CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
TENTH SESSION, HELD JULY 24TH, 1905.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORTHAND BY
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
(For many years with the late firm of Messrs. BARNETT & BUCKLER, Official Shorthand Writers to the Court.)
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, CHANCERY LANE,
Law Booksellers and Publishers.
On the King's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX, AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY WITHIN THE JURISDICTION OF THE
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, July 24th 1905, and following days.
Before the Right Hon. Sir JOHN POUND , Bart., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir EDWARD RIDLEY, KNT., one of the Justices of His Majesty's High Court; Sir JOHN WHITTAKER ELLIS, Bart.; Sir DAVID EVANS, K.C.M.G.; Lieut-Col. Sir HORATIO DAVIES, K.C.M.G., M.P., Aldermen of the said City; Sir FORREST FULTON, Knt., K.C., Recorder of the said City; Sir WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR, Knt.; Sir JOHN KNILL , Bart., and DAVID BURNETT , Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; FREDERICK ALBERT BOSANQUET , Esq., K.C, Common Serjeant of the said City, 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. TENTH 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, July 24th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
581. WILLIAM KERR (18) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing an envelope and a postal order for the payment of £1, the property of Arthur Lyon, having been convicted of felony at Stratford on May 10th, 1902. One other conviction was proved against him. Six months' hard labour. —
(582.) MINNIE FINCH (27) to stealing 14 3/4 yards of silk, the property of Thomas Wallis & Co., Ltd., having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell Sessions on April 7th, 1903, as Alice Smith . One other conviction was proved against her. Six months' hard labour — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(583.) SIDNEY CHARLES MORRIS (26) and WILLIAM LEARY (30) to breaking and entering the warehouse of Percy Kirner, and stealing £1 17s. 6d., his monies, MORRIS having been convicted of felony at Newington on August 19th, 1903, as Edward Arthur Morgan. Two other convictions were proved against him. Eighteen months' hard labour. LEARY— Twelve months' hard labour.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(584.) ABRAHAM WOOLF SMITH (44) to unlawfully obtaining credit to the amount of £20 and upwards from William Nightingale and another and from Hugh Ernest Tollemache without informing them that he was an undischarged bankrupt. Discharged on recognisances.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
(585.) FREDERICK THOMPSON (15) to stealing a sheet of paper and a cheque for 5s., the property of Robert Henry Ingersole; also to stealing within six months another envelope and a sheet of paper and a cheque for 4s., the property of the same persons. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited.
MR. J.P. GRAIN Prosecuted; MR. HUTTON Defended.
GUILTY . He received a good character. Discharged on recognisances.
MR. GODWIN Prosecuted.
DEWAR WATSON . I reside at Sudbury, near Harrow, and on June 26th, about 11 a.m., I was walking along High Street, Shadwell, and felt a man put his arms round my neck—there was the ordinary traffic about—then the man came to the front and snatched my chain away—I did not see his face then, but I turned round and followed him until he got to the Docks—I called out "Police "and a dock constable came out of the dock gates and ran up one street while I ran up another—I did not see the prisoner caught, as I lost sight of him for about a minute—I next saw him when a policeman was handing him from the roof of a house into a livery stable yard—I lost my chain, but a little girl picked up the bar—my watch was left in my pocket—I was not injured.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I had a good look at your face after you got to the cottage—I did not see you when you actually snatched the chain.
WILLIAM LUMMING (Dock Constable.) I was on duty on June 26th at the Docks—I saw the prisoner running and followed by the prosecutor—he ran up Artichoke Hill, across High Street and Princes Square—I immediately gave chase, keeping him in view all the time—he entered an empty house; I believe he got in by means of a piece of string attached to the latch—he shut the door and I blew my whistle for assistance—Reed came up and went to the next house and, scaling the wall, caught the prisoner lying down—I was guarding the front of the house—I saw the prisoner afterwards at the back of the empty house in the yard—he seemed exhausted—he was taken to Leman Street station and charged—he did not say anything.
RICHARD REED (117 H.) On June 26th I was on duty in St. George's Street shortly before noon—I saw a crowd running—I gave chase after the prisoner—I saw him go into Princes Square and then into Mayfield Buildings—the prosecutor complained to me—after the prisoner had run into No. 15 he closed the door behind him, which made it impossible for me to enter—I went into No. 17, scaled the wall between the two yards, and saw the prisoner lying exhausted on a leaden balcony at the rear of No. 15—he was out of breath—when I arrested him he said, "Don't hit me This is what I get for doing work for other people"—at the station he was charged by the prosecutor and made no reply.
Cross-examined. I did not see five other men go into the empty house; no other men were running—a thorough search was made in the empty house.
GUILTY of simple robbery. Six months' hard labour.
NEW COURT, Monday, and
THIRD COURT, Tuesday, July 24th and 25th, 1905.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
588. GEORGE DODD (40) PLEADED GUILTY to committing an act of gross indecency with William Lachford. Three previous convictions of a similar nature were proved against him. Six months' hard labour.—And
(589.) THOMAS WOOD (25) to breaking and entering the warehouse of Francis Cooke and stealing therein three spirit levels and other articles, his property; CHARLES CURLEY (27) and CHARLES LAWRENCE (31) to breaking and entering the dwelling house of Adolph Finda and stealing therein forty-one pipes and other goods, his property; and THOMAS WOOD, CHARLES CURLEY, and CHARLES LAWRENCE, to breaking and entering the warehouse of Louisa Giddings and stealing therein twenty-one chemises and six night dresses, Wood having been convicted of felony at Worship Street Police Court on January 18th, 1905, and Curley of felony at the Guildhall on August 3rd, 1904. Three previous convictions were proved against Wood, It was stated that a large number of burglaries had been traced to the prisoners in buildings to which they had gained access by representing themselves as the St. Luke's Window Cleaning Company. WOOD— Four years' penal servitude. CURLEY and LAWRENCE— Three years' penal servitude each. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted; MR. FRAMPTON Defended.
HENRY GARRETT (Detective, City.) I have had the prisoners under observation since June 23rd—I saw Fisher on that day about 8.40 a.m. in Telegraph Street, Moorgate Street, by himself—he was loitering outside the doorway of No. 1, which is known as the White House—it is a block of offices with a facing of white enamelled bricks—he subsequently joined Smith in Basinghall Street, and after speaking to him went into the doorway of No. 10—he came out again and spoke to Smith, and after loitering there for a few minutes they both of them went away—I lost sight of them in one of the back courts off Aldermanbury—the next occasion I saw them was June 27th, about 9 a.m., when I saw Smith leaving his address, 25, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square—I followed him into Euston Road and then he went back to the house again—about noon I saw him again in the neighbourhood of Red Lion Square with Fisher—they walked into Princeton Street, which leads from Red Lion Square into Bedford Row—they parted, Fisher going into Bedford Row Chambers, Princeton Street, which is the last house before you reach Bedford Row, on the left, and Smith walking to the corner of Princeton Street by Bedford Row, waited until Fisher came out—Fisher then joined Smith and they both walked across Theobald Road into Great James Street—they loitered in the neighbourhood for about half an hour and met a stranger—they all entered a public-house—I last saw them that day in Holborn by the corner of Warwick Court—on the next day, the 28th, I was watching 25, Fitzroy Street, when I saw Fisher enter the house at 7.50 a.m.—he knocked at the door and was admitted by someone whom I could not see—he only stood for a minute on the doorstep and was admitted within a reasonable time,
not so quickly as if someone was standing behind the door to let him in—he was in the house about an hour—he then came out with Smith and I followed them to Portland Road, Holland Park, where they entered No. 5—this was about 9.58 a.m.—I had to return to Guildhall Police Court, so I left them there to two other officers—on June 30th I had them under observation, and also on the day of their arrest—on the 30th I saw them in Red Lion Square together, about 10.30 a.m.—they went to Bedford Row Chambers, Princeton Street, again, and were there about half an hour—Fisher entered Bedford Row Chambers while Smith waited outside at the corner—just before noon on July 1st I was with Detective Read in Red Lion Square, when we saw the prisoners coming to the Square from the direction of Theobald's Road—Fisher went into Bedford Row Chambers, leaving Smith outside again—Fisher remained there about fifteen minutes as near as I can say—he came out, carrying a small portmanteau, which he subsequently left at a coffee shop in Red Lion Street—I had them under observation up to the time of their arrest.
Cross-examined. I gave evidence at the Police Court—I was not examined as to my observation of the prisoners on June 30th and July 1st, so I did not say anything about that—the next witness was called and I stepped back, thinking that my evidence was finished—my evidence was read over to me—I commenced watching on June 23rd, about 8 a.m.—both the prisoners' addresses were unknown to me at the time—I watched 25, Fitzroy Street, on the 27th until Smith left, commencing about 7.30 a.m. and leaving off at 9 a.m.—I did not see them that day after 2 p.m.—on the morning of the 28th, when they came out of 25, Fitzroy Street, together, they went to a coffee shop and had some refreshments, which took about twenty minutes—I had them under observation that morning from about 7.50 till 10 a.m., when I left them—I did not see what coin they paid for the refreshments in the coffee shop—they did pay—on the 30th of June I kept them under observation for about four hours—Smith was arrested first, in the street, and Fisher some time afterwards—when at Gray's Inn Road police station later in the evening Smith said that Fisher had nothing to do with it—Fisher was at that time charged with being concerned with another man in uttering counterfeit coin on two occasions.
Re-examined. So far as I know, the room in which Fisher was arrested was not his own room; I believe the occupier of the room gave evidence at Bow Street—it is an office for addressing circulars or something of that kind.
HENRY BEARD (Detective, City). I was with the last witness keeping observation on the prisoners on June 26th at 25, Fitzroy Street at 7 a.m.—Smith came out alone at 8 a.m. and we followed him to various places—at 9.15 a.m. he met Fisher in the gardens of Red Lion Square—we kept them under observation till about 1.30 p.m.—I followed them to various places—during that time I followed them on three occasions Fisher went into the doorway of 9, Warwick Court, and Smith remained some distance away; then he came out and Smith joined him again—I followed them to Princeton Street—when Fisher went into the doorway Smith
would remain about five or ten yards off—on each occasion between those three times they returned to Red Lion Square and sat down and had a short conversation—I lost sight of them at the Tube station, Chancery Lane—on June 30th I was keeping observation at 25, Fitzroy Street, when I saw Fisher arrive there at 9.30 a.m. and knock at the door, when he was admitted by someone—he remained there about ten minutes, when he came out with Smith—they went to Bedford Row Chambers, Princeton Street, Bedford Row, and it was there that Detective Garrett joined me.
Cross-examined. I am quite sure that Fisher went into a doorway in Warwick Court; they met together in Red Lion Square—it struck me as being important—I gave evidence at Bow Street on July 3rd with my note book to refresh my memory—I did not say anything about that then—I merely answered the questions put to me by counsel, whose name I do not know—I was trying to associate these two men together—I was merely asked whether I had seen them at such and such a time in the morning until 1.30, and I answered in the affirmative—I had furnished the solicitor with the whole of my notes on some day previously—I have conducted cases of this sort before—it struck me as odd that I was not asked anything about my seeing Fisher go to Smith's house at 9.30 a.m.—it is a matter of opinion whether it was important or not; I think it is—there was not a word said about it at the Police Court—my evidence there is only a few lines.
Re-examined. The doorway at Warwick Court is an auctioneer's on the ground floor.
JOSEPH GILLARD (Detective, New Scotland Yard). On July 1st I went to Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square—acting from instructions I had received, I took under observation No. 25, about 7.30 a.m.—the house seemed to have been closed during the night—I saw the prisoners leaving the house about 9 a.m.—I followed them to a coffee shop close by in Euston Road, where they had breakfast—they were there about half an hour, when they came out and walked from there to the Albany, Great Portland Street—on coming out Smith went away for about half an hour and Fisher went down a mews close by—Fisher came from the mews and remained in the vicinity of the public house—Smith returned with another man about half an hour after their first arrival there—they remained together for about a quarter of an hour, all three men in conversation; they picked this man up by some mews—they walked a little way down Great Portland Street and came back again towards the Albany; after a quarter of an hour the prisoners left the other man and walked together to Red Lion Square—I followed, and Smith apparently went into a doorway of the Sunday League office, Fisher remaining outside—Smith came out and joined Fisher—they then went to Bedford Row Chambers, Princeton Street, and Fisher went inside while Smith remained outside walking about until he came out—they then walked through various streets to Seven Dials, where they entered the Grapes public-house—they left there and walked to Cambridge Circus together—they then retraced their steps and went into the Bunch of Grapes
another public-house, which is also in Seven Dials—they came out together and walked up Shaftesbury Avenue through various streets to Bury Street, Bloomsbury Square—they walked past No. 12, Bury Street, which is a tobacconist and newsagent's shop kept by a Mrs. Hunt—after they had passed, Fisher handed something to Smith, who walked back and went into the shop, Fisher standing about thirty yards below the shop, close to the corner of Bury Street—on Smith coming out he joined Fisher, who had been apparently looking round and scouting during the time Smith was in the shop—they walked from there through various streets to Theobald's Road, which is two minutes from Princeton Street—Fisher apparently again handed something to Smith, who retraced his steps again and went into 132, Theobald's Road, a tobacconist and newsagent's kept by Miss Binning—Fisher was about thirty yards below the shop, looking down in the direction of the shop where Smith had gone—Smith came out of the shop—with Detective Read I went and saw Miss Binning; I had a conversation with her and she handed Read a coin which he examined and marked—when Smith came out I directed two City officers to keep the prisoners under observation with a view to arrest—I went back to Mrs. Hunt at 12, Bury Street, and had a conversation with her, when she produced to me this coin, which I found to be a counterfeit florin—I marked it—on leaving there I went to Red Lion Square, where I anticipated these prisoners would be—I was accompanied by Read, and I saw both prisoners together in Princeton Street—before we got up to them Fisher went down Princeton Street, while Smith went up Red Lion Street at right angles—with Read I followed Smith and caught him just as he was entering a coffee shop—I said to him, "I am a police officer, and I shall arrest you for uttering counterfeit coin"—I tried to search Smith on the spot—as I was disguised very much as a rough, the crowd thought I was trying to take a liberty with him, so they became rather hostile—I took him to the station, when I found two counterfeit florins, one in his right side waist-coat pocket and one in his top left waistcoat pocket—the one in the top left waistcoat pocket was wrapped in very soft tissue paper—I also found 14s. in separate shillings, nineteen sixpences, sixpence in bronze and also two unopened packets of Wills' Gold Flake cigarettes.
[On July 25th a Juryman was absent owing to indisposition. After a fresh Juryman had been sworn the Judge read his notes of the evidence, to which the witnesses, after having been again sworn, assented.]
Cross-examined. When watching 25, Fitzroy Street, from 7.30 to 9 am. on July 1st I did not see Fisher go in at all—I am positive that he came out with Smith—I did not go into the coffee shop to ascertain what they had paid—I was a distance of sixty yards away from the Albany when they went into the doorway; I do not know whether they went into the bar or not—they were in there three or four minutes, long enough to have a drink—about two days after I enquired there whether they had had a drink—it is a fairly busy house; I do not know the trade they do—I could not follow Fisher down the mews, as it was a cul-de-sac—I should think there was a jobmaster who has stables there who would be
likely to give employment to a man—I have not been there to make enquiries—I did not know that Fisher went down there to see a man to ask him to give Smith some work—they were in the Grapes about twenty, minutes—I subsequently made enquiries there and at the Bunch of Grapes—sometimes I was within twenty yards and sometimes a hundred yards of the prisoners; it depended on the circumstances—I was about forty yards away when Smith went into Mrs. Hunt's shop—I could not see what Fisher handed to Smith; whether it was a penknife or not—no penknife was found on Smith—the same thing applies to the second occasion when I saw that something was passed.
FREDERICK READ (Detective, New Scotland Yard). I was in the company of Gillard, Beard and Garrett in Theobald's Road on July 1st, when I saw the prisoners pass No. 132 and stop—Fisher handed something to Smith, who walked back and entered No. 132, Miss Binning's shop—Fisher stood and looked in the direction of the shop—Smith came out and walked towards Fisher, but he did not, speak to him; he walked by him—I went into the shop about a minute afterwards and found Miss Binning—I spoke to her, and she showed me a coin, which she had in her hand—I found it to be a counterfeit florin (Produced).
Cross-examined. I was near Gillard, walking by his side—I could not see what it was that Fisher handed to Smith.
FRANCIS CARLIY (Detective Sergeant, New Scotland Yard) Shortly after 1.40 p.m. on July 1st I was near Bedford Row, when I saw Smith in the custody of Gillard and Read—I went to their assistance and assisted in taking him to the police station in Gray's Inn Road—I was present when he was searched and charged—I went afterwards to Bedford Row Chambers, I, Princeton Street, with Beard and Garrett—on the third floor front room, which is a room occupied by a gentleman who carries on the business of an addressing agency, I found Fisher—I said to him, "I am a police officer, and I shall arrest you for being concerned with John Smith, now detained at Gray's Inn Road, for uttering counterfeit coin"—he said, "You will not find any snide on me"—snide is a phrase used amongst coiners to denote bad money—I searched him in the presence of other officers and found £1 in gold, ninepence in bronze, and this packet of Wills' Gold Flake cigarettes (Produced), which was unopened and which "was opened by Fisher himself when he got to the station—on the way to the station he said, "No, this is not my game"—I went afterwards with Inspector Arrow to 25, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square, and took part in the search there—I also went to 5, Portland Road, Holland Park, Fisher's address, and took part in the search there.
