the Stratford Co-operative and Industrial Society, Limited, £1 10s. and £1 10s. with intent to defraud. He received a good character. Judgment respited. —
(207.) ROBERT MARBEY (33) to assaulting Herbert Balls, a police-constable, in the execution of his duty; also to wounding him, and occasioning him actual bodily harm; also to feloniously causing him grievous bodily harm with intent to disable him or to do him grievous bodily harm. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve months' hard Labour. —And
Before Mr. Common Serjeant,
New Court, February 7th, 1905.
Third Court, February 9th, 1905.
RICHARD PATERSON . I am a baker, of 11, Geer Road, West Ham—on Sunday, January 22nd. about 0.30, I was in the Victoria Tavern, Canning Town—while there I changed a sovereign and got in change a half sovereign and some silver—I put the silver in my left-hand trousers pocket and the half sovereign in my right hand waistcoat pocket—I was with a friend named Calderwood—we left about 7.30—I parted from Calderwood—I do not know where 1 then went to—I do not remember being at the Prince Arthur beerhouse—I remember getting a blow on the left ear—after that I remember being at the police station—I had the half sovereign in my pocket but my left hand trousers pocket was cut and the silver gone, together with a knife and tobacco.
Cross-examined by White. I had 25s. when I left—I did not see you in my company, nor did I recognise you at the station.
Cross-examined by Tidy. I do not remember seeing you in my company at the Victoria Tavern—I do not recognise you at all—I could not identify anyone at the station.
GEORGE NEVILLE . I live with my parents at 45, Emsworth Street, Canning Town—on Sunday, January 22nd, at 8.30, I was outside the back way to the Prince Arthur, in Burnham Street—there was a cart at the entrance blocking the way—I saw four men run round it—one of the men hit the prosecutor in the eye, and another one put his hand over his mouth—that was White—I was close to the men—Tidy put his hand down the prosecutor's trousers pocket, who then called out—the four men ran away—I ran after them—one jumped over a fence on to the
railway line—White went into the Prince Arthur—I then went back to the prosecutor—he was going to the police station—I went there and made a statement to the police—I picked out both the prisoners from a number of men.
Cross-examined by White. You went into the Prince Arthur—I do lot know if you ran into the Robert Peel—you put your right hand over the prosecutor's mouth.
Cross-examined by Tidy. I did not say before the Magistrate that you got over the railway—two of the four men did—I cannot say which.
By the COURT. I knew both prisoners before, by sight.
PHOEBE HORNER . I live at 20, Rosco Street, Canning Town—on Sunday night, January 22nd, about 8.30, I was outside the Robert Peel, waiting for my brother to come out—I was carrying a baby—three men came rushing round the corner—White was amongst them—he pushed up against me and ran into the Robert Peel—he went through the side door and sat in the corner—a policeman came up two minutes afterwards and took me into the public-house—I pointed out White—the policeman took him to the station—they put thirteen men round him—I picked him out—another one of the three who rushed by me jumped over the railway line and the other ran up the street—he did not go into the Robert Peel.
Cross-examined by White. I saw you run into the Robert Peel and at down—you did not walk in—I did not see Tidy at all.
By the COURT. I had seen White before but had never spoken to him—I did not then know his name.
DINAH SOPHIA GILLETT . I am the licensee of the Robert Peel, 69, Victoria Dock Rood—on Sunday evening, January 22nd, I went into the bar about 7.30—a man rushed in, looking in the bar as if for somebody—he sat down—a minute or two afterwards he came up to the bar and called for a glass of ale—just afterwards a policeman came in and went up to him—he asked the man how long he had been there and he replied, "Ten minutes"—the policeman said to me, "Landlady, has this man been in the bar ten minutes?"—I said "No, about two minutes"—he than called Horner in—the policeman stood in front of him and asked the girl if the could describe him—she described him—he then stood asked and said, "Is this the man?"—she said, "Yes"—it was the man who ran in—he was like the prisoner White.
EGERTON PRATT (87 K.R.) About 8.30 on January 22nd I was on duty in Canning Town—I saw a number of persons running—I joined in the chase—on turning the corner I saw Horner—she made a statement to me—I went into the Robert Peel and saw White sitting in the corner of the bar—I asked him how long he had been there—he said, "About ten or fifteen minutes"—I asked the landlady and she said about two minutes—Horner came in—I stood in front of White and asked her if she could describe the men or one of them that she saw running just now—she said, "Yes, he is a young looking man, dressed in dark clothes with
a dark cap"—I then stepped aside—she said at once. "Yes, that is one of the men"—I said to White, "You have heard what this little girl has said; upon that I shall take you into custody, on suspicion of being concerned with two other men not in custody, in assaulting and robbing a man at present unknown in Burnham Street a few minutes previously"—he said, "I know nothing about it—I then took him to the station.
ALBERT ORMOND (Inspector K.) I was in charge of the Canning Town police station on January 22nd, about 8.30, when Pratt brought in White—I said to him," You will be detained here on suspicion of being concerned in a case of highway robbery while the police are endeavouring to find the prosecutor"—I made him turn out his pockets—I placed his money on the table—I at once covered it and said to him, "How much money is there?"—he said "7s."—I said, "Are you sure?"—he said "Yes—I said, "Name the coins"—he said, "Two half-crowns and a florin"—I said, "You are wrong "and showed him two florins and a half-crown—he said, "Well, I knew there was something like that"—the prosecutor was later on brought in on a charge of being drunk and incapable—he was suffering from a contused wound over his left eye; it was the effects of a recent blow—there was a swelling and fresh blood—he said he had been knocked down—White was present in the room—this was in the charge room—I had to rely on the evidence of the boy and girl; the prosecutor could not assist me at all—White was placed with twelve other men and identified by Neville without any hesitation—the prosecutor was charged with being drunk and incapable and fined 12s. 6d.—I examined his clothes and found his left hand trousers pocket cut—White was perfectly sober.
WILLIAM BARNES (285 K.) On January 29th, at 2.30, I was on duty in Victoria Dock Road—I saw Tidy there—I said to him, "I shall arrest you on suspicion of being concerned with Charles White in robbing a man in Burnham Street last Sunday"—he said, "All right, I'll come round"—on the way to the station he said, "I have not been with White since he hit me on the head with a piece of iron, and I have not been in Burnham Street since I came home from sea"—he was placed among eight other men—Neville picked him out without having any doubt—the prisoner said "Won't he be charged with me?"—he pointed to some other man who had seen the thieves running away, and who was called in by the police see if he could identify him—he was unable to.
Cross-examined by Tidy. I know you had come home from sea about a fortnight previously.
WILLIAM CALDERWOOD . I live at 463, East India Dock Road, Canning Town, and am a ship's cook—on Sunday evening, January 22nd, I was by the London Docks, having come off my ship with Paterson about 5—I went with him to the Victoria Tavern about 6.15—Paterson there changed a sovereign—he paid 10d. for drink—we stayed there till 7.30—I left him outside the door.
SIDNEY BROWNE . I am assistant divisional surgeon at Canning Town police station—on Sunday evening, January 22nd, I was called to the station and saw Paterson—he was drunk and had a contusion on his left eye.