Cross-examined. When I first told the charge to him he said, "This is not my game. You will not find any snide on me"—snide is a fairly well-known word; I should think most people who attend Police Courts, or who read newspapers or magazines, would know it—I should say hundreds of thousands of packets of Wills' Gold Flake cigarettes are sold weekly—I found some files in his room, which could be used for coining, but you would want other things besides those, undoubtedly—I heard Smith say at the station that Fisher had nothing to do with it.
CHARLES ARROW (Chief Inspector, New Scotland Yard). On July 1st I went to Gray's Inn Road police station, where I found the prisoners in custody—on the afternoon of that day I went to 25, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square, in company with Carlin and Gillard, where I saw Mrs. Date, who pointed out the ground floor back parlour to me—I, with. The other officers, searched the room—in the grate, in which there were ashes from a recent fire, I found a piece of worn emery cloth (Produced) and a piece of white metal and this hook, such as is used to hang coins up while in the bath (Produced)—on the front of the fender facing the room, there was this splash of white metal (Produced)—it is a small fender round the grate—in a cupboard underneath a washing stand I found this black bag, which was locked (Produced)—I unlocked it with a key I had seen found on Smith and found these three crucibles (Produced), one containing melted white metal, and a piece of melted white metal (Produced), a pair of pliers showing marks of having been blackened by the fire, I should suggest, while taking off the crucible, a number of loose pieces of tin or metal hooks, similar to the one found in the grate—I searched the cupboard in which I found the bag, and found fourteen moulds similar to this one (Produced), with the impressions scraped out, a large quantity of broken pieces of mould, a quantity of what I have called polishing rags, and a quantity of loose plaster of Paris which had not been used, a knife bearing marks of plaster of Paris, a spoon also with the same marks, and a tin containing a substance which looked like powdered brick dust—I also found a bottle labelled "Poison "(Produced), containing a liquid of which I poured some out—I dipped a halfpenny into it, and it had the effect of silvering it (Produced)—I examined the iron oven range and found that this bottom plate (Produced) bore marks of plaster of Paris—I found four packets of unopened Wills' Gold Flake cigarettes (Produced) and fifty pictures taken from, I believe, Wills' Gold Flake cigarette packets (Produced)—I took these fragments of mould, to the office at Scotland Yard, and by carefully sifting them through our fingers, we took out some thirteen pieces of what appear to be milling, of which I produce two, and we also found three pieces of plaster of Paris, which were apparently parts of the mould of a florin—Sergeant Deacon took some photographs of some of the pieces, which he enlarged—he also photographed two of the counterfeit florins—I have compared the pieces containing portions of inscriptions of a florin, and find they correspond with the counterfeit florins—during the time he was in custody at Gray's Inn Road police station Fisher gave me his address, 5, Portland Road, Holland Park, telling me that he occupied the top floor back room in the name of Charles Roberts—when charged he said his name was Charles Robert Fisher—I went with Sergeant Carlin to his address and found in his room twelve small files, a pair of pincers, a wooden wedge and a receipt for a deposit in Parr's Bank, Notting Hill branch, for £200—I found no cash, good or bad—I then returned to Gray's Inn Road police station about 10 p.m.—I heard Gillard make a statement, and the prisoners were charged together with uttering counterfeit coins and possessing implements for coining—Gillard described his observations of the prisoners and their arrest, and
when he mentioned that be saw Fisher and Smith come out of 25, Fitzroy Street, Fisher said, "I did not sleep at 25, Fitzroy Street; you did not see me leave the house"—Miss Binning then made a statement with regard to the prisoners, to which neither prisoner said anything—the charge was then formally read to both of them, to which neither made reply—about a minute after, Smith said, "This man (Fisher) knows nothing about it. I acknowledge the passing and I acknowledge possessing the implements, but they were for making keys, not coin. I have not made any"—on the way to the cells Fisher said to me, "They did not see me give him any counterfeit coin. I might have given him some good money."
Cross-examined. It was with reference to Gillard saying that he saw something pass between Fisher and Smith that Fisher said, about ten minutes afterwards, "They did not see me give him any counterfeit coin"—nearly all the things I found in Smith's room were hidden in the washstand—I do not think files are much used for coining, except to file off the end of the metal called the "get"; emery paper does just as well—with regard to the files found in Fisher's room, I do not think they were used for coining—I do not remember Fisher saying that he had only known Smith fourteen days; he could not have known him much longer than that.
Re-examined. They were both together when Smith was asked his address, which he refused—Fisher gave his Address at once—I handed the four counterfeit florins, three handed to me by Gillard and one by Read, to Deacon.
ALFRED DEACON (Detective, New Scotland Yard). I received from Chief Inspector Arrow some pieces of plaster of Paris of which I made enlarged photographs (Produced)—I also made enlarged photographs of two of the four counterfeit florins he gave me (Produced).
ELLEN DATE . I am the wife of Walter Date, a printer's reader, of 25, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square—on May 17th Smith came and took a back parlour on the ground floor at 8s. a week, for which he paid me 4s. in advance—I let the room to him in the name of Raven; he simply said he wanted a room; he did not tell me what he was—I employed Elizabeth Smith at my house as a charwoman, and during the whole of the time that Smith had the room she was at work in that capacity—he had a fire in his room while he was there to July 1st—he used to order his own coals, which he kept in the back yard—I saw Fisher once when, he came to the house; it was raining—it was between 3 and 4 p.m., but I cannot say what the date was—he knocked at the door, but Smith was not in, and he went away again—my husband was going to let him in, but I would not let him in, as he was a strange man—I saw him on another occasion on the opposite side of the road, waiting—Raven, that is Smith, went over and met him, and they walked in the direction of Goodge Street—my lodgers have a latchkey, and they come in and out when they like—Smith had a key—if anybody called at 7.30 a.m. I would not open the door; I should not be up—if Fisher came very early, Smith would open the door to him—I have heard voices in the next room.
Cross-examined. I may have had more than six lodgers in June and July; on the top floor they are chiefly waiters—I did not take particular notice whom they let in—I would hear people talking about the house, but I would not know who they were—at this time my husband was not going to business; he was out of work, and that is why I have not been up very early—having a number of waiters in the house, they would come in and out at all times—Smith has now and again let Mrs. Smith in—she would never come before 8 a.m.—I should not always be down to see her come in—I opened the door to her myself very often—Fisher enquired for Raven when he came—I am quite sure it was Fisher; it was the first time I had seen him—I have a very good memory for faces; I never make a mistake about anyone—so far as I am concerned, I have never seen him in the house but on that one occasion.
ELIZABETH SMITH . I live at 37, Upper Charlton Street, Fitzroy Square, with my husband—at the end of last May I was employed by Mrs. Date as a charwoman, going to her house every day—Smith occupied the back parlour on the ground floor—I knew him by the name of Raven, and I attended to his room—I laid a fire for him, but I did not light it—the mornings after I laid it there were ashes—on most days it had been lit, but there were some days in between when it had not been lit—with the exception of two or three days I laid the fire during the latter part of June—on the last week before he was arrested there were a few days on which I did not have to lay the fire; it might have been three, but no more—I have noticed when taking out the ashes that there were some white splashes similar to whiting between the bars of the grate and the oven door, and there were three packets of what appeared to be whiting in the cupboard of the washstand—on emptying the basin I have seen some sort of white sediment at the bottom—whilst at work there a gentleman came on two occasions to enquire for Smith—I am almost sure it was Fisher—I saw him in the place; I did not answer the door to him—on the first occasion I saw him coming into Smith's room and on the second occasion he was coming out—the first time was in the afternoon, and the second in the morning, I cannot tell the exact times—I usually got there at 9 a.m.—it might have been 10 a.m. when I saw him in the morning; he did not stop long—in the afternoon he might have been there forty-five minutes—I have seen this black bag in the washstand; it is Smith's—when I handled it it was heavy and was locked.
Cross-examined. I saw Fisher's face, but I did not take particular notice of him—there are quite a number of boarders who have friends coming in and out—I cannot give you any idea of the dates when Fisher came—I should say it was a fortnight before Smith was arrested that Smith came the second time—last Monday I was taken to the police station to identify Fisher—I saw twelve men, but I did not pick him out from amongst them—I cleaned the step at about 9.30 a.m. every morning—about 9.15 a.m. on July 1st Smith left the house alone—I did not see him join anyone outside—Fisher remained ten minutes on the first occasion that he called; I saw him go into the house—I could not identify him at the police station, but the more I look at Fisher the more I think
he is the man—I could have identified him, only I was not quite sure—I was at the Police Court on one occasion more than an hour when I saw him in the dock.
Re-examined. When I saw him in the dock at Bow Street I really could identify him; I was almost sure that he was the right man—I first heard of the prisoner's being in custody a week after he was arrested—I can remember Saturday, July 1st, particularly, because that was the day on which I left Mrs. Date's employ—as near as I can say, it was between 9.15 and 9.20 a.m. that morning when he let me in—he had been out already and he came across to the door and asked me if I would like him to let me in, and he opened the door for me with his latchkey—he then went off—I saw him at the corner, before I got to the door, go into a laundry in London Street, which is only just across the road—I came along London Street to get to the house, and he came along behind me—I did not see anyone else besides him.
GEORGIAN HUNT . I reside at 13, Bury Street, Bloomsbury, where I keep a tobacconist and newspaper shop—about 12.40 p.m. on July 1st Smith came into the shop and I served him with a packet of Wills' Gold flake cigarettes, price 3d.—he gave me a florin, which I put in the till, and I gave him the change—I had no other florin in the till at the time—I had cleared the till a few minutes previously, when I took out the larger coins—he went out, and shortly afterwards a police officer came in and spoke to me—I showed him the florin and handed it to him—he marked it and took it away with him—this is the coin that was handed to me (Produced)—on the Monday after I went to the police station, where I saw a number of men, from whom I picked out Smith as the man who had paid me the coin.
MARY BINNING . I live at 132, Theobald's Road, where I keep a news-agent and tobacconist's shop—on July 1st Smith came into the shop and I served him with a packet of Wills' Gold Flake cigarettes, price 3d.—he gave me a florin in payment, and I gave him the change when he left—two police officers came in and in consequence of what they said to me I handed them the florin, which I still had in my hand—this is the one (Produced)—one of the police officers marked it—in the evening of the same day I went to the police station and identified Smith.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Coin to His Majesty's Mint—I have had shown to me a number of minute fragments of plaster of Paris, which I have examined—I have also seen four counterfeit florins,. three from one mould and one from another—the fragments of these moulds are very minute, and it is impossible to discriminate, but certain marks occurring on one piece of this mould or moulds occur also on three of the coins; I should say probably they did come from the moulds but I would not absolutely swear it—the pieces of moulds that I saw were moulds for making a florin, which fact I could see by the size and also the lettering—I can also say that the moulds were moulds of a florin of the present reign—I have, also seen other instruments found in Smith's room by the officer, and taken collectively they are such as occur in the stock-in-trade of a coiner—I have seen also fourteen pieces of planter of Paris; I would
not like absolutely to say that they are coin moulds, because the centre pieces have all been scraped out—they are the shape of the ordinary kind of moulds, and moulds are always made in plaster of Paris—I have seen bent pieces of metal, which are to hold the coins in the bath in what is called the dipping solution, without the aid of a battery—the bottle labelled "Poison "contains cyanide of potassium and nitrate of silver, which is used for silvering purposes without the aid of a battery.
Fisher, in his defence on oath, said that he met Smith fourteen to eighteen days before his arrest at a restaurant; that they became friendly from having both been a great deal in America; that Smith told him his name was Raven and said he was out of work; that he promised to do what he could for him; that he met Smith subsequently six or seven times, but had only once been in his rooms about a week before his arrest, and that he had been to his house two or three times three or four days before his arrest, and on the day of his arrest, but he had not gone in; that he never knew at any time that he was engaged in making or uttering counterfeit coin, nor had he (Fisher) had any upon him at any time; that on July 1st he did not go into Smith's room, but waited till he came out at 9.5 a.m., having met him at 8.5 a.m. at Tottenham Court Road; that they went on to the Albany public-house; that he (Fisher) then went down a mews there to see a man named Charles Thomas, a horse and carriage dealer, with reference to getting Smith some work; that a letter found in his pocket addressed to "Mr. C. Thomas, Kelly's Library, Shaftesbury Avenue," was addressed to a different Thomas to the carriage dealer; that it was a penknife which Smith borrowed from him to cut a nail that he handed to Smith before he went into the tobacconist's shop, and not counterfeit money; that he handed Fisher 5s. just as they were going into Bury Street, as he was hard up; that he had no particular reason for giving his name as Charles Robert at 5, Portland Road, Holland Park, nor for giving his name as Henry Conrad on another occasion, but that his name was Charles Robert Henry Conrad Fisher; and that he may have used the name of Edward Simpson.
NOT GUILTY . (See page 1334.)
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, July 25th, 1905.
Before Mr. Justice Ridley.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted; MR. MARSHALL HALL, K.C., and MR. FLEMING.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. OLIVER Prosecuted.
coming from the direction of Wembley—I had previously been to a fire in that direction, and knew what had happened—I was standing still when the prisoner approached me and bid me "Good-morning"—he was not calling out "Fire "or anything of that sort—he had some pieces of hay and seeds on his jacket—I said to him, "It looks as if you had been among the hay somewhere"—he took a seat on the coping of a wall, and in a few seconds said, "I may as well tell you the truth; I set the stack on fire"—I told" him I should take him to the station—he said, "I cannot get any work, and I might as well be in prison"—a little farther up the road he said, "I am on the Crimes List and am well known at Brixton prison, and this will be enough to get me twelve months"—at the station, after making my statement to the officer on duty, the prisoner said he wished to make a statement, and it was taken down—he was quite sober to my idea—when charged he made no reply—I went to a field at Wembley, where the stack was on fire and also a waggon—several people were in the road—the stack belonged to Mr. Carpenter, of Church Road, Willesden—it was not completely burnt out, but the waggon was—nothing else was damaged that I saw.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did not see you about two hours before 3 a.m.—I did not see anyone running up the road towards the station—you were not shouting "Fire"—I did not meet you near the first fire alarm—you did not accompany me back to the fire—I was not near the Spotted Dog—I did not tell you that I had a bottle of beer hidden away—at 3 a.m. you told me that you volunteered your services at the fire—we did not have a drink together out of a bottle of beer—you did not say, "Let us come to an agreement before we go any further"—you did not say that you would not cross swamp me.
GEORGE SALLOWS (34 X.) On the morning of July 13th the prisoner was brought to the station—I was in the charge room—he made a statement, which I took down (Read): "Between 12 at night and 1 a.m. on the 13th instant I went to the hay stack to be down to rest, having no money for a bed, and while I was lying on the hay stack I lit my pipe with a match, but I cannot say where I threw the match after I lit my pipe, but shortly afterwards I noticed that the hay stack was on fire; I then ran up the road towards Harlesden and shouted "Fire," and when questioned by 415 X. respecting some hay which was on my hard felt hat I told him I had set the stack on fire, but not designedly"—when charged he made no reply—I took him to Harrow Police Court before the Magistrate, where the constable gave evidence—after the constable had given his evidence the prisoner said, "The constable's evidence is quite true, but I do not like the word 'maliciously'; I admit criminal negligence, but do not like 'maliciously'"—I searched him and found upon him a pipe, with scarcely any tobacco in it, two boxes of matches, and a tobacco pouch.
Cross-examined. Mr. Carpenter did not wish to withdraw the charge—I searched you in front of him—the charge was not altered from maliciously to unlawfully—I called the sub-divisional inspector and acquainted him of the fire.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have nothing to say, except that I object to the word 'maliciously.' "
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he went to Wembley to look for a man who owed him three shillings, but did not find him; that two other men were with him at the stack when this unfortunate thing occurred; that when he saw the fire he shouted out; that when he saw the policeman he (the prisoner) said, "Will it make any difference to you if I admit I am the cause of the fire?"; that the policeman said, "It will; it will clear up a mystery "; and that he admitted he had been twice convicted and was well known at Brixton.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, July 25th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
593. HENRY HARTLAND HIGGINSON (49) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully mutilating certain books of account of George William Melville Dale, his master. He received an excellent character of distinguished and meritorious service in the Army. Two days, imprisonment. —
(594.) ANNIE GRANT (31) to stealing a pearl necklace, the property of Christie, Manson & Co. She was stated to be an associate of American and Continental thieves. Three years' penal servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] —And
(595.) LYDIA ALP (20) to having endeavoured to conceal the birth of her child. She received an excellent character from her two employers, one of whom undertook to take care of her. Two days' imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. GRANTHAM Prosecuted.
ANNIE GLOVER . I live in Gloucester Street, Theobald's Road—I was in the Hole-in-the-Wall public-house on the evening of July 8th, where I met Mrs. Belger—the two prisoners were there having a drink; they came in after us—I paid for some drink—I had about 10s. in my purse—the prisoners went out two or three minutes afterwards and came back—White sat on my right—I felt for my purse in an apron pocket in my dress, and found it was gone—I had no apron—the purse was on the same side that White was sitting on—I went out and saw Kilby looking round the corner of a urinal—I said, "There they are, over at the urinal," and Mrs. Belger and I walked over—White said, "Don't make any fuss; how much have you lost?"—I said, "10s."—he offered me 4s. 3d., which I refused to take, and he asked Kilby to give me 6s. to make up the 10s.—Kilby pulled out a handful of silver, and said, "Perhaps you would like that?"—I said, "No"—he said, "Rather than give it you I would go down; send for a policeman"—I sent for a policeman, and went to the station, where the prisoners were charged—White said he had only 2s. 3 1/2 d., and that he never offered me money, but that is not correct—I had never seen the prisoners before—I was
perfectly sober—I had had a glass of porter—I caught Kilby by the coat; he tried to run away, and 1 stopped him—the prisoners walked out of the public-house two or three minutes after I had paid for the first drink—I had no cloak on like I have now.
Cross-examined by White. I told the Magistrate you followed me into the public-house—that was a mistake—I said Kilby peeped round the corner, but it was you—you said, "Don't make no fuss; we will see what we can do for you."
Cross-examined by Kilby. You were not standing near my dress; you were at the counter—I missed my purse the second time you were in the house—I was perfectly sober—I said, "Young man, I have lost my purse; one of you have got it"—only you two and my friend and I were in the bar.
By the JURY We had no conversation with these men, even when they were near us.
ELIZABETH BELGER . I live in Gloucester Street, close to the last witness—I was with her in this public-house on July 8th—the prisoners followed us in—no one else was in the bar—Glover paid for a drink out of her purse, which she took from her right-hand pocket, and put back again—the prisoners went out for a few minutes and then came back, and White sat by Glover's side—Glover's friend, Rogers, was passing the public-house at the time—Glover called for a drink, put her hand in her pocket, and said, "My purse is gone"—I saw the prisoners go out before Glover's friend went by—Glover and I went outside—we saw White peeping from the urinal, and 1 went towards him—I recognised him as the man I had seen sitting by Glover's side—I said, "My friend has lost her purse; one of you have got it"—he said, "Don't make a fuss; I have only 4s. 3d.," and turning to Kilby he said, "Will you give me 6s. towards it?"—Kilby tried to strike me, and said, "What has that to do with me?"—I said, "I wish my husband was here"—I stood there, and Kilby said. "I would give it to her, only she has gone to fetch a policeman; I would sooner go down for it"—Glover's friend had gone for a policeman—I saw 4s. 3d. in White's hand.
Cross-examined by White. You showed me two 2s. pieces and 3d.—both of you said, "Don't make a fuss"—you did not offer to fetch a policeman; a policeman was fetched to you—I do not know the neighbourhood.
ELIZABETH ROGERS . I know Glover and Belger—I remember passing the Hole-in-the-Wall on the night of July 8th,—Glover is may cousin—I saw the prisoners—White offered me two 2s. pieces and 3d. when I said to him, "You have stolen my cousin's purse"—he said, "Don t make a fuss; come round here; I have only 4s. 3d.," then he turned to Kilby and asked for 6s. to make it up, but he would not, and I went for a policeman—Kilby took out some silver, and said he had gold in his back pocket—White looked as if he had had a little drink—he knew what he was talking about—I was not the worse for drink.
ALFRED WILLIAMS (6 E.R.) I was called by Rogers in Theobald's Road on July 8th, about 8.30 p.m., to the Hole-in-the-Wall—the prosecutrix said, "They stole my purse"—I took the prisoners to the station, where they were charged—I searched them—on Kilby I found 12s. 6d. silver and 7d. bronze, and on White a 2s. piece and 3 1/2 d. bronze—the prisoners were about fifty yards from the public-house when I came up, and about fifteen yards from the urinal, near a boarding where a building is being demolished by the London County Council—I looked for the purse.
By the JURY. The coins I found on Kilby were two half-crowns, a florin, four separate shillings and three sixpences and sevenpence—the prisoners were walking away from me towards Rutland Street—I was on point duty in Theobald's Road, when a little boy called my attention to the prisoners, and as soon as the prosecutrix said she had been robbed I caught both prisoners by the collar, so that neither of them could run away.
Cross-examined by Kilby. The prosecutrix said, "I have been robbed "—I said, "Shall I take them into custody?"—she said, "Yes," and I caught you by the collar.
White, in his defence, said that the prosecutrix had lost her money and wanted to make out she was robbed.
Kilby, in his defence, said that he could not have taken the purse, because he was not next to Mrs. Glover.
GUILTY . White then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at North London Sessions on August 9th, 1904, and Kilby to a conviction of felony at North London Police Court on August 22nd, 1900. Six other convictions were proved against White and five against Kilby. WHITE— Three years' penal servitude. KILBY— Twelve months' hard labour
MR. WOODCOCK Prosecuted.
HORATIO MILLER (282 s.) On July 14th I saw the prisoner about 3.50 p.m. in Page Street, Mill Hill, leading a pony with a hempen halter—he did not seem to know which way to go—I knew the pony; I had seen it in a cart—I stopped the prisoner and asked him where he was going with the pony—he said he had bought it—I said he would have to come back with me to Mr. Keen's—he said, "I bought the f—-----pony"—I was taking him back when Keen met us, and said the pony belonged to him, and that it had been taken out of his field—he said he would charge the prisoner, and I took him to the station, where he was charged.
RICHARD JAMES KEEN . I reside at Good News Farm, Mill Hill—on Friday, July 14th, I missed my pony from my field about 3.30 p.m.—I had seen the prisoner leaning on the gate, and looking into the field where
the pony was—I next saw it opposite my farm with the policeman and the prisoner—the policeman asked if it was my pony—I said, "Yes "—he said he met the prisoner up the road with it.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I saw a man's face who was looking over the gate—there is no footpath near there.
GEORGE FULLER (2 s.) On July 14th the prisoner was brought to the station—he said, "I gave £4 10s. for the b—pony off a gipsy down the lane this afternoon"—I asked him what gipsy—he said he did not know, he could not say.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he bought the pony half a mile away, and paid four sovereigns and four half-crowns for it.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell Green on June 24th, 1902, in the name of John Smith. Four other convictions were proved, including two terms of ten and twelve years, and commencing in 1861, for housebreaking, the others being for horse stealing. Twelve months' hard labour.
FOURTH COURT.—Tuesday, July 25th, 1905.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
598. EDWIN GEORGE STRUCKETT (16) PLEADED GUILTY to forging an order for the payment of £3 10s. with intent to defraud; also to stealing and receiving a blank form of banker's cheque belonging to Alfred Henry Dawbarn. Discharged on his own recognisances in £5 and one surety of £5.—
(599.) CHARLES STEVENS (36) to assaulting Albert Stevens with intent to commit an abominable crime with him; also indecently assaulting him. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited. —And
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted; DR. COUNSELL Defended.
GUILTY . Eighteen months' hard labour .
MR. FRAMPTON, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, July 26th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MACKAY Prosecuted.
Road—on Monday, July 10th, at 4.30 p.m., I left those premises secured and locked—I am the master-man there, and I locked it up myself—I keep wool, flock and other material I use for my trade there—the prisoner worked for me for about eighteen months, and I discharged him about four months ago through slackness of work—we parted on good terms—I have not seen him since—I next saw the premises between 7 and 8 p.m.—one half of the shop was burnt, and all the windows and walls—the fire was out when I got there.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I do not owe you a farthing.
JAMES HAYWARD I am a cabinetmaker—on July 10th the prisoner came to my shop and said to my son," Have you seen Mr. Lock?" my son said, "No"—he said, "He owes me £2, and I want to see him "—he then put himself into a fighting attitude and said, "If not, I shall do something to him"—he took some money from his pocket and showed it to my son, who said, "Get home and take care of your money. Mr. Lock is not here"—the prisoner then shook hands with him and he went from the shop down the staircase—two or three minutes after he had left, my son, Walter Boxer and Coffin went downstairs—Mr. Lock's shop is underneath ours, and we found his place was alight—I told my son to get a chopper, and he ran and got one and broke the lock off, the door being locked—I opened the door and the flames scorched me a little—the fire was put out in half an hour—on the left-hand side of the door there were cracks in the boarding, and there was one place in particular where I could force my fingers through—probably the light was put through those cracks, but I cannot say.
By the JURY. The prisoner seemed to me to be perfectly sober; I cannot say exactly how he was—he seemed to be a little excited about something—he was pretty sober, I should think.
WALTER BOXER . On July 10th I was at work in Mr. Hayward's shop when the prisoner came up about 6.50 p.m. and said to Mr. Hayward, "Is Mr. Lock in?"—Mr. Hayward said, "No"—the prisoner said, "That man owes me £2"—Mr. Hayward said, "I don't want to know anything about that"—the prisoner said, "I will fight him like this for that £2," and he put his hands up—he shook hands with Mr. Hayward, nodded "Good-night "to me, and went downstairs—he was gone several minutes, when all at once I heard a noise—I jumped on the bench and saw the prisoner running as fast as he could in the street—he turned round and I saw he looked very white—I said, "That man has done something. Come downstairs quick," and we went downstairs—I was working on the third floor and Mr. Lock is on the second floor—the prisoner had a pipe in his mouth when he left us, but he was Dot smoking.
By the JURY. The fire was discovered, I should say, at 7.5 p.m.—I handed a pail of water to Mr. Hayward—I could not see how the fire originated; there was too much smoke—when the fire was put out I saw the floor at the side of the door was burnt and the door was also burnt inside—at the bottom of the door there was a hole; it could easily be pulled a little way out at the bottom; there was only a lock in the middle—it was a strongish door—you could put a light through the space under
the door or through several cracks in the door about three-eighths of an inch wide—there was wool and other stuff inside for upholstering.
FREDERICK JOHN RUSS . I am a French polisher, and on July 10th I was working at 2, Rappley Place—I was on the same floor as Mr. Lock, next door—between 7 and 8 p.m. on that day I saw Mr. Lock's place on fire—I saw the prisoner go in there before 7 and come running out again after 7; he had been in there about half an hour messing about—it was then that I saw the fire—as the prisoner passed my shop he said, "Revenge, revenge; that is my £2"—I rushed upstairs and saw Mr. Hay ward's son—I then gave chase to the prisoner, but lost him—I came back and went into Lock'8 premises—there is a partition there with a crack in it through which a match could be inserted—the door was burned all along and at the side—the windows were catching when the fire was put out by the firemen.
JOSEPH PULLEN (Sergeant H.) On the following Saturday to this the prisoner came into the police station at Commercial Street to make a complaint about someone following him—I asked him his name, and he said, "Davies"—I said, "I have reason to believe your name is Walter Geck," he said, "It used to be, but it is not now"—I said, "I shall arrest you for setting fire to No. 1, Rappley Place, Bethnal Green, on last Monday evening"—he said, "No one saw me do it, and they have got to prove I did it"—he had kept away from the place since that time—he made no reply when charged.
By the COURT When he came to the station the officer thought he answered the description of the man wanted, and sent for me, as I had charge of the case.
The 'prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was drunk on Monday night, and was smoking. I had a pipe in my mouth. The fire broke out, and they accused me. I did not do it."
The prisoner, in his defence, said that the whole thing was a put-up job against him; that he was too drunk at the time to have set fire to the place; that Lock owed him no money and he had no object in doing it.
The Jury intimated that they had a doubt as to the prisoner's sanity
JOHN LOCK (Re-examined). The prisoner is a German—during the eighteen months that he was with me I saw nothing strange about him when he was sober, but when he was in drink he would come round raving—he got locked up twice for being drunk—he is not a mechanic at all; he only assists me.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the Jury on the ground that they entertained some doubt as to his sanity. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Worship Street Police Court on August 1st, 1902. four previous convictions for drunkenness were proved against him. It was ascertained from Pullen, that had the fire not been extinguished when it was, there would have been a serious fire, as all the adjoining houses were of wood. Eighteen months' hard labour.
MR. TURNER Prosecuted.
HENRY GRADY . I am a costermonger of 60, Britannia Row, Essex Road—between 9 and 10 p.m. on June 19th I was in Chapel Street, Clerkenwell, sitting outside the Market public-house on a barrow when the prisoners came up and said they were going to do the same as the brothers Stratton to Vince, who was sitting by me—I have known them all my life—they are costermonger and I carry on my business in the same street as them—I had a row with their brother two years ago about some rabbits—I have not had a row with them since—in the winter I sell rabbits at my barrow and in the summer, fruit—Vince is a costermonger and goes to the meat market as well—they had had enough to drink—I told them to clear out—the wife of one of the prisoners came up and the prisoners walked away—me and Vince went in and had drink and came out—as I was going home William Sewell came up from behind and stabbed me in the back—I saw Edward had a knife also—this small Knife (Produced) was left sticking in my back—I was also stabbed in the neck, and I have still got the marks—I fell to the ground and was taken to the hospital—I went in on the Monday and came out on the Saturday week—both prisoners stabbed me, William stabbing me first.
Cross-examined by William Sewell. Edward came up to us and asked Vince what was the cause of his knocking your brother Samuel about—I did not strike Edward in the face as I came down the street five minutes afterwards—we never fell to the ground.
By the COURT. I do not know if Edward fell to the ground.
Cross-examined by Edward Sewell. When you asked Vince why he had been knocking your brother about, I said, "Why don't you go home?"
CHARLES VINCE . I am a meat porter, of 11, North Street, Clerkenwell—between 9 and 10 p.m. on June 19th I was with Grady outside the Market public-house in Chapel Street, when the prisoners came up and said, "We are going to do the same that the brothers Stratton has done. We are brothers together, and we are going to kill a few in Chapel Street"—they did not seem to me to be drunk—William Sewell's wife came up and said to him, "Why don't you go away?"and I said, "Me go away; why should I go away? I am going to stop here"—Grady turned round and said to the prisoners, "Clear out of it"—we were sitting on someone's barrow—they then left us—Grady and I had a glass of ale together—we then came out and he left me at the barrow and went down the street—all of a sudden somebody at the side said, "Look out; he is going down the street"—I ran after Grady, but before I got up to him Edward Sewell struck him in the back with a knife—Grady cried out, "For God's sake, whatever you do, pull it out"—Edward Sewell and he then both fell to the ground—I pulled out the knife from Grady's back—amongst the crowd that collected were Edward Sewell's and Samuel Sewell's wives, and they started sticking me with hatpins
as I was trying to get Grady up, and I had to cock my leg up to push them away—I got Grady to his feet and helped him to the bottom of Chapel Street—William was right behind Grady at the time of the stabbing—I did not see him do anything—another chap and me got Grady into a cab, and he was driven to the hospital—I cannot say where he was wounded.
Cross-examined by William Sewell. Nothing at all was said about my knocking your brother Sam about.
Cross-examined by Edward Sewell. You did not say to me, "Charlie what are you knocking Sam about for, and what are you going to knock me about for?"—I did not say, "You are one of the brothers; you might as well have some as well as him"—I did not come across the road to you the day before, and tell you I would pull your wind-pipe out for you—somebody did not pull me away, nor did I fall to the ground—I spoke to your brother Sam indoors—I did not see Grady strike you.
By the COURT. Edward did not have any mark upon him as if he had been struck in the jaw.
WILLIAM BENNETT (255 G.) About 11.15 p.m. on June 19th I was on duty when I saw the prisoner in White Lion Street surrounded by about twelve people—they were quarrelling with another man, and I requested them to go away—William Sewell said, "I struck him under the jaw," and Edward Sewell said, "I stabbed him"—someone in the crowd said, "Hush," and Edward said, "They can pinch me if they like"—they went on to a public-house, when they were taken into custody—I know nothing of the stabbing business.
BERNARD RIVERE . I am house surgeon at St. Bartholomew's Hospital—Grady was brought in with three wounds down the left side of the back of his neck, and one over his shoulder behind, and he was bleeding rather severely—the wound at the top of his neck was a deep one, and I tied an artery there—he had lost a lot of blood, and his shirt was soaked with it—the wound at the top of his neck was a serious one; it had not gone through any very big vein, but it was in a dangerous place—I think either of these knives could have produced the wounds—I think he was in the hospital about a fortnight, bat I had nothing to do with him whilst he was in—I saw him when he went out; his wounds were quite healed then.
GEORGE HANDERSON . I have left school, and live at 1, Rising Hill Street; I am not at work—on June 19th I was standing outside a crowd in Chapel Street when this knife (Smaller knife produced) came over and hit me on the head—I gave it to a police constable.
EDWIN MCGEE . I live at 5, Prospect Row, Henry Street—at 10 p.m. on June 19th I was in Chapel Street when I saw a crowd—I pushed my way in and saw William Sewell—I said to him, "Why don't you get out of the crowd?"and I shoved him out of the crowd—he had a knife in his hand, which he held under his jacket—I took it away from him—there was
someone lying on the ground, but I did not see who it was—I should say this larger knife was just about the same when I took it from him as it is now—a few shops were open.
William Sewell, in his defence on oath, said that on the day before this occurred Vince had threatened to pull his brother Edward's windpipe out; that he wanted to fight him (William) also, but was pulled away by his friends; that Vince on his way home hit his (William's) brother Samuel three times; that he merely went up on this day to ask Vince why he had hit his brother: that he had bought the knife McGee had found on him under his coat for cutting up rabbits, and that he was holding it in that way for safety; that Grady hit his brother Edward under the jaw and they both fell to the ground; that he did not use his knife at all; and that he (William) never said anything about the Strattons.
Edward Sewell, in his defence on oath, said that five minutes after leaving Grady and Vince, Grady came up to him and got him by the throat; that he fell down and as Grady was banging his head on the pavement he pricked him with the knife which he had in his hand in order to save his own life.
JOHN RICHARDS (Sergeant G.) I was in the police station when the prisoners were brought in about 11.30 p.m.—there were no signs of bruises on either of them—on Edward Sewell there was a slight abrasion on his right cheek about nine days old.
GUILTY . WILLIAM SEWELL then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony on August 6th, 1898. Six previous convictions were proved against him. The police gave him a bad character.— Five years' penal servitude. EDWARD SEWELL received a good character from the police, who stated that he had been led away by his brother— Eighteen months' hard labour.