The prisoners" statements before the Magistrate.: WHITE said, "I don't want to make any statement." TIDY said, "I wish to call some witnesses."
White's Defence. "I have had nothing to do with Tidy for five months; the first time I spoke to him was at West Ham Police Court, where he got committed for trial."
Tidy's Defence: "As this man said I have had no conversation with him for this last six months. I came home and he hit me on the head with a piece of iron and I have had no conversation since then. The first time after the Sunday was when I see him last Monday when I went to Brixton Prison."
WHITE GUILTY . TIDY NOT GUILTY . White then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at West Ham Quarter Sessions on June 12th, 1903. Two other convictions were proved against him. The police gave him a bad character. Four years' penal servitude.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq, K.C.
Third Court, February 7th, 1905.
ALEXANDER MCKENZIE DAVIDSON . I am captain of the as Hermonides, Victoria Dock—on Sunday, January 8th, about 12.40 a.m., I was at the Victoria Dock Gates—while there a young fellow came up and spoke to me—the prisoner then came up and asked me if I could direct him to some place—I do not know the name of it—I told him to go straight on—he went a few steps and came back—he asked me what time it was—I said it was about 12.40 when I passed the station—I walked down the road about 200 or 300 yards when I felt the prisoner jump on my back—he got his knee in my back and tried to get me down while the other one, who had been talking to me, put his hands in my pocket—he took about 14s. of mine, a bunch of keys, and a knife—there was no one else there then—I got away—after the prisoner let me go I saw his face—both men ran away—I informed the police at the Victoria Docks about two minutes afterwards—the next day I went to the police office at the Victoria Docks and saw a row of twelve or thirteen men—I picked out the prisoner from amongst them—I have no doubt he was the man who attacked me.
Cross-examined. Nothing would shake me on that—I had been seeing some friends previously to the assault—I was then proceeding to rejoin my ship—it may be usual for captains to "freshen "up a bit on the eve of embarking, but I am not aware of it—I did not on this occasion, and never do—I am not a teetotaler—I left my friends' house about eleven o'clock I had not been drinking that night—I did not have one drink that evening, because I did not care for it—the prisoner when he came up
was apparently drunk, us he was taking the whole pavement as he walked along—he seized me from behind—I was struggling with him for about a minute—I did not pursue the men, because I was partly unconscious—my throat was very much swollen—the man who rifled my pockets is not here.
Re-examined. The dock gates were closed, and I was waiting to get in.
HARRY MATTHEWS (Constable, Victoria Docks). On Sunday, January 8th, I received information about the robbery—on the Monday I saw the prisoner at Customs House Bridge—I said to him, "I want you down at the office"—he said, "All right"—I said, "I am going to put you up for identification for robbing a captain of a ship on Sunday morning"—he said, "All right, Arthur White is like me; I don't want you to go for the captain; let the inspector go"—he meant that Arthur White dressed like him—I took the prisoner to mean by the latter statement that he did not want me to go for the captain for fear I should prompt him as to his identity—Arthur White and the prisoner frequent the dock together.
Cross-examined. T he prisoner was at the docks on the Monday morning looking for work where casual labourers go for work—I have not got Arthur White here—the detective-sergeant in charge of this case has made inquiries—White has not been seen lately—I think he is taller than the prisoner, but ho wears similar dress.
Re-examined. I have often seen White—I could not mistake the prisoner for him.
WILLIAM YOUNG (Police-Inspector, Victoria Docks). On January 9th the prisoner was placed with twelve others at the police office at the Victoria Docks—I said to him, "Now, Fry, take up your position wherever you like; you know you are up for identification; are you thoroughly satisfied?"—he said, "Yes"—I then called in the prosecutor—he stood about four feet away from the men—he looked round and stood in front of the prisoner—he never moved from that position—he then said to the prisoner, "Will you step to the front?"—the prisoner did so—the prosecutor then said, "That is the man"—the prisoner was taken to the other police office and told the charge—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. I do not know White—I had not heard of him—I heard the prisoner say he was like him—steps have been taken to get White—the men the prisoner was placed with for identification may have been older—the first I heard of White was at the police station when the prisoner was charged—I did not take steps to find White, as it is the duty of the Metropolitan police.
Re-examined. The other twelve men at the identification did not look very much older than the prisoner—I gave the prisoner every chance of objecting—he did not object to any one of them.
CHARLES HUTTON (Detective-Sergeant). I am stationed at Canning Town—on January 9th, at 6.30 p.m., I was at the police station when the prisoner was brought in by Young and Matthews—when he was charged and he said, "All right"—I found on him 2s. 4d.
Cross-examined. I have had charge of this case—I have not got Arthur
White here; he is at sea—I sent to his house, but he could not be found—I cannot say whether it would be consistent with his not being found, if he committed the theft—sometimes men do not bolt—when the prisoner was charged, he said, "I am not the man; it was not a proper identification; they were all older men than I am"—this was on the 10th when before the Magistrate—he never said a word about White on the 9th.
Re-examined. I know White well by sight—I know the prisoner well—they are a bit alike—White has a Alight dark moustache; they are the tame height and dressed similarly.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he was a dock labourer; that he did not commit the robbery; that at the time he was lying on hit bed at his house; and that the first time he saw the prosecutor was when he was identified.
NOT GUILTY .
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
Fourth Court, February 8th, 1906.
MR. WATT Prosecuted.
DAVID ELLISON . I am a donkey man attached to the steamship Staffordshire in Tilbury Docks—about 9 or 9.5 p.m., on January 9th, I went into the urinal at Victoria Dock Road, opposite Free-masons Road—I was sober—the prisoner and another man came in after me and the prisoner caught hold of me by the throat, and pulled me down on the ground—he then put his hand into the right pocket of my trousers, is which I had £1 in gold and 8s. 3d. in silver and bronze, and a return ticket for Tilbury—I caught hold of him by the throat and holloed for the police, whereupon two policemen came up, and I gave him in charge—I was lying on my back when the policemen came in, and the prisoner was lying on me—I went to the station and charged him with the assault.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. When I came out my money was missing—I could not see the money in your hand, and I could not see you taking any money out of my pocket.
By the COURT. The prisoner was perfectly sober at the time.
CHARLES BUCKMAN (204 K.) About 9.10 p.m., on January 9th, I was on duty at the Customs House, when I heard someone crying "Police" from the urinal—I went there with Collins, who was with me at the time, and I saw the prosecutor lying on the floor of the urinal with the prisoner on top of him with his right hand on the prosecutor's throat and his left hand in his right-hand trousers pocket—I got the prisoner on to his feet, and the prosecutor said, "I give this man in charge for assaulting and robbing me"—I said to the prisoner, "You hear what he says to me?"but he made no reply—I took him to the station—when on the way he said, "Mind you have not made a mistake; you know I can spout up there," and then he became very violent—when charged he said, "I want a doctor to see that man," pointing to the prosecutor—I searched him and found 10s. in silver and 10 1/2 d. in bronze.
Cross-examined. I never heard you say anything about a witness—you were pulling out your hand from the prosecutor's pocket when I saw you—I did not nee any money in your hand then—you were not drunk, and I had not seen you in public-houses previously, drinking.