605. CORNELIUS VISSER PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully selling 4 1/2 gallons of beer to which a false trade description, to wit, the word "Munich," had been applied, meaning that the said beer was made and produced at Munich. The prisoner was fined £10 and ordered to pay the taxed costs of the prosecution. The solicitors for the Defence undertook to pay the costs, the prisoner remaining in custody till the £10 fine was paid.—And
(606.) EDMUND NUGENT ENSWORTH (53) to obtaining from the Express Dairy Co. by false pretences 6s., their moneys, with intent to defraud, and to other counts charging him with similar offences. It was stated 'that the prisoner, while secretary of the company, had been engaged for the last ten years in dishonest transactions. Three years' penal servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, July 26th, 1905.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
GOERGE MITCHSELL . I am a labourer, of 35, Eleanor Street, Bow-near-Church—I opened a deposit account on January 19th, 1897, at Addington Road, Bow, and this is my bank book—there should now be £53 0s. 10d. standing to my credit—I have never had a withdrawal, nor signed any notice of withdrawal—£48 is missing—my wife kept the book—she died on May 11th this year, when I wanted money for the funeral, and looked at the book—I found that £48 0s. 10d. had been withdrawn unknown to me—I never authorised my wife, nor anybody else to withdraw the money—the prisoner is a stranger to me.
Cross-examined. I handed my deposit book to my wife soon after I put my money in—I suggested that she should keep it because I trusted her—she knew what money was in the bank.
ETHEL BUTLER . I am an assistant at the Post Office at Bow-near Church—this is my writing on this notice of withdrawal of June 27th, 1904—a man brought the deposit book—a reply-paid telegram was sent to the office—the practice is to ask the applicant if the deposit book is his, and then ask him to sign the notice of withdrawal, before he can get the money.
Cross-examined. I cannot remember the man who came on June 27th, but my writing is there—people apply for one another sometimes.
Re-examined. In that case a special form has to be signed by a doctor, a minister of religion, or a Justice of the Peace.
BLANCHE KNOWLES . I am an assistant at the Post Office at 540, Commercial Road, Stepney—on June 27th, 1904, I was on duty at Bow-near-Church Post Office—I filled up this receipt on the deposit book being handed to me by the prisoner—the form was already prepared—I handed him £4—he signed the receipt in my presence, and I handed the book back to him—I identified the prisoner at the Police Court.
JOHN DRURY PHILIPS . I am a clerk at the General Post Office—in consequence of a complaint I saw the prisoner at the Addington Road, Bow, Post Office on June 21st—I showed him the thirteen notices of withdrawal and the thirteen warrants produced to the amount of £48—I told him who I was, and cautioned him; then I said I had reason to believe he would be identified as the person who made out the withdrawals, I asked him if he would offer any explanation—he said, "I signed them all; I did it for Mrs. Mitchell. She gave me 5s., 7s. 6d. or 10s."—he "was then given into custody.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was open and candid in every way—the word "applicant "is in the form, but the applicant is asked if he is the depositor, and the notice of withdrawal says, "I wish to withdraw"—as to whether the deposits will be made good, that is a matter for the Postmaster General.
RICHARD NORRIS (Sergeant K.) About 3 o'clock on June 21st I saw the prisoner in custody at 2, Addington Road, Bow—I told him he would be charged with forging and uttering between December last and April this year thirteen Post Office withdrawals and warrants, and defrauding
the Postmaster General of the sum of £48—he replied, "I admit I signed the whole of the papers; Mrs. Mitchell asked me to do it. Sometimes I got 5s., sometimes 7s. 6d., and sometimes 10s. for doing it. I used to send the other money to her"—after he was charged he was identified by Miss Knowles, a clerk from the Post Office, when he said, "It was not necessary to have me identified. I have admitted that I am the person who signed the withdrawals, and drew the money in the name of George Mitchell."
Cross-examined. He was quite open and candid when I saw him.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he signed notices and receipts as a favour to Mrs. Mitchell, and thought there was no harm in doing so, as she told him "the governor "could not, and she would make it all right for him, which she did by allowing him the 5s., 7s. 6d. and 10s. mentioned; that she said she wanted the money to go to Cambridge to see her mother and gave other reasons, and said that she would pay the money back, but that he never tried to imitate Mitchell's signature.
GUILTY . Four months' hard labour.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted; MR. FRAMPTON and MR. COHEN Defended Fisher.
HENRY GARRETT (Detective, City). Acting under instructions, I and other officers have had the prisoners under observation—on June 23rd I saw Fisher in Telegraph Street—he met Smith in Basinghall Street—Fisher entered No. 10 and Smith remained on the kerb, opposite, till Fisher came out and rejoined Smith, and they loitered up and down Basinghall Street for forty-five minutes—I followed them up and down the street—I next saw them on June 27th, when I saw Smith leave his house, 25, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square, and go to Red Lion Square—I watched the prisoners for two and a quarter hours that day—on June 28th Fisher went to Smith's house in Fitzroy Street and was admitted about 7.50 a.m.—he remained about an hour—he came out with Smith—after a visit to a coffee house they went to Fisher's address, 5, Portland Road, Holland Park—both entered—I had to leave for another case—on June 30th I saw them both in Bedford Row—I followed them through Featherstone Buildings into Holborn, Hatton Garden. Theobald's Road, Chapel Street, Great James Street, and back to Bedford Row again—on July 1st, about 11.30 or 11.45, I saw them together in Red Lion Square—I was with Gillard and other officers, keeping observation upon them.
Cross-examined. I gave evidence yesterday—I did not tell the Magistrate about June 30th or July 1st—I tried to hear the prisoners conversation, but was not able to.
HENRY BEARD (Detective, City). I assisted in keeping observation—on June 26th I was in Fitzroy Street—I saw Jones about 8 o'clock go to Euston Road to breakfast—he then made his way to Red Lion Square
where he met Fisher at 9.15—I followed them through various streets—they went to 9, Warwick Court, where Fisher went in, and Smith remained outside—I lost them about 1.30 at the Tube station, Chancery Lane—on June 30th I saw Fisher knock at the door of 25, Fitzroy Street—he went in and remained about ten minutes—both came out, and I followed them through Red Lion Square, when I was joined by Gillard.
JOSEPH GILLARD (Detective, New Scotland Yard). On July 1st, acting under instructions, I went to Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square, and kept observation on No. 25—I saw the prisoners leave that house together about 9.25—I followed them, with Beard, through various streets into Red Lion Square—later they came back to Seven Dials—they went into the Grapes public-house, and remained there about half an hour, when they went to Cambridge Circus, and stood on the refuge in the middle of the road for about five minutes, and then walked back, and went into the Bunch of Grapes—in about two minutes they left there, and went into Shaftesbury Avenue, and then to Bury Street, S.W., close to Bloomsbury Square—they passed Mrs. Hunt's newsagent and tobacconist's shop, No. 12—they stopped about twenty yards beyond the shop, and after Fisher had apparently handed something to Smith he walked back to that shop, while Fisher looked round in that direction, standing close to the corner of the street—when Smith came out of the shop he joined Fisher, and they walked together to Theobald's Road, and passed a newsagent and tobacconist's shop about thirty yards,. when Fisher handed something to Smith, who returned, and went into the shop, No. 132, remained a minute or so, and then left and rejoined Fisher—Fisher was looking round while Jones was in the shop—Read, who was with me, went into the shop and spoke to Miss Binning—a coin was produced, which Read marked in Miss Binning's presence—we brought the coin away, and made a communication to Beard and Gillard, and then we went to Mrs. Hunt's shop, 12, Bury Street, and spoke to Mrs. Hunt, who produced this florin, which was marked in her presence—we then left that shop, and went to Red Lion Square, following the prisoners through Princeton Street, Red Lion Square—Fisher left Smith, who walked up Red Lion Street, which is at night angles to Princeton Street—Smith went down Red Lion Street, where I followed and stopped him—I arrested him as he was entering a coffee shop—I told him who I was, and tried to search him, but that was impossible—Carlin came to my assistance, and he was taken to the station, where he was searched—I found this 2s. piece in his right side waistcoat pocket, and this counterfeit 2s. piece wrapped in soft paper in his top breast pocket—in good money I found fourteen separate shillings, and nineteen sixpences, 6d. in bronze, and two packets of Gold Flake cigarettes unopened.
Cross-examined. I gave substantially the same evidence yesterday—I told you I had seen these men visit a coffee house and several beer houses—I could not see what was passed to Smith.
Re-examined. I did not see Smith use a knife.
I was also in Theobald's Road—I saw Smith and Fisher pass 132, Theobald's Road, a newsagent and tobacconist's shop kept by Mary Binning, about ten yards, when they stopped, and I saw Fisher hand Smith something, and Smith enter the shop—I afterwards went into the shop and spoke to Miss Binning, who had the coin in her hand, examining it—I found it to be counterfeit, and marked it in her presence.
Cross-examined. I tested it by cutting it—I gave evidence yesterday—I was not cross-examined on that point.
FRANCIS CARLIN (Detective-Sergeant, New Scotland Yard). On July 1st I was near Bedford Row, shortly after 1.30 in the day—I saw Smith with Gillard and another officer—I went to their assistance, and after Smith had been taken to the station I went back to Princeton Street with Beard and Garrett—in Bedford Chambers I found Fisher—the room was occupied by a gentleman who keeps an addressing agency—that is how he styles it—I said to Fisher, "I shall arrest you for, in company with John Smith, who is now detained at the police station, uttering counterfeit coin"—he said, "That is not my line; you will not find any snide on me"—snide is a phrase used amongst coiners for bad money—I searched him immediately—I found on him £1 in gold, 9d. bronze, and a packet of Gold Flake cigarettes, similar to this—I afterwards went with Inspector Arrow to 25, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square, and assisted him to search the place—Fisher opened the packet of cigarettes in my presence.
Cross-examined. There were three cigarettes in it, Gold Flake—they are very common.
CHARLES ARROW (Chief Inspector. New Scotland Yard). On July 1st I saw the prisoners detained at Gray's Inn Road police station—I afterwards went to 25, Fitzroy Street, with Carlin—we searched the back parlour on the ground floor, which was pointed out to us—in the fireplace I found this piece of used emery cloth, and this piece of metal in the firegrate in the ashes, where there had been a recent fire—the metal is used to hold the counterfeit coin in what is called the bath to plate it, while it is dipped in the solution—the small fender round the grate was splashed with white metal—in the cupboard of a washstand I found this locked bag—I unlocked it with the key that had been found on Smith, and in it I found three crucibles, one of them with metal inside, and a bar of soft tin, also a pair of pliers, showing marks of having been recently used in the fire by the black on them, a knife with marks of white metal on it, some plaster of Paris, a spoon with similar marks, and containing powder which is used for polishing, and some similar metal was found in the fireplace—in the same cupboard I found fourteen moulds with impressions of coins scraped out—these are two parts, and there were a large quantity of fragments, apparently scrapings of the moulds, and a quantity of plaster of Paris; also a bottle containing a liquid acid—I afterwards placed this halfpenny in the acid, with the result that it is now silvered after being dipped in the liquid—I found other articles (Produced)—I took out the bottom plate of the oven, and found traces where a quantity of plaster of Paris moulds had been placed to dry—I found four packets of Gold Flake cigarettes, and fifty new pictures similar to this—I afterwards
examined carefully the fragments of plaster of Paris and broken moulds, and took out thirteen pieces of what appeared to be the milling of coin, and three pieces bear the lettering of coin—those have been submitted to experts for examination, and I had a photograph taken of one florin, which has the impression of the letters "RITT "on it—these are enlarged photographs (Produced)—I afterwards went to Fisher's residence with another officer, and made a search there—I found no counterfeit coin, and no coining implements—I found this hand vice, and twelve very fine files, also a gimlet and fourteen keys—the files bear no marks of coining—there was also a deposit note for £200 on Parr's Bank, Notting Hill branch—after the search I again went to Gray's Inn Road police station, where, the prisoners and myself being present, Gillard said that he had been to Fitzroy Street, and saw two men leave Fitzroy Street about 9 that morning—shortly afterwards Fisher said, "I did not sleep at 25, Fitzroy Street; you did not see me leave the house"—Miss Binning also made a statement as to the uttering of the counterfeit florin at her shop—the prisoners were then charged, and the charge formally read over to them—a minute or two afterwards Smith said, "This man knows nothing whatever about it. I acknowledge everything; I acknowledge the passing; I acknowledge the possessing of the implements, but they were for making keys, not coins, and I have not made any"—on the way to the cells Fisher said, "They did not see me give him any counterfeit coin; I might have given him some good money"—Fisher gave me his address as 5, Portland Road, Holland Park—he said he occupied the top back room in the name of Charles Roberts—these photographs are enlargements of the originals.
Cross-examined. My evidence in substance is the same as I gave yesterday—I found nothing on Fisher relating to counterfeit coins, only good money—he gave me his name and address at once—he was candid.
GEORGIANA HUNT . I am a newsagent and tobacconist at 12, Bury Street, Bloomsbury—on July 1st, about 1.30 in the day, I served Smith with a packet of Wills' Gold Flake cigarettes—he tendered this florin and I gave him Is. 6d. silver and some bronze in change; he went away—I put the coin in the till, where I had no large silver coin—I had taken the other coins out a few minutes previously—shortly afterwards a police officer came in—I showed him the coin, and he marked it in my presence.
Cross-examined. I only saw Smith—I have never seen the other man.
MARY BINNING . I am a tobacconist and newsagent at 132, Theobald's Road—about 1.30 on July 1st I served Smith with a packet of Wills' Gold Flake cigarettes—I gave him change for this 2s. piece—immediately afterwards a police officer came in and spoke to me, and I showed him the coin, which he marked in my presence—I had it still in my hand.
ELLEN DATE ,. I reside with my husband, Walter Date, who is a printer's reader, at 25, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square—on May 17th Smith came and took the back parlour on the ground floor at 8s. a week in the name of Raven—at the time of Smith's arrest we had a charwoman named Elizabeth Smith—she was with me about six weeks before that—Smith paid a week in advance, and was entitled to leave without notice—
once the other man came and knocked at Smith's door when Smith was not in, and he walked out again—he said, "He is not there"—I let him in at the front door—I have seen Smith, whom I knew as Raven, go out and join the other man on the opposite side of the road—I was cleaning the window—they went away—Smith used to have half hundred-weights of coal at a time and light his own fire, though it was summer.
ELIZABETH SMITH . I am a charwoman, and live at 37, Upper Charlton Street, Fitzroy Square, with my husband—I was employed by the last witness in June and July, and attended to Smith's room on the ground floor—I often laid the fire and the following morning found ashes in the grate—I saw white splashes on the grate like whiting—I saw a packet of something like whiting in the cupboard—there was white sediment in the bottom of the basin—a gentleman came to Smith's room on two occasions—I am almost sure Fisher is the man—he came once in the afternoon and once in the morning—he was only in the room once—he stayed thirty or forty minutes—Smith was there—I knew him as Raven—I have had to move a black bag when cleaning the room—I found it very heavy—it was kept locked.
Cross-examined. The bag was kept on the floor by the side of the washstand—there were three packages of paper with this white stuff in the cupboard—on the mantelpiece was a file—the first time I saw Fisher was within about a fortnight before Smith's arrest—I did not go there after July 1st—I saw Fisher's face, and saw him going out—I identified him about a week afterwards at the police station—I did not declare it was him—I was almost sure he was the man; I was not quite sure—the second time I saw him at the house he remained not many minutes—I saw Smith on the morning of July 1st, but I cannot tell the time, because I was late that morning for my work—it was between 9 and 9.30; it might be ten past 9—he was not in the house, he came on to the door-step and let me in—he had been out before 9—he did not go in—nobody was with him that I noticed—he left the doorstep alone.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Coin to His Majesty's Mint—these are counterfeit florins—three are from one mould and one from a different mould—these are fragments of moulds—I find impressions which the enlarged photographs represent—I went through them yesterday—by dipping a coin in this solution of cyanide of potassium it becomes silvered without the aid of a battery, producing the effect described by Arrow on a bronze halfpenny—these small pieces of metal, hook shaped are called coin ladders and are used to hold the coin in the solution—the other things produced are capable of being used in making bad coin.
Fisher, in his defence on oath, said that he had only met Smith about fourteen days before the arrest at a restaurant, and became interested in him as both had visited America, but he had nothing to do with base coin; and that what he handed Smith was a penknife to pare his nails, which Smith returned.
GUILTY . (See next case.)
609. JOHN SMITH and CHARLES ROBERT FISHER then PLEADED GUILTY to breaking and entering the counting house of Sidney Howard Farrar and stealing four cheques and £301 2s. 2d., their property, having been convicted, Fisher at Clerkenwell on May 4th, 1897, in the name of Edward Simpson, and Smith at the Appleby Assizes on January 14th, 1898. Five other convictions were proved against Smith and two against Fisher, besides other charges in America and England against him and he was stated to be an habitual criminal and an associate of Continental and American thieves. FISHER— Ten years' penal servitude and Six months' hard labour, to run concurrently, and SMITH Eight years' penal servitude and Six months' hard labour, to run concurrently. The COURT commended the police for their discretion, shrewdness, and promptitude in effecting the capture of two most dangerous criminals.
FOURTH COURT.—Wednesday, July 26th, 1905.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
610. CARL MAYER (20) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully and fraudulently obtaining from Alfred Martin and from Alice Jones the sum of £3, and attempting to obtain from Nellie Dean and Alfred Martin the sum of £4 by false pretences and with intent to defraud; also to forging and uttering an order for the payment of £30 with intent to defraud well knowing it to be forged; also to tittering a forged warrant and request for the delivery of a book containing fifty blank forms of banker's cheques with intent to defraud, knowing it to be forged. Three months' hard labour.
611. WALTER WOOD (30) and ALFRED SOAMES (40) , Feloniously breaking and entering the Baptist Chapel, Highgate Road, and stealing therein a cardigan jacket and other articles, the property of Philip Neppires. WOOD PLEADED GUILTY
MR. DUCKWORTH Prosecuted; MR. METHVEN Defended.
PHILIP NEPPIRES . I live at 116, Blanfield Road, Highgate, and am chapel keeper at the Baptist Chapel, Highgate—I found one morning the chapel had been forced and certain things belonging to me had been taken away—I recognise these articles (Produced) as mine.
HORACE BROOKER (8 Y.R.) On July 12th, at 1.45, I was in the Highgate Road when Wood came up to me and said, "I wish to give myself up for breaking into the Baptist Chapel, Highgate Road, and stealing from there a cardigan jacket and a pocket knife"—I asked him how he got in—he told me he got in at the back—I took him to the police station—he was wearing the cardigan jacket and the knife was in the pocket—when charged he made no reply.
Cross-examined. I was at the Marylebone Police Court on July 19th when the charge was read over to the prisoners—Wood said, "I plead guilty to the charge. Soames had no knowledge the property was stolen; I gave it to him to sell."
with us on July 4th—I do not remember the pledger—I cannot swear that he was Soames—the man who brought them in said they were his property.
Cross-examined. The name on the ticket is George Randall—that is the name that was given.
Re-examined. It is not uncommon to pledge things in somebody else's name.
MICHAEL FENNING . I live at 12, D✗lby Street, Kentish Town, and am a carpenter—on July 8th Soames asked me to buy a pawnticket—he was a stranger to me—I gave him 6d. for it, more out of charity than anything else—I do not know Wood.
Cross-examined. I did not think there was anything wrong at the time—if I had known there was anything wrong I should have had nothing to do with it—I have never seen either prisoner before.
JOHN HAPPER . I live at 128, Wellington Road, and am a bootmaker—on July 5th Soames brought these boots to me and asked me to buy them of him—he wanted half-a-crown—I bought them—five minutes afterwards I saw Wood pass my shop with Soames—I had seen Wood standing about twenty yards off while Soames came to me—all Soames said was that Wood was hard up and he wanted half-a-crown for them as he wanted 2s. for a fare into the country.
Cross-examined. I had no suspicion there was anything wrong—I should not have bought the boots if I had—the thing was done quite openly; there was no conspiracy about it—Soames said, "That man wants half-a-crown for the the boots," and he then went up to the other man—I did not see whether he gave him the money.
DAVID LIDDELL (Detective-Sergeant T.) About 9.30 on the 18th inst. I saw Soames in Kentish Town Road—I spoke to him—he said, "What is up now?"—I said, "A man named Walter Wood is charged with stealing some things from the Baptist Chapel, Highgate Road"—he said, "I don't know the man"—I said, "I have ascertained that you have been dealing with some of the stolen property, namely, a pair of boots and also with a pawnticket"—he said, "I sold the pair of boots; I did not know the man's name. I don't know anything about the pawnticket"—I then told him the charge was "being concerned with Wood, also with receiving the property, well knowing it to be stolen"—when charged he said, "I don't know anything about that; all I know is that the man took the boots off and gave them to me to sell."
Cross-examined. Before he made that statement Wood had been charged—I was not at the Police Court when Wood made his statement—Soames was quite calm throughout the conversation.
Soames, in his defence on oath, said that he met a man with an old pair of boots under his arm and a pair of boots on his feet; that the man took the boots off and asked him if he could sell them; that he (the prisoner) said he would try, as he was a shoemaker, and took them to Harper; that the same man asked him to dispose of the pawnticket, which he did for (id.; and that he did not know Wood's name till it was mentioned by the Detective.
NOT GUILTY .
WOOL then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at the Marylebone Police Court on December 3rd, 1903. Six months' hard labour.
612. MARY HILDA DAY (29) , Being entrusted by Marie de Schryver with two wooden trunks, a black cloth jacket, and other goods in order that she might retain the same in safe custody, did unlawfully and fraudulently convert the same to her own use and benefit. Second count, Being entrusted with a valuable security, to wit, a banker's draft for £190, by the same person in order that she might pay the proceeds to Marie de Schryver, did fraudulently convert those proceeds to her own use and benefit.
MARIE DE SCHRYVER . I am now in a situation in Scotland—in June, 1904, I was lady's maid to Mrs. Caryll, at 3, Curzon Street—the prisoner was employed there as a general servant—her name then was Hilda Cheney—she has since married—at that time I had a house at Putney in which I had invested my savings—I left the service at the end of July or the beginning of August and took apartments at 12, Quebec Street—about August 12th the prisoner came there and told me that my late mistress had missed a lot of things and jewels and she blamed her for it—she came again on another day and said that my late mistress blamed me for it as well—it was little diamond brooches one day and clothes another—the prisoner said that she would be taken to prison and I as well, if the money for the things was not found before a certain hour of the day, but that she would not tell the mistress where I was and would keep me safe—I think it was about £30 that she wanted—I did not know where to go for the money, so I went to my solicitor, who kept the deeds of my house, and got £30 from him, which I handed to the prisoner to give to her mistress—she told me there were detectives waiting till she came back with the money—I had not taken any of my late mistress's things—the prisoner came a few days afterwards and said that Mrs. Caryll missed some linen—the prisoner said that £10 would cover its value, so I gave her £10—she said she would not ask me for any money, only her own solicitor was out of town—she came again later and said there were some more jewels missing and also that Mrs. Caryll said that she had given me £25 in notes to pay a dressmaker's bill and that I had kept the money and not done so—there was no foundation for that statement—I was frightened; the prisoner trembled so that she made me tremble—I knew it was not true, but at the same time I thought one never knows what they will say, so I got £40 from my solicitor, of which I handed the prisoner £30—this was on August 29th—the prisoner gave me this receipt for £70, but I had forgotten a £5 note I had handed to her—it should have been for £75—the prisoner and I went to my solicitor's and as we came out he came behind and heard the prisoner say to me, "If I were you I should clear myself; it would be much better for you and myself"—I said I should not clear myself, I should do what I could to help her in getting out of prison—at the end of August or the beginning of September I went abroad, but before doing so I said to the prisoner
"What shall I do with my luggage? I shall have to leave it here in my lodgings or else I must store it"—she said, "I will take it away and put it in Day's house and take great care of it; it will be as safe as gold" I was pleased with that arrangement and agreed—there were two trunks, and this is a list of the things in them as near as I can remember—I went off to Belgium—I gave my solicitor instructions to sell my house, which he did, and I received a remittance from him while I was abroad—I wrote to the prisoner once or twice while I was away and wrote to her that I was coming back—she met me at the station—I had in my possession a draft for £190—this was December 29th—I asked the prisoner if everything was over and she said, "No; the case is coming on next week"—she asked me if my solicitor had sent me the rest of the money for my house—I said, "Yes"—she said that the detectives were still after me and that there was a description of me in a paper and that wherever I should be they would catch me if I showed up—I said, "What shall I do? I have a cheque, but I have got no money"—she said, "Don't go to the bank; I will change it for you, because they would not go by your name; they would go by your figure as you are described"—I believed what she told me—she asked me where I was going to—I said, "I have got a room at Prince's Road, No. 7"—she said, "Don't go there, because the detectives have been there and they will go there Again and find you"—she added, "I have a nice room at Clapham Junction"—I said, "Very well; I will let the people know I am not coming"—she said, "I will see to that; I will write"—she said I had better go by "bus, because if I went in a cab they would very likely stop me—I went to the address she gave me at Clapham Junction—when there I handed her the cheque, having endorsed it—she said she would go to the bank to-morrow morning soon after 10 and probably be back about 12—I gave her the cheque to change and to give me the money the next morning—while in Belgium she wrote me that things had smoothed down—soon after I handed her the cheque, I saw her again—I said, "Where is my money?"—she said, "I could not change the cheque"—I said, "Let me have the cheque; Mrs. Prior will change it for me"—she said she had put it in her trunk and that her trunks were locked up by the detectives till the case was over—I wrote her several times—she sent me £1—she afterwards said that she gave the cheque to a gentleman to change and that he had never come back with the money—I asked the prisoner for an acknowledgment—she said she would make it good, as she had several houses coming from her mother, only the business could not be settled, as she had a foster sister who claimed the money and it took the solicitor some time to settle it up—she gave me this acknowledgment—it is described there as a "loan," but it was not—she has not given me the money—she gave me this letter to take to the manager of a bank where her money was supposed to be—I went there, but the manager said he knew nothing about it—later on I went to Mrs. Caryll and then communicated with the police—on June 21st last I went with Sergeant Haines to 74, Honeywell Road, where the prisoner had been living, and found there one of my trunks empty and with the lock broken
—there were there a few photographs and an old work-basket, but none of the clothing that belonged to me.
Cross-examined. The prisoner frightened me so that I dare not move out of my lodgings—I quite believed what she said—I could not think she was telling me a lie from the way she trembled—I told her I did not want any trouble and I would try and borrow the money from my solicitor—I told my solicitor that Mrs. Caryll had missed the things and that there were two detectives and that I was frightened, and I believe my solicitor said, "I should not give her any more money if I were you," and that I said to him, "I am quite sure it is true from the way she said it"—I did not tell him everything, but sufficient to make him understand why I wanted the money—I got the money to help the prisoner out of her trouble as much as I could—I was supposed to have been in it—it is not true that I lent her the money to start a boarding house—I know what "lending" is—I have not lent any money—she said if I went to the bank the detectives would be after me, so I let her go with the cheque and she said she would bring the money back at 12 o'clock—there was nothing of much value in the trunks, but there was a jacket which cost £7 10s. and a skirt which cost £2 10s.—I did not tell the prisoner that her husband's daughter could have the jacket—I did not give the jacket away.
Re-examined. When I left the boxes with the prisoner they were fastened by locks—I had the keys and kept them—the prisoner had no means of opening the locks except by breaking them open or getting another key—there is no foundation for the statement that I gave her any of the things—I was frightened because I thought I was going to be arrested, although innocent of any charge—I wished to avoid that—after I had been at Clapham Junction for three or four weeks there was a suggestion in a letter about managing a boarding house—that was three or four weeks after I had parted, with my cheque—it was quite a new thing.
JAMES PARKER . I live at Ramsden Road, Balham, and am an accountant to Messrs. White, Borrett & Co., solicitors—we acted for the prosecutrix in the purchase of her house at Putney—we held the deeds—on August 12th, 1904, I had an interview with her when she had an advance of £30 on the security of her deeds—on August 16th she had a further £10—on August 29th a further £40—on the occasion before the last one she said to me in the prisoner's presence, "My friend has asked me to go with her to the mistress and confess, but I have nothing to confess, so how can I go?"—it was either that or words to that effect—she had said in the prisoner's presence that detectives were waiting to arrest her unless she paid over some money—I think the prisoner said, "It would be better for us both if you came back"—I thought it so very suspicious that I told them they had better consult a solicitor—we had not been consulted professionally—afterwards, on the prosecutrix's instructions, we sold her house and remitted her the money to Belgium—that was in October.
Cross-examined. The vendor of the house sent Miss de Schryver to us to act for her in the matter of the house—she led me to believe that she
was falsely accused of stealing property and that she wanted the money to prevent it being made—we did not believe that there was a charge and could not understand the excuse that was made.
Re-examined. We should not take up a case of this sort—our business is principally conveyancing.
CHARLES ARTHUR CORTAZZI . I live at 317, London Road, Thornton Heath, and am cashier at Martin's Bank—this draft was presented to us on December 30th last—I do not know who by—I paid it—I produce a certified extract from the Cash Book, showing how it was cashed—it was cashed by £170 in notes and £20 in cash—among the notes were two £20 notes numbered 59,401 and 59,403.
RICHARD HILLS . I am a clerk in the Bank of England—I produce certain bank notes—one of them numbered 59,404 for £20 is indorsed Henry Day, 74, Honeywell Road, New Wandsworth; another for £10, No. 65, 279, is indorsed "H. Day; "I also produce the notes 59, 401 and 59, 403.
EDMUND JAMES SLY . I live at 134, Earlsfield Road, Wandsworth Common, and manage a pawnbroker's business at 131 and 133, Falcon Road, Clapham, kept by Mr. Bingman—I know the prisoner as a customer—in December last she had some jewellery pledged with us, and on the 31st she came to redeem it—there was between £14 and £15 due, and she paid by a £20 note—she came with her husband—Mr. Bingman banks at the London County Bank, Clapham Junction, and the £20 note was paid into that account on January 6th—no other £20 note was paid in that week.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner's husband as a customer of ours—he has often had transactions with us—as far as I know he is a respectable man living at Clapham.
STUART ROBERT MOORE . I am a clerk at the London & County Bank, Clapham Junction—Mr. C. H. Bingman has an account with us—I produce a certified extract from our Credit Waste Book, Note Register, of between December 31st and January 7th, showing payments by him into his account—during that period there was only one £20 note paid in by him—that is No. 59,401.
FRANK DWELLEY . I am an assistant to Messrs. Robinson & Cleaver, 101 & 102, Cheapside, London—I know the prisoner as a customer—she came on January 3rd last with a gentleman and purchased some articles—the prisoner ordered them—I made out the bill in triplicate and gave her the top copy—the things came to £20 1s. 9d.—that amount was paid by a £20 note and cash—the note is numbered 59,403.
Cross-examined. Messrs. Robinson & Cleaver sell household linen, among other things—these were pillow slips and sheets—they would be suitable for a boarding house—there was a dressing gown bought at the same time and ten gentleman's collars—the buying of the collars was not a separate transaction—the things were all bought at the same time.
ALBERT HAINES (Detective, New Scotland Yard). On June 21st last I found the prisoner detained at Lavender Hill police station—I told her I was a police officer and held a warrant for her arrest on charges of fraud
—I read the warrant to her—in reply she said, "It is not right"—on the same day, in company with the prosecutrix, I went to 74, Honeywell Road, Battersea—she there pointed out a trunk—it was empty and the lock was broken—I there saw some photographs, and a workbasket—they were identified by the prosecutrix—I do not know of any charge having been made against the prosecutrix by Mrs. Caryll—I have had the investigation of this case.
Cross-examined. When the prisoner said, "It is not right," I suppose she meant that she had no fraudulent intention in anything she had done.
Re-examined. I believe Mrs. Caryll is out of the country—I have not endeavoured to find her.
HARRY SMALE (Police Inspector). I know Mrs. Caryll, of 3, Curzon Street—I saw her last some months ago—she is not in London now—I took steps to procure her attendance, but she had left this country—I know she took her tickets and I know she got into the train.
Cross-examined. I did not see her get into the train, but I know somebody who did.
The prisoner, in her defence on oath, said that when the prosecutrix left Mrs. Caryll's service her mistress had her upstairs as to some bills owing; that her mistress told her that she had given the money to the prosecutrix to pay those bills and asked her if the (the prisoner) knew where she (the prosecutrix) was; that the next day her mistress said she had missed several things and that in consequence she saw the prosecutrix on the matter; that the prosecutrix used to come to her (the prisoner) and ask her how she was getting on about the missing things and that the prosecutrix lent her the money to pay for them and the missing jewels; that the rest of the money was borrowed by her (the prisoner); and that the things in the trunks were given to her by the prosecutrix.
GUILTY . One conviction on December 15th, 1908, for larceny was proved against her. The police gave her a bad character as a confirmed thief. Four years' penal servitude.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, July 27th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MUIR and MR. BOYD Prosecuted; MR. HUTTON and MR. FULTON Defended.