WILLIAM COLLINS (590 K.) I was with Buckman at the Customs House about 9.10 p.m. on January 9th, when I heard shouts of "Police" coming from the urinal—we went across and there I saw the prisoner holding the prosecutor on the ground by the throat with his right hand, and his left hand in his right-hand pocket—I assisted to take the prisoner to the station, and afterwards went back to the urinal to see if I could find anything, but I did not do so.
Cross-examined. I did not see you take any money from the prosecutor's pocket—I saw you about a quarter of an hour previously in company with others, but not in a public house.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he had had a little drop to drink, and was going into the urinal when the prosecutor attacked him, and that they both fell to the ground; that directly he got on top of the prosecutor, he (the prosecutor) holloed out "Police" whereupon the two constables came up and arrested him; that he never had his hand in the prosecutor's pocket, and could have called witnesses to prove it, but that they had been frightened away by the police.
GUILTY . He then pleaded guilty to a conviction of felony at this Court on March 28th, 1898. A large number of previous convictions were proved against him. Five years' penal servitude.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Old Court, February 7th, 1905.
213. ALBERT WILKINSON (26) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a scarf pin and a coin, the property of Ernest Burley; also to stealing a watch, the property of John Richardson, also to stealing three medals, the property of Henry Grimwood; also to causing grievous bodily harm to Charles Phillipson, a police-constable, with intent to resist his lawful apprehension; also to stealing two watches and other articles, the property of Alfred Ellis. CATHERINE LAMBERT was indicted for having received the property of Alfred Ellis, well-knowing it to be stolen.
MR. TODD, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence against Lambert. NOT GUILTY . The Jury were then sworn to try whether ALBERT WILKINSON was convicted of felony at Kingston upon Hull on July 9th, 1902.
MR. TODD Prosecuted.
ROBERT KILVINGTON (Countable Hull Police). I was present at Hull Quarter Sessions on July 9th, 1902, when the prisoner was convicted of three charges of felony and sentenced to three concurrent terms of penal servitude for three years—I arrested him upon the charges—I knew him a fortnight before that—he came to the police station to report himself he was on ticket-of leave from Grimsby.
By the COURT. After his conviction he was handed over to the prison authorities, and I had no more to do with him—I did not examine his person for his marks—this is his photograph—in 1902 he had only a moustache—this photograph was sent up here from Hull; I have had nothing to do with it—I produce a document purporting to be signed by Mr. Weston of Borstal Prison, dated November 16th, 1904, giving the prisoner's marks—I received it from the convict supervision office, Scotland Yard—the prisoner was identified by the finger print system.
ALFRED CRUTCHETT (Sergeant R.) I have examined the prisoner, having the document of November 16th, 1904, before me, with Principal Warder Polling—I found upon him the whole of the marks recorded on the file; they are "V.H.E.M." tattooed on the front of his left forearm, a flower on his left forearm, a half bracelet at the back of his left wrist, a blue dot between the thumb and finger of his left hand, "J.R." on the back of his light forearm, "T.H." on the inner side of his left calf, all tattooed, a scar on his chin, and one on his left knee—he also had some additional marks, and when at the station he told me he had only had them a few days.
The prisoner. I have not got all those marks. (Two of the Jurors left the box and examined the prisoner.)
---- COLLINS (Inspector, New Scotland Yard Finger print Department). I have just taken an impression of the prisoner's right thumb, right fore-finger, right middle finger and right ring finger—I have compared those with the impressions taken at Dartmoor from a convict there named Hargraves, who had three years at Hull Quarter Sessions on July 9th, 1902, for larceny, and I have not the slightest hesitation in saying the finger prints are the same; they are absolutely identical—I have had a great deal of experience in this branch
GUILTY It was stated that the prisoner had 234 days to serve, and ten other convictions were proved against him. Eighteen months' hard labour. The police in the case were commended by the COURT.
Before Mr. Justice Darling.
Old Court, February 10th, 1905.
MR. A. GILL and MR. GRAHAM CAMPBELL Prosecuted; MR. R. B. MURPHY Defended.
ARTHUR RICKUS . I live at 49, Gosterwood Street, Deptford, and am an insurance agent—the deceased was my wife and the prisoner was her father—she was thirty on September 12th—I have known the prisoner and his wife between twelve and thirteen years—then was a separation between them in September, 1904—his wife left him in consequence of some proceedings taken by her against him—he came out of prison, after serving ten days, on September 12th, his wife's birthday—she did not live with him after he came out, which was on a Monday, and he came to my
house on the Wednesday morning—I saw him there—my wife was present when he came—there was a burst pipe in the street and the waterman came and took me away—when I came back there was a crowd—the prisoner stood there and threatened to do for me and my wife—he gave no reason—in consequence of that I took proceedings against him—I sent my wife for a constable—the prisoner was bound over—he came to my house on sub-sequent occasions to find out where his wife was—we said we did not know—I did not notice anything about him when I said that—I did know where his wife was—he came on Sunday, December 18th, and asked how we were getting on and how was the missus—we said we did not know—he said, "It is a story. I do not believe you." My wife said to him," "I am going to get the dinner up, you can stay and have some if you like, father, but I know you have got some where you go"—before he left he went down on his knees on the mat, and put his hands up and said, "If I don't know soon where she is, as the Lord above, there will be murder here," and he looked at me and my wife—he was perfectly sober then—I have never seen this knife at my house or in my wife's possession—we never had such a thing in our house—my wife was a small woman, 7 stone 4 lbs. when she was weighed at Clacton-on-Sea last year—when the prisoner threatened us, my wife smoothed him over and calmed him down as well as she could—she gave him cups of tea when he has been there, and fed him.
Cross-examined. I know the prisoner and his wife before September, and that the relations between them were not of a happy description—he frequently quarrelled with her—he did not make accusations against her of infidelity in my presence—I have heard him call her different names which I should say imputed infidelity—that did not make the rest of the family annoyed when they tried to calm him down and do what they could—of course they were annoyed, but I think they thought he did not really mean what he paid, and they did not believe his accusations—he only said these things when he was drunk—I only knew of his charges from my wife—I have seen him drunk—I do not think he was making charges then—I should only call him passionate when he was drunk—he went to prison in consequence of a quarrel with his wife—when I got home I found him at my house—he was not rambling then—he was carrying on, saying he would break all the windows—I said before the Magistrate he was earning on, rambling all over the place and accusing us of having his wife there—that is right—he appeared to be angry—he had had some drink that morning—I may have said before the Magistrate that we refused to tell him where his wife was, and that seemed to upset him—when he came in on December 18th he was quite quiet; he did not get angry at all that day—he lost his temper just a little bit—when he knelt on the mat he was quite sober—just before he left he said, "Well, I must be going; goodbye, and God bless you"—that was just after the incident of the mat—he was sober then—when he went down on the mat he had rather a venomous look in his eyes; it was not a pleasant look—since he came out of prison, on September 12th, he has made charges against his wife and Bill Rickus—before he went to prison he lived with his wife—he had not made charges before that, in my hearing
with respect to other members of the family—when he came out of prison he could not find his wife—he often used to come to my house—sometimes my wife did not tell me when he came—he has often been to my house and not mentioned his wife—he behaved quietly and told us about his business—he has smoked, but not at my house since September 14th—we have never invited him to our house—I have seen him smoke at his house, when I was courting my wife three years ago.