MICHAEL BLAKE . I am a retired business man, principally dealing in real estate of late years—before I retired I was general manager of the Electric Lighting Company at Porte le Prairie, Manitoba—since retiring I have principally been living in Toronto and the town of Porte le Prairie—in February of this year I was in this country—on February 21st I went to the British Museum, and was looking at some articles from South Sea Islands when the prisoner, who was a stranger, said to me that he had seen some of them in Australia or the South Seas—he asked me if I was from
America and I told him I came from Canada, and he said he thought so; that his name was Johnston; that he was born in California; that he was a mining engineer by profession, and was visiting London for a short time—we sat down on one of the benches and talked for over half an hour or more—in the end he walked to my lodgings, 4 and 5, Montague Street, a residential hotel, and wished me to meet him at the Jermyn Street Museum next day—he called for me next day and we went to the Jermyn Street Museum—I was in his company that day for at least two or three hours—he said that he would like me to go to the Natural History Museum in Kensington the next day, and we parted, he having arranged to call for me next day, Thursday, February 23rd—the next day he came to my lodgings at 10 a.m. and asked me to go with him and meet a friend of his at the Russell Hotel—we went there and met a man coming down the steps of the hotel, whom the prisoner introduced to me as "Mr. Harvey, from Australia"—we then started to go towards Euston Station for the Kensington Museum, and I told them they were going in the wrong direction, but they thought it would be better to go over and take the Underground from there—we got as far as St. Pancras station, where Harvey asked us to wait and he would go and buy the tickets—it was my first visit to that station—on his return after a few minutes the prisoner suggested that we should go into the St. Pancras Hotel and have some refreshment—I do not know whether Harvey brought any tickets back; he did not show them to me—we were walking out by the drive round to the front of the hotel when the prisoner drew my attention to the fact that a letter had been dropped; this was in the archway of the premises of the railway—I saw a letter on the ground and picked it up while the prisoner and Harvey called to a stranger, who was walking out of the archway, that he had dropped the letter—he turned round and I handed it to him—he thanked us sincerely and asked us to go into the hotel and have some refreshment with him—we went with him into the hotel and sat down on the main stairway and he called for refreshments—he thanked us again and said that the letter was not of much consequence, but that it was from a friend who had written to him a few days before that—he then told us after a few minutes' conversation that he was from India; that his uncle had died there and left him and his brother £800,000 between them, and that he was going to live in England and Ireland, as the climate of India did not agree with him—after a few minutes he told us that he had had quite an experience the night before, a lady having introduced herself to him at the Empire, and that he had gone home with her, where she had introduced her nieces and a gentleman to him; that he had got gambling there and had lost some money—we advised him not to go there again, as he intended to do, but he said they were all right; he seemed to me to be a very simple-minded man—the prisoner whispered to me that we should accompany him to this place and protect him, but I told him that I did not wish to go—finally the stranger agreed that he would not go, as he said he began to realise that they were bad people, and he thanked us very much in the matter—he introduced himself as Burke—he said the letter did not
amount to anything, and as he was going out to the lavatory he said, "You may read it if you wish; it is not of very much consequence"—after he had gone Harvey read the letter aloud and it ran, as near as I can remember, like this: "Dear Friend,—I am very pleased to hear of your great wealth, but sorry to hear of your uncle's death. You are now a very rich man, and I hope you will make good use of your money. You made one mistake before leaving India, but I hope in time it will be over-looked," and then it went on to say that the writer would be pleased to meet him on a future occasion—when he came back either Harvey or the prisoner asked him what the mistake was that he had made in India, and he told us—Burke then asked the prisoner how much money he could command in the City and he said, "About £800"—he then turned to Harvey and asked him the same and Harvey said, "About £600"—he asked me then, and as I hesitated he said, "I will tell you my reason for asking in a moment if you will tell me"—I then told him I had £500 I could command—"Well," he says, "my reason for asking is that I want to see if you are men of any substance. I am most thankful to you for your kindness in this case, because these people might have robbed me and killed me, and I will give you the use of £2,000 each for five years"—the prisoner and Harvey thanked him very much, but I said I did not want any of his money, as I was tolerably well off without it—he said that I might have it as well as the others as long as I gave fair security for it—he then went into the lavatory again, and the prisoner and Harvey told me I had better take the money as well as they, as they really wanted it, saying they could double the money in that time as well as give fair security for it—I said that if it was a benefit to them I would take it and that I could give good security too—Burke came back in a moment or so and we thanked him for his offer—he said he would give us the money if we produced the amount of money that we said we each had in an hour or so in the same place—the prisoner said he had his money in a bank down the Strand, not mentioning any name, and he went off—Harvey and I went off, and he left me, saying he had got his money at a certain street of which I forget the name—I went into Lloyd's Bank in Lombard Street, where I had my credit, and drew out £80, which was all the money I had there at the time—they told me if I wanted more they would cable to Canada for it—I went back to St. Pancras Hotel with the £80 and met them all there—I told them that £80 was all the cash I had at the bank and that I should have to cable for more, and that I did not wish to do so—in the meantime I said to Harvey that I did not wish to go to the expense of cabling to Canada till I knew that Burke had the money to lend—Burke turned round at once and handed to Harvey a bundle of bills and said, "This is £60. You keep that. It is a pledge of good faith until Blake gets his money to-morrow"—I am not well acquainted with English money, but they seemed to be banknotes—I went out and telephoned to Lloyd's Bank for them to cable for he for £400—in the meantime I arranged with a friend of mine, a Mr. Dawson, in the City, to lend me £220, and the next day he and I went to his bank and got the £220—I also got from my bank the £400—I
had then £700 with the £80 I had drawn from Lloyd's Bank—we had arranged to meet at 2 p.m. at St. Pancras Hotel that day—about 12.30 p.m. I met the prisoner and Harvey in front of the Russell Hotel—Harvey said he did not feel very well and he and I walked down to the First Avenue Hotel and shared a bottle of champagne, for which he paid—the prisoner came in at the latter end and had some also—we then went to the St. Pancras Hotel, where either the prisoner or Harvey ordered another bottle of champagne, and we were drinking it when Burke came in—he asked us if we had all the money—the prisoner said he had his £800 and Harvey said he had his £600, and I said I had £700—the prisoner produced a bundle of banknotes and held them for a few minutes and talked for a while about how the proper way would be to give signed notes of hand for the money—in the meantime Burk said he had the £6,000, and pulled out his pocket-book as much as to say it was in there—after talking a few minutes I felt sick and went to the wash-room with my money still on me—the prisoner came after me and whispered to me to give Burke his own way, and not be too particular with him—I returned from the lavatory—in the meantime the prisoner and Harvey had their money out and they asked me to get mine ready too to show it was all right—the prisoner laid down his roll of bills and handed it to Burke, and said, "I will go and get the stamps to put on the notes of hand"—he went out and Burke called me into the lavatory with him—he had taken Harvey's banknotes by then—Burke then asked me my opinion of Harvey and the prisoner, and I told him they were only receipt acquaintances—he said in his opinion they were honourable men, and I said I thought so too—we then went back to the stairway and Burke asked if the prisoner had returned and Harvey said "No"—he then asked me to let him have my money and I gave him the £700—Harvey and he then both stepped out to look for the prisoner and they never returned—Burke put three cheques on the table, which he said were for £2,000 each—he did not say whether they were open or crossed cheques; I do not myself know the difference—I could not read them very well, as I had not my glasses with me—I waited for them to come back about ten or fifteen minutes—then I got suspicious and I walked out to see if they were at the wash-room or the office, but they were not there—I made enquiries and found they were not to be seen at any place—I went to the police and gave an account of what happened with a description of the men—they showed me some photographs amongst which I identified the prisoners—I have been in Scotland and Ireland since; I have not been back to Canada—on July 1st I went to a police station, where I saw ten or more men from whom I picked out the prisoner without hesitation.
Cross-examined. We were walking abreast when I picked up the letter—I am pretty well satisfied that it was the prisoner who drew my attention to it—the police took my statement down in writing—Inspector Neil came a couple of times to my lodgings—the police notified me in Ireland, and I went to the Police Court, when the prisoner was apprehended, and told what had happened to the best of my belief—Harvey
seemed to me to be a simple-minded man; he was a stranger to me, and, as far as I knew, he was a stranger to Burke—I should have advised Burke not to do it if unfortunately they had not given me this liquor beforehand; I did not think enough about it—when going down to the bank Harvey showed me a draft for £1,500 that he had from Australia, and said he would have to give three days' notice for it; I relied on him, as I thought he was an honest man—I believed everything that I was told—I went over as a young man to Canada from Ireland; I have never been to Australia—I should not have picked up the letter if my attention had not been drawn to it; I had not seen it at all before the prisoner drew my attention to it—it is wrong to say that the prisoner hardly joined in the conversation at all when Burke took us into the St. Pancras Hotel first, and that the conversation was chiefly between Burke and myself and occasionally Harvey—Burke made a proposal that if this money was to be handed over agreements ought to be signed—the prisoner did not suggest that it ought to be in the presence of a respectable solicitor—he did not say that he only had £80; it was £800—the agreements had not been written out when he went for the stamps; they were to be written out afterwards—after going back to the police station I did not go to the hotel again until next morning—there were a good many people passing backwards and forwards when this took place—we had two bottles of champagne at the St. Pancras Hotel; I cannot remember whether we had any brandy.
Re-examined. I understood the stamps that the prisoner was going to get were stamps to put on the notes of hand.
By the JURY. I saw Harvey hand what I presumed to be banknotes to Burke; I cannot say the quantity—Inspector Neil brought ten or twelve photographs to my lodgings the same night—the photograph I picked out of the prisoner was the same as the prisoner is now. [The COURT intimated that at the question of identity had not been set up, it was undesirable for many reasons to pursue the point as to the photograph.]
JAMES DAWSON . I am a merchant, and my business premises are at 85, Fore Street, City—I have known the prosecutor for some years—this cheque for £225 (Produced) I cashed at the London & County Bank, Fore Street branch, and handed him £220 of it.
ARTHUR MELVILLE WELD . I am a cashier at the London & County Bank, Fore Street branch, and I see here a cheque of our customer, Mr. Dawson, for £225—it was cashed by Mr. Dawson on February 24th—I produced two £100 notes Nos. 07130 and 07131, dated February 18th, 1904, which I gave in part exchange for it (Produced).
FRANK REGINALD CLARK . I am employed by Messrs. Cook & Sons, Ludgate Circus, in their banking department—I see here a banknote No. 07131, dated February 18th, 1904—late in the afternoon of February 24th I changed that into French gold and notes—we close just after 5 p.m.
ERNEST BUTCHER . I am a cashier at the head office in Lloyd's Bank, Lombard Street—on February 23rd I cabled to the Imperial Bank of Canada on behalf or Mr. Blake for a credit for £400, and on February 24th I handed him four £100 notes, of which I see two in front of me Nos. 17024 and 17026, dated February 18th, 1904.
THOMAS GEORGE CARTMELL . I am a partner in the firm of Cartmell & Schlitte, foreign bankers, of 84, Shaftesbury Avenue—about 4 or 5 p.m. on February 24th I changed these two £100 notes, Nos. 07131 and 17026, into partly French, partly German, and the balance into English money.
JAMES STOCKLEY (Detective-Inspector F.) On February 24th a report was made to the police by Mr. Blake—on June 21st I was at the Addison Road railway station, when I saw the prisoner—I told him I should take him into custody on suspicion of being concerned with two other men in robbing a man of £700 at St. Pancras station on the previous February by means of the confidence trick—he said, "I was not here. I know nothing about it. I can prove an alibi," and he added, "What are you taking me for now?"—I said, "I shall detain you until I know for certain that Mr. Blake has left the country"—he said, "You know he has gone. What is the use of messing me about?"—I took him to the Kensington police station, where I read to him the official description of the man who had been suspected in the information—he said, "I shall say nothing. Do what you like"—I said, "As you say you were not in the country in the month of February last, if you will give me your address I will make enquiries with regard to that," but he declined to give me an address—I was under the impression that Mr. Blake had returned to Canada, but we found out afterwards that he was staving in Ireland—on the following morning the prisoner was taken to Somers Road, where he was identified by one of the waiters at the hotel, and upon that evidence he was remanded for a week—while under remand we found that Mr. Blake was in Ireland and we communicated with him.
Cross-examined. When I arrested him he did not say, "I was not there when the money was handed over by Mr. Blake to the other two men"—when he said, "I was not here," I understood him to mean in the country—he said he knew nothing about it at all.
ARTHUR NEIL (Inspector Y.) On June 22nd, after the prisoner had been identified by the waiter, I said to him, "You will be charged for being concerned with two other men in robbing Mr. Michael Blake of £700 at the Midland Hotel in the Euston Road on February 24th last," and he made no reply—I read the charge over to him and he said, "All right."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he had met Harvey for the first time on board the "Cindric" of the Orient Line, coming from Australia in December, 1904; that he might be mistaken about the name of the ship and the line; that from America he came to England in the "Teutonic" in January, that the prosecutor's account was fairly accurate, but that he did not remember introducing himself as Johnston; that he met Harvey, whom he had not seen since he met him on board, by accident in Regent Street
on the night of February 22nd; that he (Harvey) arranged to join the prosecutor and himself in going to the South Kensington Museum on the morrow; that the prosecutor's account of meeting Burke was accurate, except that Burke stated one of the provisions of the will was that he should help deserving business men; that he (the prisoner) stated he could show £80, not £800; that it was Harvey who said that he had a bank in the Strand, and not he; that on the next day, on meeting, Harvey wrote out the notes of hand at the dictation of Burke; that he (the prisoner) proposed it should be done in the presence of a respectable solicitor, but that Burke said that he did not want it made public, as it was against his interests that the codicil in the will as to his helping deserving business men should become known; that it was then that he first suspected the confidence trick was being played upon them, but that he never suspected the prosecutor's honesty for the moment; that he did not tell the prosecutor not to be too particular with Burke and let him have his own way; that he then went out for some stamps and returned about 4 p.m., when he found they had all gone; that he made some enquiries, but as he was half intoxicated with the champagne he had had, he hardly knew what he was doing; that he had not parted with his £80, which was still in his pocket when he went for that stamps; that the next morning he read an account of how the prosecutor had been swindled, but he did not go and see him, as he wished to have nothing further to do with the matter; that he did not go and see Harvey, whom he suspected, because he did not think of it, and that he did not go to the police because he thought it was no concern of his; that when arrested he said, "I was not there, I can prove an alibi," by which he meant that he was not there when the prosecutor handed Burke the money; that he had no recollection of saying, "I know nothing about it," and that when asked his address he said that he had only just arrived from Marseilles, where he had been since April.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at the Sessions House, Clerkenwell, on January 23rd, 1900. Three previous convictions were proved against him. Seven years' penal servitude.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, July 27th, 1905.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. LATHAM and MR. COWEN Prosecuted.
GEORGE HENRY SHEPHERD . I am a licensed victualler and keep the Woolpack public-house, Bermondsey Street—I only know Perry from observation of him on the night of the robbery on April 7th and the previous evening, when I saw him from about 7 to 8 o'clock in the private bar—the plan produced is correct—I am not so certain about Snell—on Friday, April 7th, between 8.30 and 9 p.m., I saw them in my
bar—I left the private bar for a time and went into the bar parlour, from where I can see the bar—Perry and his companion were sitting near the flap—they had ordered two drinks and had the glasses in front of them—I think Snell was the other man—I remained twenty to thirty minutes in the bar parlour—I saw Perry for about ten or fifteen minutes, when Ellen Burnes, a barmaid, came into the bar and the men wore gone—she was so white I thought she would have dropped dead—she seemed very much frightened and made a complaint, and I went upstairs to my daughter Harriet's room on the second floor at the top of the house—I found the chest of drawers burst open, where I kept money as Treasurer of the Forester's Loan Society—between £30 and £40 had gone—I had last seen it on the previous Tuesday, when the Court had met—I kept it in my daughter's room because she is a better scholar, and kept my accounts—the drawers were kept locked—I went into my own bedroom on that floor—I missed my watch and Albert chain with a £2 piece on it in a gold case; it was a presentation watch when I was fifty years of age, and other articles to the value of £60, which I kept under lock and key—the wardrobe was forced open—I had locked it myself in the morning—that is where the watch and chain were—I next saw Perry at Westminster Police Court on June 23rd, and picked him out at once—there are two staircases, the ordinary one and a spiral one—customers use the lavatory on the first floor—they use either staircase—the ordinary one from the four-ale side is an old-fashioned staircase—the spiral staircase is used for gentry to go and dine in the club-room; it leads from the front of the house to the dining room—either can be used for the lavatory, but not beyond, and we have a gate on the old staircase with a catch so that people cannot make a mistake—beyond the first floor nobody has a right to go.
Cross-examined by Perry. I identified you without hesitation, but when I saw you at my house you were short cropped, you are better-looking now—I said, "This is the man; I have not the slightest doubt of it"—I hesitated because one or two gentlemen I knew were put in the row for identification and I thought it was funny.
MAUD SHEPHERD . I am a barmaid at the Woolpack—on April 6th I was serving in the bar from between 7.30 and 8 p.m.—Perry came in between 8 and 8.30—I had never seen the prisoners before—Mr. Shepherd and several other gentlemen were in the bar—Mrs. Shepherd and two other young ladies were serving—I saw the prisoners in the saloon bar—they were served by the Missus—I served them about half an hour after they came in—they stayed till after 12—when I served Perry he laughed and asked me how I was, and then I was called to serve another customer—afterwards Perry was looking round, and he said, "Are they bells up there?" pointing to two bells and something like a button round the bells—I said, "Yes, I believe they are"—he said, "Do you think they are fire bells?"—I said I should think they were—I believe they lead to doors—Snell was reading—Perry paid for the drinks—he said, "Is that your mistress?" pointing to Mrs. Tucker, the manageress—I said, "Yes"—the prisoners sat in the bar that evening for about four
hours—I missed one or the other occasionally—about three times I noticed that—I saw Snell go to the door, and come back with a paper in his hand—he came from the street—the next evening they came into the same bar about 8 or 8.15—the mistress served them, and afterwards I served them—in about fifteen or twenty minutes they began laughing, and talking about one thing, and another—I noticed Perry had gone out, and I said to Snell, "Is your friend gone?"—he said, "Yes, he won't be long"—he said he had taken medicine, and I came to the conclusion he had gone to the lavatory—Miss Burnes, one of the barmaids, went out—as she was going through the door Perry said, "Is that young lady going out for the evening?"—I said, "Yes, I believe she is"—it was after that that we had the conversation about the medicine—I did not see Perry in the bar after that—the last I saw of Snell was when he went to the door with a book in his hand—on the Friday night they drank stout and mild, and mild and bitter, and they left half of it in each glass, which is very unusual—Miss Burnes came back—I next saw Perry at Westminster, when I picked him out without any hesitation from about six or seven others—I saw Snell about four days afterwards.
Cross-examined by Snell. I did not notice that you left any drink in your glass on the Thursday.
Re-examined. They drank beer each time, not spirits.
ELLENS BURNES . I am a barmaid at the Woolpack—I saw the prisoners, come in together on the Thursday—they asked for the "Evening Standard" when I served them, when they first came in—they were in the bar when I went to bed about 11.30—they had been in the bar from about 8.30 or 8.45—on the Friday evening I saw them in the bar about 8.45—I put on my hat, and as I was going out, shopping, Snell said, "You look mashing to-night; are you going out?"—Perry said something—I came back in about twenty minutes, and as I was going through the private bar, I noticed Snell was looking towards the bar parlour—he was in the private bar, leaning on the counter—I went to the bar parlour, and then upstairs—I met Snell at the top of the stairs—I heard a whistle, low, and then loud—it came from below—Snell was against the lavatory door—I was going up higher—Snell could go upstairs either way—the spiral stairs would be nearer—I did not meet him, because I went up the broad staircase, and he must have gone up the other—only about two minutes had elapsed since I had seen him below—I went to the top floor—I heard a noise, like the rattling of money in a box—it seemed to come from the stairs—I had gone into my room, and I came out to see what was the matter—I looked down the stairs, and saw Perry on the stairs below the gate that is on the stairs which separates the private part of the stairs and the second floor from what is used by the customers—the public have no business above the gate—he was about two steps from the bottom, and actually falling down the stairs—he slipped down the last step—I heard the prisoners speak, but not what was said—I then went into my mistress's room—I saw that everything had been upset, and drawers were broken open that were usually locked—I came down and told the governor—I next saw
Perry at the Police Court, Rochester Row, Westminster—I was too excited at first, but when I saw him again I said, "That is him" at once—at Wandsworth prison I identified Snell at once from six or seven others—on the Friday I had last been in the rooms on the top floor about 8.20 p.m.—I went into my own room first to take my hat and coat off—it is not usual for customers to leave half their liquor in their glasses.
Cross-examined by Perry. I saw you standing with seven or eight others at Westminster—I did not put my hand on your shoulders for two or three minutes and say, "This is the lad"—I did not touch you at all—I said, "That is Aim," and I thought that was sufficient—I know you from seeing you in the house, and I know you are the one that fell down the stairs.
Re-examined. I am sure as to both the prisoners—Snell had a long coat on and a cap—I could not say what the other had on.
LOUISA TUCKER . I am manageress at the Woolpack—on Thursday, April 6th, I was serving in the bar—the prisoners came together between 7.30 and 8 p.m. into the private bar—they stayed till nearly closing time, about three or four hours—Perry was talking to Snell, and produced a post card—he was showing it to a customer—he wrote on it, "Sidney Perry"—he spoke to me about a girl he was taking out—Snell said he was always lucky, but scarcely anything else; Perry did most of the conversation—the next evening, Friday, they came into the private bar between 8 and 9—Perry said to me, "Good-evening, Aunty," in a jocular way—he spoke to me a few minutes afterwards—I did not see them go out of the bar—I next saw Perry at the Westminster Police Court on the 23rd—I felt sure he was the man, and afterwards I knew him perfectly—I identified Snell on June 22nd at Wandsworth prison.
Cross-examined by Perry. I saw you enter the house—at Westminster I did not put my hand on your shoulder and say, "This is the lad"—I said, "You are the man"—I was quite certain of it—I said at the Police Court that I was not quite certain of you till you took your hat off.
HENRY WARMAR . I am a fell monger, at 4, Union Terrace, London Road, Crayford—I was in the Woolpack on Thursday and Friday, April 6th and 7th—I went in on the Thursday about 6.15 p.m.—I noticed the prisoners together in the private bar—on the Friday I went in the same bar between 8 and 8.30—the prisoners were in the bar in conversation—I saw Perry go up the spiral staircase about 8.40—Snell remained in the bar—Miss Burnes passed through and disappeared—Snell went to the spiral staircase and whistled once, and then he made a row on the stairs, and went out—I next saw him at Rochester Row—as I was sitting in the bar Perry rushed downstairs with his hat at the back of his head, his coat open, and his chain hanging down—he nearly fell down the stairs when he got to the bottom, and he rushed out into the street—I identified Perry, but I was not sure about Snell—about fifteen persons were present—I recognised Perry directly I saw him.
Cross-examined by Perry. I did not identify the wrong man twice.
and was identified by Shepherd after a little hesitation, by Maud Shepherd with no hesitation, while Tucker and Burnes looked fixedly at him, but failed—afterwards Mrs. Tucker asked to see Perry's right cheek, and I told Perry to take his hat off—he did so, and Tucker and Burnes examined him, and both said they were satisfied he was the man—Warmar identified him on the 30th from nearly twenty—when the prisoners were placed for identification both objected to other prisoners being amongst them and said none of the men were like them, so the other prisoners were put back into the cells, and we obtained persons from the streets, with collars on, and as near like Snell as we could get them—one man from a pawnbroker's was identified by Warmar as one of the men—when Perry was charged he said, "I do not know anything about it"—Snell was identified by the three female witnesses from six others at Wandsworth prison, after an arrangement with the governor of the prison—when Snell was charged he said, "All right, I never."
Cross-examined by Snell. I inferred that you meant you never did it. Perry, in his defence, said that he was perfectly innocent, and that the witnesses had made a mistake.
Snell, in his defence, handed in a written statement to the effect that he went into the house with a man who treated him, and he admitted being in the house, but that he was never out of the bar till he went out for good, and that he knew nothing of the robbery.
GUILTY . PERRY then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at South London Sessions on March 12th, 1902. Five other convictions were proved against him— Three years' penal servitude. SNELL PLEADED GUILTY a conviction of felony at North London Sessions on April 20th, 1904. Two other convictions were proved against him, and it was stated that he was an associate of thieves— Twelve months' hard labour.
FOURTH COURT.—Thursday, July 27th, 1905.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
MR. PASMORE Prosecuted.
JOHN HOWARD (Detective-Constable T.) I am stationed at Chiswick—I arrested the prisoner on July 4th—I asked him if his name was Samuel William Parker—he replied, "Yes"—I said, "I shall arrest you for bigamously marrying Ann Scanlan on September 7th, 1902, at the Catholic Church, Stafford Road, Acton your first wife, Louisa Caroline Maud, being then and now alive"—he said, "Yes, that is right; I heard you were making inquiries about it. I stopped to see it out"—I produce copies of the certificates of the two marriages—in the second he is described as a widower—the second wife came to the police station and said that she had heard that her husband had committed bigamy.
Brentford, on July 25th, 1888—I think they lived together for eight or nine years—I do not know why they separated.
ELIZA MARY PARKER . I am the prisoner's daughter—I am seventeen—there are four children of my father—my mother has got three by another man—when I was ten or eleven years old my mother ran away from us with another man—I next saw her two or three months ago—my father last saw her about six weeks ago—he told me he thought she was dead—he was married the second time three years ago—I did not know of this until I came home from service—I thought he was dead, because mother told me that his brains had been smashed out—I used to call the other man that mother lived with "father."
MARY ANN SCANLAN . I live at 23, Hogarth Avenue, Chiswick—I was married to the prisoner on September 7th, 1902, at the Roman Catholic Church, South Acton—he said he was a widower—his daughter came home about two months ago and I then heard that he had a wife living.
The prisoner: "I thought she was dead.'
GUILTY . The police stated that the first wife had informed them that the prisoner did very little work; that when he did he did not bring his money home; that there were six children of the marriage; that he repeatedly beat her and that he had been sentenced to two months' imprisonment for deserting his children.
MARY ANN SCANLAN (Re-examined by the COURT). The prisoner has been a good husband to me; he has brought every penny home and has never knocked me about—he never drinks—it is not my wish to punish him.
Discharged on his own recognisances in £5.
MR. OLIVER and MR. DUCKWORTH Prosecuted; MR. CAMERON
ELIZABETH ROTTLEB . I live at 27, Saville Street—the prisoner called on me on June 16th last and said, "I have heard you want a flat"—I said, "Yes, have you got one for me?"—he said, "Yes," and took me to 3, Albany Street—he first went to 27, Albany Street and got a key, leaving me in the street—he showed me the flat at 3, Albany Street—he told me the rent was 18s. a week; "it was unfurnished—I told him I would take it—he went back with me to my place and there said he wanted a deposit for the rent—I gave him 15s. and 5s. for himself—he said he wanted something for himself—he said he would write a receipt—I was busy at the time and asked him to leave it on the table but I have not seen it—he said he would come on Tuesday and bring the key—he did not come—on Wednesday I went to look for him—he told me he lived at 32, Rathbone Street—I could not find him—I
went to 27, Albany Street, and found an agent there—he said he had got the key of the flat and that it was let—I told him I had rented the flat from Mr. Morris, and he said he had no money from him and that the flat was not to be let weekly, only for three months—I then gave information to the police.
Cross-examined. I did not go to the prisoner and tell him I wanted a flat—I do not know how he knew I wanted one—I do not know whether my daughter called on him or not—she did not tell me so—he did not pay me the 15s. back and I did not thereupon return the receipt.
Re-examined. I did not go into 27, Albany Street, with him—I do not know what occurred there—I never saw him again after I paid him the pound till at the Police Court.
THOMAS KING (Sergeant D.) On June 24th, about 11.15 a.m., I saw the prisoner in Rathbone Place—I did not tell him I was a police officer, because he knew me pretty well—I said, "I hold a warrant for your arrest for obtaining £1 by false pretences"—he became very excited and rather violent—I could not read the warrant to him then, so I took him to the station and read it to him—he said, "I deny it, and besides, the woman dare not come here and charge me; she is wanted herself"—when charged, he said, "It is not true"—later on in a cab, going to the Police Court, after being cautioned he said, "I admit I gave her a receipt for 15s., but not for the 5s.; that was for my trouble. I had a right to take the 15s., for I am authorised to let the place by Mr. Elgood, of 98, Wimpole Street. Of course I told the woman a lie when I said the rent was 18s. The rent is £40 per annum, besides rates and taxes, and they also require £50 premium."
Cross-examined. I gave him the usual caution.
SAMUEL GOODALL . I am manager to Messrs. J. R. Kemp & Co., 27, Albany Street—my firm are well-known house agents in the district—the prisoner came to us on June 16th—there was no one with him—he asked me for the key of a certain flat that we had to let—I gave it to him—he brought it back in about twenty minutes—I started to tell him what the particulars were, but he did not seem inclined to wait to hear the full particulars—he went away and just simply returned and gave me the by—I told him the rent of the flat was at the rate of £40 a year and rates and taxes, and that our client had only three months of her term to complete, and I think I told him about the premium that was required, but he seemed to be in rather a hurry—some days afterwards the prosecutrix called, saying she had called to get possession of the flat—I asked her what she meant—she said, "I have taken it"—I said, "Not that I am aware of"—she said, "A man came the other day and got the key, and I went with him and saw the flat and he told me he had taken if for me, and I paid him"—I think she said 15s., but I made no note of it—I refused to let her have it—so far as our firm are concerned, the prisoner was never authorised to let the flat and he has never communicated with us.
Cross-examined. When the man came for the key I gave it quite freely—in most cases we take the name and address, but I did not think it was necessary in his case, as he did not seem to be a party that was likely to be accepted—I do not know that we have ever lost a key—we never had any dealing with the prisoner before—we have never been to him saying, "If you can see anybody who wants a flat, send them along"—the rent, rates and taxes of this flat would come to about £52 a year—that is not exceptional for flats.
FREDERICK YEXLEY . I am manager to Messrs. Elgood & Co., 98, Wimpole Street—I saw the prisoner once—I cannot say when—we had a flat to let for a Mrs. Hunter at 3, Albany Street—the prisoner has never been employed by us to let it, nor is he connected in any way with our firm—he had no authority from us to let it—he came once to us and, to the best of my recollection, said that he had got a tenant and produced two letters which he said were references—I turned up the addresses in the directory and found they were worthless—I took no particular notice of the incident.
Cross-examined. We did not authorise the prisoner; he is not the class of man we should employ in any way—I never saw him before.
The primmer, in his defence on oath, stated that he had been a house agent for eleven years; that on June 15th two women came to him and asked him if he had any flats to let; that he said he would try and find one; that he asked for a deposit and received 15s. and gave the prosecutrix's husband a receipt for the money; that when he heard that this flat was not to be let weekly and that they wanted £50 premium he went back to the husband and gave him back the 15s., receiving back his receipt.
GUILTY . (See next case.)
617. ALBERT MORRIS was again indicted for that he, having been entrusted by Marie Ritz with £6 6s., in order that he might pay and deliver the same to John Melbourne Hay, unlawfully and fraudulently converted that money to his own use and benefit.
MR. OLIVER and MR. DUCKWORTH Prosecuted; MR. CAMERON Defended.
MARIE RITZ . I live at 8, Red Lion Square—on April 12th last I came to Charing Cross—my husband there met me with the prisoner—my husband had come to London a few days before to find a place for me—the prisoner took us to Dalmeny Mansions and showed us a flat which was to be let for £3 3s. a week—my husband said he would take the place for two weeks—the next day the prisoner was paid the £6 6s.—this is the receipt—he also had from us £1 1s. commission.
Cross-examined. My husband was introduced to the prisoner by a Mr. Steeger, whom he had met once—we stayed at the flat for two weeks—we were not disturbed.
By the COURT. I am a German—I believe I spoke to the prisoner in German.
telegram from him asking that the porter might deliver up the keys, and I replied that he could do so—I understood that the prisoner was a house agent—the next day I received a letter from him Haying he would send me on a cheque for £5 and the balance he would retain as his commission—on April 13th I received a letter from him in which the words "I here with enclose a cheque for £5" had been scratched out and "I will send on" is written above it—I have never received a penny of the money.
Cross-examined. The flat is known as being to let at the usual London agents—I was quite willing that the prisoner should let it for me; it had been empty some time—I gave him no authority to collect the money nor to find a tenant, because I had never hoard of him before—I naturally gave him permission to let the house when I told the porter to deliver up the keys.
The prisoner, in the hearing of the Jury, stated that he was GUILTY , upon which they returned that verdict. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a Conviction, of misdemeanour at North London Sessions on September 29th, 1903. The police stated that he was a most dangerous man, who lived on the earnings of prostitutes. Five years' penal servitude.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, July 26th 27th, 28th & 29th.
Before Mr. Justice Ridley.
MR. MATHEWS and MR. BODKIN Prosecuted; MR. ELLIOTT, MR. HUTTON and MR. FITCH Defended.
ELLEN GREGORY . I am the wife of Charles Gregory, and live at 5 Chippenham Gardens, Paddington—I had a daughter named Beatrice Ellen Maud, who would now be about thirty years old—about 1896 we were living at Hastings, where we met the prisoner—he was a chemist employed by Mr. Taylor, at St. Leonards-on-Sea—subsequently the acquaintance ripened, and he and my daughter became engaged, and they were married on November 2nd, 1898—this (Produced) is the certificate of the marriage—I was present at the time—the prisoner was always in the service of a chemist when he was in service at all—I remember his going into the service of Dr. Adams at Croydon, and it was there on August 24th, 1899, that the first child, Stanley, was born—some time afterwards we went to Stroud, where, on April 5th, 1903, the twins were born—I was present-after their birth the prisoner said his wife ought to have been satisfied with one—he was disappointed because there was more than one—he seemed to be very fond of Stanley, but he never took any notice of the twins—from Stroud we moved to London, and I continued to live with them—I remember the prisoner getting employment with Mr. Turner at Fernhead Road—I was living with the family at the time, but about that date I left them, but continued to live near them, so as to help my daughter with the babies—I continued to see her, and my affectionate relations with her were
entirety preserved—I did not see much of the prisoner after I left—I met my daughter in the prisoner's presence and also out—I remember them moving to 60, Milton Avenue, Harlesden, about the end of last year—they lived in the name of Egerton there—I did not see anything of the prisoner while they were there, but I went there every day—Stanley will be six next month—at that time he was a strong and healthy little boy—the twins were strong and healthy, only they had ricketts, so they could not walk by themselves or feed themselves—my daughter was very fond of them—she was a devoted mother, and all her time was taken up with the babies—on Saturday, January 28th, I saw my daughter—I was then living at 85, Minet Avenue—she came and paid me a visit and we went shopping together—we were together about an hour and a half—Minet Avenue is about ten minutes' walk from Milton Avenue—she bought two rabbits for the Sunday dinner and said it would be enough for Monday and Tuesday—she was in her usual good spirits—on the following Monday I was going away to a situation for a short time—I did not know then how long I should be away—I stayed a fortnight, but I might have stayed longer—I made arrangements to correspond with my daughter, but I never heard from her after that—I said good-night to her about 11 p.m. in the subway, about two minutes from Milton Avenue—she went in that direction and I never saw her again alive—I came back to London about the middle of February and went to Milton Avenue to make enquiries—I could not make anybody hear at No. 60, so I went next door to Mrs. Wells—I made further enquiries, and amongst other people I went to Mr. Banister's, but could get no information, and about the middle of March I communicated with the police—I remember this large tin trunk (Produced)—it was purchased at Stroud in 1903—it was brought to Milton Avenue—I remember the prisoner having a writing desk at Milton Avenue; it was always kept locked and the prisoner kept the key—my daughter would sometimes take a glass of stout with her supper—she had it in quart bottles—she was taking it in January—after April 13th I saw the tin box and identified the bodies in it—these clothes (Produced) belonged to my daughter, and these (Produced) to the children—this (Produced) is the prisoner's writing desk—my daughter was an accomplished pianist and had a great many certificates of proficiency, amongst them being these two (Produced)—these letters (Produced) are in the prisoner's handwriting (Exhibits 5 to 15, 18, 19, and 21)—these eyeglasses and this umbrella were my daughter's (Produced) I did not receive any communication from the prisoner after January 28th—this (Produced) is my daughter's photograph, with Stanley.
[Upon MR. ELLIOTT'S application the cross-examination of this witness was postponed.]
BENJAMIN SPENCER (144 X.) Produced and proved two plans of 60, Milton Avenue, Harlesden, and neighbourhood, showing that the wall between that house and No. 58 was 9 inches thick.
during that time the prisoner was going in the name of Devereux, and when he left he told me he 'was going to Kensal Rise.
Cross-examined. During the time the prisoner was with me he was engaged at Mr. Turner's, a chemist—he was generally free on Sundays and Wednesdays—I did not see much of him with his wife and children, because I was in the shop and he was at the top of the house—they had to come through the shop to go out—when I saw them he appeared to be land and affectionate—I never saw anything out of the ordinary way—he was always pleasant—the twins could not walk, but they have been taken for a walk, he carrying one and his wife the other—he and his wife did not go out very often—while they were at my house they seemed to be on friendly terms—I heard no quarrels at all.