Re-examined. I last saw my wife alive on January 26th, about 5.10 p.m.—I left her after we had had tea—I returned about 8.45, and she was dead—the prisoner never mentioned any particular man's name in my presence in connection with his wife.
By MR. MURPHY. He never made any accusation of immorality in my hearing against my wife.
EDWARD WILLIAM HARRISON . I live at 30, Bestwood Street, Deptford, and am a lighterman—the prisoner is my father and I lived with him at 22, Windmill Lane—before the deceased, who was my sister, was married about four years ago she also lived there with us—in September there was a charge made against the prisoner for an assault on my mother, and he went to prison for ten days—after that my mother went to live elsewhere—I stopped at home until the prisoner came out of prison, and then went to fire with the deceased—when the prisoner came out of prison he went to Windmill Lane—some furniture was left there for him, and some was taken my by my mother—I saw the prisoner at 40, Gosterwood Street, but had so conversation with him—he threatened to have my sister's life if she did not tell him where our mother was—I do not know what date that was—I know this knife (Produced); it is what my sister earned her living by, before she was married—she was employed in cutting velvet pile—when she was married the knife was left at home and was used by my father for cutting up food for the rabbits and fowls—the last time I saw it was on the fowl-house before father went away to do his ten days on September 2nd or 3rd—I never saw it in my sister's possession after she was married—I have been present when my father has used abusive language to my mother; it was language I should not like to use before a dog—mother was not employed before she went away, but she worked—my father was a lighterman—he got odd jobs when he could.
Cross-examined. A lighterman's business consists chiefly in getting odd jobs—the relations at home in my father's family were not happy—while he was in prison the rest of the family determined that it would be better for his wife to separate from him—I do not know if she applied for a separation order at the time of the assault; I do not think she obtained one—it was not arranged with me; I was asked a question about it, but I would not follow on with it—I had a little trouble of my own at the same time—I did not know which way to take between father and mother, so I said, "I will say nothing more about it"—I did not think that mother ought to leave him—my sister thought she should—the furniture had been bought by my sister, my mother, and myself, and when mother left she took away some of it—my sister did not take any of her things away—I was not at the house when my mother took the furniture away—she did
not take any of my sister's things; there was nothing belonging to her there—I do not know if my sister helped my mother to remove any of the things—I did not live with my father at all after he came out of prison—he was always very anxious to find out where my mother was—I do not know if this is an old table-knife—I do not remember any other peculiar knife in our house—I do not remember one which my father used with some rope wrapped round the handle—when my father used this knife he held it in the ordinary way; when he had done with it used to lay on the fowl-house—I have seen my father with several pocket-knives; one had a white handle, he kept it in his pocket—the last time I saw it was about a fortnight before he went away for the ten days.
WILLIAM MORRIS HEYWOOD . I live at 25, Silwood Street, Rotherhithe, and am a labourer—I am a brother of the prisoner's wife—I saw the prisoner on January 26th, about 12.20 a.m., at the works, Plough Road, Rotherhithe, where I work—I was in the yard when he called out, "Willie"—I went to the gate—he said, "I have had enough of this; you will have to come with me and find my wife"—I said, "I do not know where your wife in no more than the dead in the grave"—he said, "If I don't find my wife I shall put Cissie's light out, if I have my neck stretched afterwards"—by "Cissie" he meant the deceased—about 8.20 p.m. I went to Gosterwood Street to warn my niece—the door was locked—it opens straight into the kitchen—there is a letter-box in the door—I looked through it and saw my niece with her hands stretched out with blood about—I gave information to the police—they came back with me—the door was first tried, and then burst open—the police went into the room—I went after them—I noticed blood about the floor—the carpet was smothered with blood and rucked up.
Cross-examined. He was continually coming to me and asking where his wife was—I did not know where she was until the Sunday after the murder—we did not have any conversation after he said he would put Cissie's light out—I shook hands with him, and he went away—I seriously thought he meant what he said—I shook hands with him to keep friendly with him—he was passionate when he was on the subject of his wife being away, and I did not like to arouse his passion—when I went into the room it suggested that there had been a struggle there—I did not stop in the room—I first made this statement about his putting Cissie's light out, at the station on the night of the murder—I had not been talking with her husband before I made the statement—I went there before I saw him.
Reexamined. I acted upon the belief that he would do what he said, and in consequence I went to warn my niece.
ALFRED WALLER . I keep the White Hart, Grove Street, Deptford—I have known the prisoner for about three years—he entered my employment as potman about December 5th—he lived in my house down to the time of his arrest—he wax paid 10s. a week—on January 26th I went out at 5.30 p.m.—the prisoner was there then—my last words to him were, "Do not go away, whatever you do, I shall not be long"—I left my wife in charge—my premises are ten or twelve minutes' walk from Gosterwood Street—I returned at 6.30—the prisoner was not there—I next saw him
at the inquest—on the 25th he asked for a 1s. to go to the doctor to have his finger dressed—he went out about the same time that this sad thing happened—he had jammed his finger about a fortnight previously in the door.
Cross-examined. When I went out at 5.30 he seemed quite quiet—he had been muttering to himself during the day—I had not noticed it before—a customer had said, "What are you doing, Ned? wake up"—he was moody on the 25th and seemed as if he was brooding over something—I never saw any knife in his possession while he was in the public-house—I never saw him smoking—I saw him every day.
By the JURY. I never saw him chew; he never had a pennyworth of tobacco while he was with me—I took him as a non-smoker.
Reexamined. It was on January 26th when the customer said, "Wake up, Ned"—I was sitting in the bar parlour between 3 and 4 p.m.—I do not know what the prisoner was muttering about.
CHARLES GEORGE MARCRAFT . I live at Sayes Street, Deptford, and am employed at the White Hart—on January 26th I remember the prisoner leaving the house at 6.5 p.m.—he said, u Are you going to stay here for ten minutes, Charlie?"—I said, "Yes; I must see the governor"—he said, "If the missus asks for me tell her I shall be only ten minutes; I am going up the street"—he went out—I know the neighbourhood—it would take ten minutes to walk from the White Hart to Gosterwood Street.
Cross-examined. I have been working there since January 1st—I saw the prisoner frequently—I never saw him smoking—in the evening on January 26th he was very restless, walking backwards and forwards in the bar—I did not hear him muttering to himself—I never saw any knife in his possession.
SARAH SELLS . I live at 26, Birchwood Road, Tottenham, and am the wife of Henry Hells—the deceased was my niece; Heywood it my brother—on January 26th, about 8 p.m., I went to see my niece—I knocked at the door three or four times, but got no answer—I walked out to the gate and looked up the street to see if I could see her coining along—I returned to the door and again knocked—I then looked through the letter box and saw her lying on the floor—my brother came along and I spoke to him—he went for the police—they burst open the door and I went in after them—I found my niece lying on the floor in a pool of blood—her left shoe was lying by the fireplace—she had her right shoe on, and this knife was lying in a pool of blood.
Cross-examined. It appeared as if a struggle had taken place—the carpet was kicked up where her feet were—the knife is a sort of table-knife with a worn blade.
WILLIAM SERGEANT (Police-Sergeant R.) I was at Deptford police station on January 26th shortly after 8 p.m.—Heywood came in and in consequence of what he said I went with Constable Robinson to 49, Gosterwood Street I knocked at the door, but got no answer, and I forced it open—on the kitchen floor I saw the deceased lying on her back with a deep wound in her throat and a pool of blood on each side of her neck—the carpet was rucked up—the table-knife was lying near her in a pool of
blood, the blade pointing to her fare—blood had ceased to flow and the body was cold—I at once sent for the divisional surgeon.
Cross-examined. One shoe was on and the other off—one was near the fireplace—her clothes looked as if a struggle had taken place—her right arm was extended and there was blood on the end of it—a chair was displaced—I gave evidence before the Coroner—no other officers were in the Court at the time—after they had given evidence they remained in Court—I believe Hailstone was in Court at the conclusion of the case.
JAMES ANDREWS (65 M.) On September 2nd last I was at the Rotherhithe police station when the prisoner was in custody—I searched him—while doing so I said, "Have you got a pocket knife?"—he said, "No, I have not got a pocket knife, but I have a knife I kill rabbits with"—I then took from him this old dinner knife, very much worn, with a piece of cardboard fixed on to the blade—I put it on the mantelpiece at the station and afterwards wrapped it up in paper and put it in the inspector's office—on the Friday night I took it to 22, Windmill Lane, called on Mrs. Harrison and handed it to her in the presence of her daughter.
Cross-examined. The daughter made no remark when I handed back the knife—I was not before the Coroner or the Magistrate—I was wired for yesterday morning to go to Greenwich police station; I had order from my inspector to attend there—I did not know what I was being wired for—I was asked if I took a knife from the prisoner when I had him in custody in September—I paid yes, I had given it back to the wife—I was told nothing about this trial—I knew all the parties personally—when I went to Greenwich I knew the prisoner was charged with murdering his daughter—I was not told that the police were looking for evidence as to the knife—when a man is taken into custody, any property that is taken from him is written down on the charge sheet by the inspector—I mentioned this knife to the inspector when I found it—he is not here today; his name is Phillips—I have been told that the knife was not entered on the sheet—at Greenwich yesterday I was shown a knife and asked if that was the one—when I searched the prisoner he had not a pocket knife, I do not remember his having any tobacco.
Re-examined. It is the practice to make a list of the articles taken from an accused person when they are retained, but in this case there was only this knife and the inspector said it could be given back to the wife.
By the COURT. I am quite certain this is the knife I took from the prisoner.
JOHN WILLIAM COBBY . I live at Greenwich Workhouse—I know the prisoner; he was in the workhouse when we met in October—I should think he was there about a month—I have seen this knife in his possession in the scullery where I wan working; I saw him cutting up tobacco with it—the inmates are allowed tobacco—he would not be able to smoke where we were employed—I do not know if he smoked it or disposed of it—the knife had some paper wrapped round it and some string.
Cross-examined. I think Inspector Hailstone came to the workhouse on Wednesday—I was sent for from the master's office—I do not know if any other inmates were sent for—Hailstone asked me if I knew Harrison,
and if I had seen him with a knife—he produced this one, which I immediately recognised—I never saw the prisoner smoking—there are day rooms where we can smoke; tobacco is served out once a week—the members sell it; I do not know who to—before the tobacco is served out we are asked if we smoke, but some say they smoke to get it, even if they don't smoke—it is served out in twists.
FRANK SMIMMONS . I am assistant master at the Greenwich Workhouse—the prisoner was there from September 29th to November 3rd—while he was there he had one ounce of tobacco a week for four weeks; it would he twist or shag—if it was twist it would require cutting up—I do not know if the prisoner smoked or not.
Cross-examined. I believe some of the members say they smoke when they do not smoke—they get their tobacco all the same and sell it to the other inmates or exchange it or give it away—men over 60 get one ounce a week if they ask for it.
JOHN FISHER (49 R.R.) On January 26th I saw the prisoner in Princes Street, Deptford, about 10.45 p.m.—I said to him, "Harrison"—he said, "I know what you want me for. Is she dead?"—I said, "Yes"—he said "I suppose I shall swing for this"—I took him to Deptford police station.
Cross-examined. He had been drinking.
GEORGE CLARKE (Sergeant 7 R.) I remember the prisoner being brought to the station by Fisher on January 26th—I asked him if his name was Harrison—he said, "Yes"—I searched him—amongst other things I founded this handkerchief in his right coat pocket, the lining of which was wet with blood—I told him to sit down—he said, "This is the Rickus family that has caused this affair. This is the Rickus family that has caused this. The Rickus family are making a job of my wife's body. I am satisfied to have my neck—There you are. She is so lustful they have got her. They are doing all right. I am speaking the truth. I have got to suffer for it. I don't care; she is along with Bill Rickus. Now I know what I have to do. I meant it. You need not be satisfied of old Ted. Never mind, it don't matter; I shall have to swing one of these days. I am asking you a question is she dead or not? I knowed it would come to it; I suppose I have got to swing."
Cross-examined. He said that all at once—I took it down as he was speaking; it is rather a peculiar statement—I should say that he had it in his mind that his wife was not behaving as she ought.
Re-examined. He spoke slow enough for me to take it down as he said it—I noticed that he was a little excited.
Cross-examined. When the prisoner came out of prison he came to me and said, "Hullo, Will, how is the missus?" and I thought he was alluding to my wife—we had a conversation and I saw that he was alluding to his own wife—he said that he was told that she was with me—I said I did not know where she was and had not seen her for months and invited him to look over the house—he said something about the "dreadful lies they have been saying about you over there"—I said "Who?"and he said,
"The neighbours and Lynches"—I said, "You must not take any notice of what they say," and he said "Yes, I do not believe it now; I can see you are a different man to that"—I believe he was then looking for his wife—he saw me about six weeks after that and asked me again where his missus was—I said again that I did not know anything about her, and he said. "That is all right. William, I am quite satisfied"—we went and had a drink, and while standing at the bar he said, "William, it is a wonder I did not shoot you when I came over to your house"—I never heard him make any threats towards the deceased—I never saw this knife in his possession.
Re-examined. I did not notice anything serious about his demeanour.
ARTHUR HAILSTONE (Detective-Inspector R.) On January 26th, at 9.40 p.m., I went to 49. Gosterwood Street, where I saw the deceased body—at 11.15 I saw the prisoner at Deptford police station—I said to him. "I am an inspector of police, and you will now be charged with the wilful murder of Elizabeth Jane Rickus at 49, Gosterwood Street, this evening, by cutting her throat with this knife"—I showed it to him—he said, "Before I say anything I want to know is she dead?"—I said, "Yes"—he said "Right out of it?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "I am very pleased"—he was then charged and said, "Thank you; I am very proud and thankful"—while waiting to be examined by the divisional surgeon he said, several times, "Revenge is sweet"—he was wearing a cap, trousers and coat, which were examined by the divisional surgeon—the knife was produced to me covered with blood.
Cross-examined. He had been drinking—I did not observe his demeanour while he was in prison—I did not see him for more than one and a half hours—he was excited—he seemed to be more drunk with excitement than anything—I was at the Coroner's Court—at the end of the evidence the prisoner was cautioned—the caution at a Coroner's Court is very strict—the prisoner said he wanted to be sworn, and he was sworn—I do not know if special observation has been kept on him since he has been in prison.
CHARLES DUDLEY BURNEY . I am surgeon to the R Division of police—on January 20th, at 8.50 p.m., I went to Gosterwood Street and saw the body of the deceased lying on the kitchen floor—I formed the opinion that she had been dead for about two hours—I found a very large incised wound stretching right across the throat and reaching back to the spinal column—in my opinion the cut was commenced on the right side of the neck—as a general rule, in wounds of this description the termination is more tailed off than the commencement, and is not as deep—I made a post-mortem examination on January 29th—I discovered that all the muscles of the neck, the wind pipe and the gullet had been cut through—the vessels on the right side of the neck were untouched, but the great carotid artery was severed—there was a contusion at the back of the head—I should say the woman had been knocked down previous to the infliction of the wound—I judge this from the position of the blood on the floor and the attitude of the legs and arms—the contusion at the back of the head could be caused by contact with any hard substance—considerable
must have been used to cause the wound in the throat, since the incision was right through the cartilage, which is commonly known as the Adam's apple I have seen this knife, the wound could have been caused by it—the cause of death was syncope from the hemorrhage and the severed carotid artery—on January 26th I examined the prisoner at the police station—I noticed that the middle and fourth finders of his right hand were flashed with blood—I examined his middle finger and found a small and partially-healed wound—on squeezing it I got a little serum from it, but no blood.
Cross-examined. There were signs of a struggle in the room; a chair was knocked down—I cannot see anything inconsistent with the person who inflicted the wound falling at or about the time that the woman fell, bit it did not suggest itself to me.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he went to hits daughter's to have his finger bound up; that the bandaged and washed it for him; that be asked her where her mother was; that she said, "I do not know, I shall not tell you. She has got a man to keep her; that it more than you would"; that they both got excited; that the got in a temper and few at him; that the knife must have been on the table; that she picked it up; that he closed with her; that they fell to the ground and struggled there; that he thought he mutt have wrenched the knife out of her hand and cut her throat in his passion and excitement; that he had never seen the knife before; that he used another knife for cutting up the rabbits' food, and kept it in that rabbits' hutch; and that he had never said, "If I do not find my wife 1 will put Cissie's light out" or anything about shooting anyone.
GUILTY. Strongly recommended to mercy on account of the provocation laterally from his family. DEATH.
Before Lumley Smith, Esq., K.C.
Fourth Court, February 9th, 1905.
MR. WATT Prosecuted; MR. MUIR Defended.
HENRY GRIMWOOD . I am a labourer, of 92, Ennersdale Road, Lewisham—these three silver medals (Produced) I got for military service—if I were going to buy three medals I should expect to give £2, if not more—there was a man, named Wilkinson (see page 618) lodging in the same house with me—on January 17th when I left for work in the morning my medals were safe, hanging on my bedroom door—on returning to dinner a little after 1 p.m. I found that they were not there, and that Wilkinson had gone—I saw them again at Greenwich Police Court on January 19th—I gave no one authority to take them away or dispose of them.
Cross-examined. The first time I saw Wilkinson was on the night of January 16th; he occupied a room with me for one night—there are two clasps to the Soudan medal, the Khartoum and the Atbara—and there are
five distinctive clasps on the South African one—I gave a description of them at the police station directly after I found that I had lost them—I believe it was on the Wednesday after the 16th that I recovered them—I had no difficulty in identifying them—apart from having my name on the rims, the combination of medals and clasps is distinctive—I have no experience in buying and selling medals.
ALBERT WILKINSON . On January 17th I was at 92, Ennersdale Road, and I took from there these three medals (Produced) on the same day—I kept them till 7 p.m., and then went into the prisoner's shop in New Cross Road, where I saw the assistant—I asked to see Mr. Newman—the prisoner was standing on some steps leading down to some lower place, and the assistant said, "This is Mr. Newman"—I said, "Are you Mr. Newman?"—he said, "Yes, what do you want?"—I said, "I want to know if you will take these as old silver?"and I put the three medals into his hand—he asked me how much I wanted for them, and I said, "Seven shillings"—he said, "Wait till I weigh them"—he then weighed them and said, "I will give you 6s."—he did not ask me any questions about them—I said, "All right," and he gave me 6s.—he was attracted by a Freemason's coin hanging on my chain, and he asked me why I was wearing it, and wanted to give me 2s. for it—I said, "No, I will take 2s. 6d. for it," and he said, "No, I will give you 2s. for it," and he took it off and said it was very light—I then said, "Take it or leave it"—whereupon he said, "You will take the last farthing," and gave me 2s. 6d.—I had my watch out, and he asked me how much I wanted for it, saying, "I will give you 4s. for it," which I would not take—he then asked me if I had any diamonds to sell, and I said that I had just had one, but had parted with it—he then said that if ever I had any if I would fetch them to his shop he would buy them.
Cross-examined. He was attracted by my ring; I did not offer it to him, nor did I mention diamonds first—he did not offer to buy the ring, because it was not gold—I was dressed as I am now—I told him I was a sailor, but I did not say that I was going to sea, nor where I was living, nor what I was proposing to do—I was sent there by an old jeweller, who told me that he bought old things—I went first to try and sell them a little shop, which might be respectable; I do not know anything about it—the prisoner's shop has a quantity of old furniture and valuable things in it—I cannot say whether it is a respectable shop or not—I do not know the prisoner properly—he may be respectable in appearance—I am an American by birth—I was convicted for stealing these medals—I denied having been convicted before, and after the foreman of the Jury had come into the dock and examined my marks, and the finger print expert from Scotland Yard had been called to give evidence as to my finger prints, the Jury said I had been convicted before—it was not according to that evidence I was born in Yorkshire; it was not so on the records, and it is not the fact—I have not been convicted fourteen times before, nor anywhere round that number; I am not the man—the witnesses before the Recorder did not allege that I had been convicted fourteen times before—the conversation that took place between the prisoner and myself was in the presence of the
assistant—the prisoner did not say to me, "Whose are they?" and I did not say, "They belonged to my stepfather, who is dead, and I am going abroad and have no use for them"—the prisoner did not say, "What is your stepfather's name?"nor did I say, "Henry Grimwood"—I knew the name Henry Grimwood was on the medal—I made a statement about the Freemason's coin, the watch, the ring and the diamond to the detectives, and I spoke about the coin before the Magistrate, but they would not take it down.
Re-examined. Young Mr. Norman was standing about two yards away at the time, and then he went away; he was not there while the conversation was going on about the coin and the watch and the diamonds.
ALFRED CRUTCHETT (Sergeant R.) At 1 p.m. on January 18th I went to the prisoner's antique dealers' furniture shop at New Cross Road—at 2p.m. I saw the prisoner, and I said to him, "I have come to see those medals you bought last evening"—he said, "What is the matter then?" I said, "They are stolen property"—he then took a saucer containing a number of medals from the window, picked out the three, and showed them to me—I said, "How much did you give for them?"—he replied, "6s. He told me they belonged to his stepfather, who is dead, and that he had no further use for them, as he was leaving the country"—I said, "The man, I should say, is about thirty years old, and, taking his mother's age as a comparison, his stepfather would be a man bordering on fifty. It would be idle to suppose that a man of that age would be serving in the ranks in the late South African campaign"—he said, "I also bought a Masonic emblem from him; it is 9 carat and weighs a pennyweight. I gave him 2s. 6d. for it"—I said, "I will communicate with the loser of the medals, and no doubt he will call here with an officer"—the next day I received the medals from the prisoner at the Greenwich Police Court; I did not take them away at the time.
Cross-examined. It was by the direction of the Commissioner of Police that the prisoner was prosecuted—he was summoned for a felony, and I left a summons at his residence—I believe the Sub-Divisional Inspector applied for the summons—the medals were lying separately in the saucer, and the prisoner took them out one at a time—the saucer was the size of a cheese plate—from the description I had I had no difficulty in identifying them.
Re-examined. There were about fifteen to twenty medals in the saucer.
EDWARD WHITFIELD . I am an assistant to Thomas Oliver, pawnbroker, of 10, George Street, Greenwich, and I have experience in the value of medals—I have weighed these three medals (Produced); they weigh 4 ozs. 7 dwts.—I consider them as medals, to be worth from a guinea to 25s.—that is the value not broken up, but as curios.
Cross-examined. I attach a special value to those, apart from their intrinsic value as silver—if a man brought in a picture for which we gave him 2s. 6d. when it was worth £5 we have been given to understand in the course of business that that would be against the law, and I have got an opinion that we would not be permitted to do it—it is rather a difficult question to answer if the picture had a fancy value of which we knew, but
not the vendor—I have heard of a man buying a rare book at 1s. which turned out to be worth £100; I should be pleased to get a bargain of that kind myself—it would not convey to my mind that the book had been stolen, only that the seller did not know its value.
By the COURT. If a man comes in and offers something at a price which everybody knows would be clearly under its value, I would assume that it had been come by dishonestly—the value of these medals as old silver would be about 10s.—I have been in business five years.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he had been a dealer in furniture and antiques for twenty-one years, and that in consequence of assistance he had rendered in apprehending thieves who had come to him with stolen property, he had on two occasions received testimonials from the police; that he asked Wilkinson from where he had obtained the medals, and that he said they were given to him by his step father, who was now dead, and that as he was going to sea, he had no further use for them; that he gave him what he considered a fair price for old silver, 1s. 10d. an ounce, and there was nothing in the transaction to suggest they had been stolen; that he bought the Masonic emblem, but that it was not true that he had asked the prosecutor if he had anything else to sell.
MR. MUIR was about to call evidence for the defence when the Jury dismissed the case, saying that the charge ought never to have been brought.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Darling.
Old Court, February 8th, 1905.
MR. GRANTHAM and MR. JONES Prosecuted; MR. FORDHAM Defended.
THOMAS PRESCOTT (Inspector M.) At 3 p.m. on November 11th the prisoner came into Bermondsey Street police station, and said, "I have killed my wife at 17, C. Block, Vine Street, Tooley Street, by cutting her throat with a razor; if you go there you will find her"—I cautioned him and left him in charge of an officer, and went there at once with the divisional surgeon—I found his wife in No. 18, in a nearly nude condition, with two severe cuts in her throat—we temporarily dressed her wounds, and sent her to the hospital—the prisoner signed a statement at the station after I returned from the hospital; he made it quite voluntarily—he said, "She goes out every night. We went to bed at 9.30 p.m., and she commenced to quarrel with me. Some nights she goes out and comes home at 2 o'clock. I have caught her with another man. I gave her 25s. a week, and the brokers are coming in, through my wife not paying the rent. I could not kelp doing it, as she was off again to-morrow."
Cross-examined. I did not know the prisoner before—from my enquiries I know that he has been working in the same employment for
fifteen years—he bears the character of an honest, steady and respectable man—he made his statement in answer to the charge.
By the COURT. There are four children; the oldest is, I believe, about eleven years old, and the youngest about fourteen months—the neighbours do not give the prisoner's wife a very good character recently—they have been married about eleven years, but I believe she has given way to drink recently.
WILLIAM SMITH (Police-Sergeant). I went to this room—I searched for an instrument, but could not find one—I stepped on something and found this razor in a pool of blood by the bed, and on searching the room I found the two portions of the razor case.
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries about the prisoner and his family—I saw his brother, who stated that nineteen years ago his sister was confined in Canehill Asylum, and that a great uncle had also been confined in an asylum—I did not know the prisoner before this case—his employers gave him a splendid character as an honest, hard-working and sober man—I saw the foreman, who said that about five weeks prior to the day in question he noticed the prisoner was very depressed and that on giving him orders with regard to his work he had often to repeat them, at he appeared dazed—a neighbour of the prisoner said that three days prior to this offence she saw him walking about the building with his hands to his head.
SARAH CURTIS . I am the prisoner's wife—we have been married for twelve years—on November 10th we went to bed—I was waked up, I do not know what time it was—I thought I was dreaming when I opened my eyes and see the prisoner was putting my throat—I struggled and fell out of bed, and I did not remember anything for a little while—when I came to he got at me again and I do not remember much more—I do not remember a policeman coming—next day I remember finding myself in hospital—I had told the prisoner that I was in debt and in arrears with the rent—he paid he would do what he could to help me—he did not say anything when he cut my throat—about a month before he seemed strange in his mind and very quiet.
Cross-examined. We have had a good deal of trouble lately at home—it seemed to weigh on the prisoner's mind and affect him very much—we had the trouble about the rent and about my boy—he was a good boy to go to school but he did hop the wag once or twice—I do not think my husband worried about that—for about a month or five weeks he got more and more depressed and miserable—on this night we went to bed at the same time—he went quite quietly; he was sober—it was in the middle of the night that he attacked me—I did not know he was awake till I felt the attack—he said he would help me when we went to bed—it was in bed that I told him about the rent—he had an Army pension, and I think he thought he would help me with that—he has been a pretty fair husband—he has been gradually improving and has been very good of late.
By the COURT. I knew all his family—none of them have been in an asylum since I have been married and I never heard that his sister was in an asylum until this affair—she died about sixteen months ago—I
knew her; she was in her right mind then—she was married; her name was Sarah Bridgeman—I knew her for twelve years.
EMILY BUTCHER (Cross-examined by MR. FORDHAM.) I am the prisoner's sister—for a fortnight before this happened I lived next door to him—I see him occasionally during the last year or two—I did not notice that he was getting depressed and miserable—he was always quiet, steady and affectionate, and worked hard—my sister went into an asylum about nineteen years ago—she was there for about two years—she came out, got married, and had twelve children—she died on October 16th and I have got her youngest baby.
CHARLES PYE SMITH . In November I was house surgeon at Guy's Hospital, when the prosecutrix was brought in suffering from two incised wounds on her neck, the upper one opening up the upper vessels, about three inches from the left of the middle line, and the other, one and a half inches—the lower one exposed the deep vessels of the neck on the left side but had not opened them—she was also suffering from a slight scratch on her upper lip and a cut on her chin, seventeen cuts about her left hand and arm, and six about her right hand and arm—I should say they were caused by a razor—both the cuts on the neck were dangerous to life.
Evidence for the Defence.
JAMES SCOTT . I am medical officer at Brixton Prison—I have had the prisoner under my observation since November 11th—during that time I have very carefully studied his state of mind—in my opinion he is now insane and I think he was insane when he first came under my observation—he seemed to be suffering from melancholia, and now he has become mow or less demented—when there is a tendency to that form of insanity, patients cannot stand a strain—I do not think he could understand the nature and quality of his act when he attacked his wife, or able to distinguish between right and wrong.
GUILTY. But insane at the time so as not to be responsible in law. To be detained during His Majesty's pleasure.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Old Court, February 7th, and New Court, February 9th, 1905.
217. CHRISTOPHER PHELAN (41), alias >H. LAWRENCE , to sending a postal packet to Thomas Heywood, containing certain indecent and obscene prints. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Six months' hard labour. —
(218.) JOHN STANLEY TEMPLEMAN (35) , to feloniously breaking and entering the ware-house of John Findlay Freeth and stealing three bracelets and other articles, his property. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Six months' hard labour. —And
(219.) THOMAS CHEKLEY** (38), PLEADED GUILTY to assaulting Worthy Gay, a Metropolitan police officer, in the execution of his duty. Fifteen convictions were proved against him. Twenty months' hard labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
New Court, February 6th, 1905.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
KATE SINGLETON . I live at 100, Trafalgar Street, Walworth—the prisoner and a woman I believed to be his wife occupied the ground floor back room since September, 1902, at half-a-crown weekly rent—I opened the door when the officers came and they walked into the room.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. Another man came occasionally for eight or nine days before the officers called about 6.20 one evening, but that man was not there—he had been there that evening for about an hour—I should know him again—I know about the time, because the children had come from school.
Re-examined. He mostly went out in the daytime, and was home at night—he went out about 12 or 1 o'clock in the day—he was rarely at home—the last few days he had been more at home—the prisoner was in when the strange man came—the wife would go out sometimes, but mostly the men went out together.
FRANK PIKE (Detective Sergeant L.) On January 10th, in conjunction with Inspector Knell and Sergeant Long, I went to this house in Trafalgar Street, Walworth, about 6.15 p.m.—I left the other officers and got access to the rear of the premises and stood on the window-sill of the ground-floor back parlour—the blind was drawn across the window and pinned—I looked over—the room was lit up—the prisoner and his wife were seated one at each end of a round table—the woman had a baby, and was looking at the prisoner—he was rubbing some coin and dipping his hand into a saucer of silver sand in front of him—there was a stone slab on the table and a mould—I at once went back to the street, communicated with the inspector and sergeant, and returned with them to the room.
Cross-examined. You did not say what was left on the table was left by the other man, who had not left the house more than twenty minutes—the room was very hot.
FRANK KNELL (Detective-Inspector L.) In consequence of information I went with Sergeants Long and Pike on January 10th to the neighbourhood of this house—Pike made a communication to me about 6.35 p.m., and I knocked at the door of 100, Trafalgar Road, gained admittance, and went to the back room on the ground floor—the prisoner and his wife were sitting at the table as I entered the room—I saw him snatch something off the table with his right hand which I caught hold off, and took from it this mould containing this two-shilling piece, hot—Long caught his left hand and took some coins there from—I said to the prisoner, "We are police officers, and shall arrest you for making counterfeit coin"—he said nothing—I searched the room and found this other mould on the hob in the fireplace, and thin saucepan, which contained hot metal, was on the fire—I also found a file, a quantity of plaster of Paris, antimony, silver sand,
a piece of common glass, a saucepan on the table close to the prisoner and a portion of a marble slab (All produced)—the room was very hot, and the prisoner had nothing on but his vest—I said to him," How do you account for these articles?"—he said, "I shall not take all the blame; I shall plead guilty to aiding and abetting in making coin. Another man has attainted me; my wife knows all about it, but do not charge her, as she is under my control"—the woman then said, "I told him we should get into trouble a week ago; I knew what was going on, but how could I stop it?"—on the way to the station he said, "I shall plead guilty; what do you think I shall get?"—I said, "That is not my business."
Cross-examined. You did not say, "Had you come into the room previously you would have seen the real man, he has only been gone out twenty minutes"—at the station you said. "If you had come a few minutes earlier you would have caught the other man"—I said, "I do not believe that, for we were outside for half-an-hour."
Re-examined Pike was holding the prisoner on the way to the station.
ALFRED LONG (Detective-Sergeant L.) I went with Knell and Pike to this room—I took from the prisoner seven counterfeit coins—searching the room, I found these three broken moulds, one bearing the impression of a sixpence—I also found a bag of ashes—the prisoner said, "I will plead guilty to aiding and abetting."
Cross-examined. You asked at the station how long we had been outside the house—you said, "There is another one been here only half as hour ago"—I did not hear you say, "I shall plead guilty; what shall I get?"
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Coins to His Majesty's Mint—these eight florins are counterfeit—the moulds produced are both dated 1874—the articles produced are part of the paraphernalia of a coiner.
Cross-examined. These acids are used by coiners.
Evidence for the Defence.
ANNIE BATESON . I am the prisoner's wife—a fellow named Kingcote, whose real name is Butler and who lives at 148, Tyer Street, came on the Tuesday morning—he had 2s., and bought the stuff at Duck's, in London Road—he bought 14 lbs. of coal and made the moulds—he had not gone twenty minutes before the officers came into the back room—he put the moulds in front of the fire to bake, and I upset some water and cinders on them and they were no good—my husband knew nothing about it, and was a mere tool, for the man said he would give something towards his coming and doing what he did in my room—my husband was out selling ferns until he got in tow with this fellow, who made 2s. pieces in my place; that is all he made.
Cross-examined. Kingcote had been coming to the house for a fort-night—he brought the moulds, and I told him I did not like it in my place—I thought it was bad money—my husband was not rubbing the coin when the officers came in—he had not a hot mould in his hand—the coins were on the table.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that Kingcote said that he wanted
the use of his place for a good paying game, and he allowed him to come there, but that he had nothing to do with the making.
GUILTY . Two other convictions of felony were proved against him. Four years' penal servitude. The police officers were commended by the COURT.
Third Court, February 10th and 11th, 1905.
MR. TORR Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON and MR. THORN Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WARBURTON and MR. THORNE Prosecuted; MR. STEWART and MR. COTES-PREEDY Defended.
The evidence is unfit for publication.
The Jury, being unable to agree, were discharged without giving a verdict and the trial postponed till next Session.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq.
Fourth Court, February 8th, 1905.
MR. A. HUTTON Prosecuted.
The prisoner received a good character. GUILTY . Three months' hard labour.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, MARCH 6TH.