Re-examined. The prisoner had half-days on Wednesdays, and on Sundays he had to go to work in the evening sometimes—I never went into his rooms—when coming out of the house they had to come through a door into the shop, and through the shop door.
FREDERICK GEORGE TURNER . I am a chemist and druggist at Princess Road, Kilburn, and I have a branch business at 67, Fernhead Road, Kilburn—on May 10th, 1904, I was advertising for a manager for that branch and I received this letter, dated May 20th, by way of application—it enclosed certain testimonials which purported to be from two different people in whose employment the writer had been—I answered that application and finally received this letter (Produced), which has been proved to be in the prisoner's writing—as a result of that the prisoner entered upon his duties at my branch shop at Fernhead Road on May 28th, 1904—the terms were £2 a week—the shop was stocked as an ordinary chemist's shop is, and amongst other things poisons were kept—the prisoner was manager of that shop down to January 27th, 1905—on January 2nd I had to give the prisoner notice, the reason I gave him being that the sales had not been quite up to expectation—there was the usual month's notice, at the end of which he was to leave.
Cross-examined. I saw him about twice a day—I saw Stanley once or twice, and I believe I saw the twins once, outside the shop with the prisoner's wife, who was just going out—I do not remember ever noticing that the prisoner left his keys behind in the shop.
Re-examined. Stanley went into the shop in the afternoons with his father.
WILLIAM GARFATH . I live at 24, Shelley Road, Harlesden, and am agent to the landlord of some newly erected houses in Milton Avenue—No. 60 comprises two flats, one on the ground floor and one on the top floor, led to by a common door—the house had been occupied prior to December, 1904, but it was unoccupied in that month—shortly before Christmas, 1904, I remember the prisoner calling upon me in relation to taking a flat in Milton Avenue—at first he gave no name, but afterwards he gave me the name of Egerston or Egerbaston, I cannot remember which—I showed him over more than one of the flats, amongst them being No. 60—about Christmas Eve he came to see me just before mid-day and settled on the upper part of No. 60 and gave me a deposit—he said he
wanted it for about six weeks, as he had already taken a quarterly house with a friend, and he wanted to move out in February—he asked me to keep the lower floor empty for him, as he had got a little boy and did not want him to mix with other children—I agreed to that, as I thought it was reasonable—he moved into the flat about December 31st, his rent being 7s. 6d. a week, which then became payable—Mr. Perkins was agent for the rent—I was always a good deal in Milton Avenue looking after the property—I had seen Mrs. Devereux out with the twins and I had seen Stanley—I did not get any notice when the prisoner intended to leave the flat—I remember being in Milton Avenue on Tuesday, February 7th, about 11 a.m., and seeing a van standing outside No. 60 and some boxes being placed on it—I went across and asked the prisoner whether he was going to shift away—only five weeks were then up—he told me he was only shifting a few boxes into furnished apartments, but he did not intend to go away for a day or two—he did not say what was going to happen to the the boxes—no furniture was placed on that van—the same evening I was again in the Avenue, and outside No. 60 I saw another van and I went and asked the prisoner about the rent—the van was being loaded with chairs and tables and other furniture—I said to the prisoner, "I thought you said to me you were not going away for a day or two"—he said he had got a place and he thought he had better shift out at once—he meant that he had furnished apartments and he thought he had better move out at once as he had settled on a place—there was a week's rent owing at the time, and he told me that when he got his money for the furniture which was to be sold he would pay me out of it—I walked with him and his little boy in the direction of the Royal Oak—there was a lot of conversation about the expenses of the milk for the children—he said they cost a lot of money and he spent half a sovereign a week in milk, and also he said that he would not be pestered with his mother-in-law, and that he had threatened to blow her brains out with a revolver if she came on his doorstep again—he said he had been troubled with her a great deal, and he would clear out of the way so that she would not find him again—he said that I might be troubled in a day or two with his mother-in-law trying to ascertain where he had gone, but I was not to say anything—he did not tell me where he was going and I did not know where he had gone—I asked him about his letters and said if any letters were left under the door I would save them for him if he liked to call for them, but he said all his arrangements as to letters had been made and he did not suppose there would be anything important—there were one or two, probably a circular, which I gave to the postman—the prisoner and I went to the Royal Oak, where he paid me 7s. 6d., a week's rent—I had the key of the house—that same evening I had some communication from Mrs. Wells, who lives at 58, Milton Avenue, in consequence of which I went to the back yard of No. 60 in order to see if there were any traces of tire or any danger from fire—there were indications that there had been a fire, but I just trod on it and left it—it was just smouldering—next day I went all over No. 60—in the back bedroom I found some sealing wax and screws, and a piece of board was in the front room—I told my little boy to take the screws home as they might be
handy—the sealing wax was red—three or four weeks later I paid another visit to No. 60 with Mrs: Wells—I was going in to take a man to clean it down and Mrs. Wells followed me in—that was about the first week in March—I went into one of the rooms, I cannot remember which, and saw some bottles on the mantelpiece—they were labelled "Prussic Acid" and "Poison"—the poison label was a white one—I did not touch the bottle—there was something in it—we said to one another, "There is enough there to poison anybody"—I had not seen it the first time I went—I had taken Mrs. Gregory over the flat three days after the prisoner left—she would dot be satisfied until I took her over it—the house has now all been done up and is occupied—I have traced where the rubbish was put, but I cannot find the bottle.
Cross-examined. It was three or four days after I had my last interview with the prisoner that Mrs. Gregory came and would not be satisfied until she had seen over the house to see if there were any marks—she did not insist on going over the house, but she asked me if I would take her—I sent her away once—she came back three or four hours afterwards and said she would not be satisfied unless she looked over the place, I said, "Well, I do not mind if it is for your curiosity"—all Mrs. Gregory found was a little bottle labelled "Toothache tincture"—when she called I said there was nothing there except a dirty mess and rubbish, and the place was not fit for anybody to see—I did not try to choke her off going there, but I did not encourage her—both Mrs. Wells and Mrs. Gregory drew my attention to bottles—the bottle of prussic acid was pointed out to me after the toothache tincture—Mrs. Gregory took the toothache tincture and put it in her pocket—when Mrs. Gregory came to see me I knew she was the prisoner's mother-in-law and what he had said about her turned out to be true—Mrs. Gregory could not find anything in the place barring a bottle of toothache tincture—I am up and down the avenue all day—I think the prisoner made the remark that nobody could get away except that I was about to see it—I did not notice whether Mrs. Devereux used the downstairs fiat, because I never went into the place and the blinds were drawn so that I could not see—nothing was said about their using the bottom flat, because I should have objected—when I went into it afterwards I found rubbish there—it must have been the prisoner's rubbish, because the place was swept up before he went in—it must have been used by somebody during the tenancy, and I found several articles belonging to the Devereuxs there—there was some paper and a broom and other articles—the principal subject of conversation on February 7th was the prisoner's mother-in-law, and she seemed to be the person he seemed to have the greatest possible objection to—I know that other people speak in terms not complimentary about their mothers-in-law—when I spoke to the prisoner about his mother-in-law I was rather sympathetic and said, "They have no business to interfere with young married people; they ought to leave you alone; a mother ought to leave the daughter alone; they ought to know when they are comfortable and looked after"—the prisoner did not say anything against his wife—I understood the reason he was going away was to
get away from his mother-in-law—he gave me the impression that he had already had more than he wanted of his mother-in-law—he did not say that she had lived with them for a considerable time; he said she always followed them from one situation to another—he said he shifted from one situation and she came after them again—he said, "She won't find me for some time now, because I have threatened to blow her brains out on the doorstep"—he did not say when he had said that to her—I have seen Stanley playing about—the prisoner seemed very fond of him—I have seen him with Stanley, but not with the wife and other children—he always seemed to treat him with great kindness—before taking the flat he said he wanted to speak to his wife about it and would come again and let me know.
Re-examined. When Mrs. Gregory called on me she made enquiries with regard to the prisoner, but I could not give her any information—on February 7th, when I was walking towards the Royal Oak with the prisoner and Stanley, the prisoner said the children cost him 10s. a week for milk—the bottom flat had never been occupied except for rubbish—the blind was drawn down, so that I could not see.
JAMES PERKINS . I am an estate agent, of 40, Steele Road, Harlesden, and collect the rents for Milton Avenue—the prisoner was in occupation there when I called for the first week's rent on January 11th—I have an impression that it was paid by the prisoner himself, but being so long ago I would not like to swear—the name given me was Arthur Stanley Egerton—I called at the end of several successive weeks, and the rent was paid down to and including February 1st, on which date I knocked several times without obtaining an answer, and as I was in the act of leaving, the door was unbolted and the prisoner came out—he then paid me the rent up to that time—on February 8th I called again and learnt from Mrs. Wells that the Egertons had left—the last week's rent was paid to Garfath.
Cross-examined. The last time I was paid was by the prisoner on February 1st—I did not notice anything about him then to arouse my suspicions—he seemed a quiet man.
SARAH WELLS . I am the wife of Edward Alfred Wells, of 58, Milton Avenue, which adjoins No. 60—I remember the prisoner coming to No. 60 with his family about Christmas, 1904—I should describe the household as an ordinary and quiet one—I saw the occupants outside from time to time—the twins had a perambulator and the prisoner and his wife went out with them—I only saw the twins once—I never had any conversation with the prisoner or his wife; I do not remember having one with Stanley—in the first week in February I heard sounds coming from No. 60 as if bedsteads were being taken to pieces—my front room on the second floor is next to the room in No. 60, where I heard the noises, which would be the front room of No. 60—the sounds were continual, as if furniture was being removed from the top floor to the bottom—I cannot fix the date for certain, but it was between February let and 4th—on Saturday, February 4th, I looked into the back yard of No. 60 and saw the prisoner and Stanley making bonfires—the prisoner
left the yard and went into the house, and I heard Stanley call out, "Daddy, are you going to cook the dinner?"—I heard no answer—I remember seeing Stanley on one occasion playing in the street; he went to the front door of No. 60 and rattled at the letter-box as though wishing to get into the house—somebody came to the door and he called out, "I want to come in"—the reply was, "You cannot" or "You can't," I am not sure which—I never saw anything of Mrs. Devereux or the twins after I heard the noises of moving furniture—I heard the the twins crying in the house several times, but after the noises commenced I did not hear them crying—I cannot say when I last heard cries or when I last saw them or when I last knew that they were alive—on Tuesday, February 7th, I saw a van at the front door with the name of Banister on it—it was loaded up with boxes and driven away, the prisoner and Stanley driving away with it—the same evening another van was at the front of the house which was loaded with furniture, and again the prisoner and the little boy went away with it—about a week or ten days afterwards I received a visit from Mrs. Gregory—it was about February 14th or 17th—she came to make certain enquiries—a short time after that I was in No. 60 when Mr. Garfath was there, and I saw a bottle on the mantelpiece with a red label with "Prussic Acid" on it—I left the bottle where it was—I did not pick it up, but Garfath did and replaced it—it was on the mantelpiece when Garfath and I left and I never saw it again—it was on that occasion when I saw this piece of Wood there (Produced)—it was in the front room, the same one adjoining to where I heard noises coming from—on Saturday, January 28th, I was at home between 10 and 11 p.m.—we occupy the whole of the house—the front room downstairs was our sitting-room and the bedroom was upstairs and adjoined the prisoner's room—I cannot say if I had gone to bed on that Saturday between 10 and 11, I heard no sounds of quarrelling coming from the next house that night—I should have heard any loud sounds—I never heard any sounds of quarrelling while the prisoner was my neighbour.
By the COURT. I do not think that Mrs. Devereux had a piano.
Cross-examined. As far as I could judge, the prisoner and his wife lived quietly and happily together—I never heard them quarrel, but I never speak to my neighbours unless they speak to me—if there was any quarrelling, I should have heard it—I saw very little of the prisoner—I only saw the twins once; I never spoke to Mrs. Devereux—she was very reserved—they seemed to be a quiet family—I cannot say who said, "I cannot" or "I can't"—something was given to the little boy—it was not a penny; it was a paper with something in it—it might have been sweets—after he had received it he ran away quite contented—it was pushed through the letter box—I did not see where he went to—I thought no more about it—during the latter part of the time, the Devereuxs occupied the bottom part of No. 60—I cannot say whether Mrs. Devereux used it or not; I could only tell it was used by the sounds—It was used before I heard the strange noises, because I heard the furniture being brought down to the lower part—Mrs. Gregory called on me about a
week or ten days after the prisoner had gone—she seemed very anxious to find out where he had gone to—I never had any conversation with the prisoner.
HORACE FURLONG . I am employed by a baker at 1, Park Parade, Harlesden, and in January I delivered bread at 60, Milton Avenue—it was a lady who came to the shop and gave the order to call, and I began my delivery on January 6th and after that called every day between 12 and 1—I did that until Saturday, January 28th—upon that day I can positively say that I left the bread with the prisoner's wife—up to the 28th all the deliveries had been to her—on Monday, January 30th, I called in the same way between 12 and 1—I got no answer and delivered no bread—on Tuesday, the 31st, I knocked, got no answer and delivered no bread—on February 1st I called again between 12 and 1, when Stanley took the bread in—on the 2nd I could get no answer and on the 3rd the same thing—on Saturday, the 4th, I got an answer and the bread was taken in by the prisoner—there was about 3s. owing for bread at that time, and I asked the prisoner if he would pay it, and he said he would call at the shop and do so—he did not call at the shop—on Monday, the 6th, I called again, but could get no answer—I next called on Wednesday, the 8th, and found the house empty—the last time I saw Mrs. Devereux was between 12 and 1 on Saturday, January 28th.
Cross-examined. I was first approached in relation to this case after the prisoner was arrested, which was sometime after the date of which I am now speaking—I had my book (Produced), but it has nothing in it beyond the actual sum charged for bread.
HARRY BRAZIER . I am a dairyman at 1, Shelley Road, Harlesden—early in January I remember a lady calling at my shop, and in consequence of what she said I delivered milk at 60, Milton Avenue—on January 23rd 5s. was paid—this book (Produced) records the payments—it was paid by Mrs. Devereux, but I did not know her name then—I had no name given me at all, but she was the same lady who had told me to deliver milk—I do not remember seeing her on the 23rd—as far as I can remember, the little boy Stanley took in the milk from January 23rd to 28th—on Monday, January 30th, I delivered milk in the morning and left it on the doorstep—I did not see anybody then, but about 5 p.m. I called again and saw the prisoner—about 7s. was owing for milk, and I said to him, "The lady said you are going to pay me to-day"—I do not think I told him how much was owing—he said, "She is not in now; she has gone up the road with the baby. She will either call round at the shop or else pay you to-morrow"—next morning, January 31st, I called and left some milk and saw the prisoner in the afternoon when he took the milk in—he said, "Don't leave any more; the Missus has gone away for a time"—he did not say if anybody had gone with her—I believe he said the babies had gone with her, but I am not sure—after that date I did not leave any more milk, and although I called, I was never able to get an answer from the house.
Cross-examined. There is no record in my book of these conversations; it only shows what I left at the home—two different ladies took milk in; I am quite sure of that—one I know now as Mrs. Devereux; the other
lady was older—I did not know Mrs. Devereux's name then, but I have seen her photograph since, which I can recognise—I have not recognised the other lady—i cannot recognise Mrs. Gregory as the other lady; I know the other lady took the milk in one Saturday, but I cannot say which—I know it was a Saturday, because I thought, "Hallao, they are not going to pay to-day; they hare sent somebody else to the door—it would be on January 21st or 28th—I saw the other lady three or four times; the first time may have been before January 31st—the first conversation I had with the prisoner was on the 30th—I had never seen him before to speak to—I am quite sure of the day.
AMY JACKSON . I live at 3, Manor Villas, Acton Lane—I have a sister named Georgina and an aunt named Miss Quail, who keeps a boys' school there—I remember one Saturday night in January the prisoner coming—my sister opened the door to him and had a conversation with him—on the Monday following he came again with a little boy, whom I afterwards knew to be Stanley Devereux—he was left at the school that morning until the dinner hour at 12 o'clock, when the prisoner came for him to take him home to dinner and brought him back afterwards—when school hours were up the prisoner came again for him and took him away—that routine was pursued for four to five days, when boy ceased to attend—our school commenced its ordinary tern on January 9th—as far as I can remember, it was at the end of January or beginning of February that the prisoner called and made the arrangements.
Cross-examined. He did not give me his address, but I knew he lived it Milton Avenue because a little girl lived in the same road—he said his name was Devereux—he did not rive his Christian name—our school begins At 9 a.m. and closed at 4 p.m—the boy was taken away each day to dinner by the prisoner, who seemed very fond of him—I did not notice anything about the prisoner—he seemed an ordinary person.
GEORGINA JACKSON . I am a sister of the last witness, and saw the prisoner when he came to Manor Villas one Saturday and made an arrangement that the little boy should come to the school on the Monday—on the Saturday I saw him about 7.45 p.m. and he said he would call on the Monday—I am quite unable to fix the date or say whether it was January or February—the school term began on January 9th—it was some time after; that the term had well begun.
Cross-examined. The prisoner did not give me his name.
TOM PERRY . I am a partner in the firm of Shallis and Co., furniture dealers, at 30, Manor Park Road, Harlesden—about 4 p.m. on Saturday, February 4th, the prisoner called with a perambulator, which he offered to sell—I did not accept the offer—he asked me if I purchased second hand furniture—I said, "Yes," and he asked me if I could come down and see some on the Monday—I agreed, and went on the Monday to 60, Milton Avenue, when he offered me some furniture—he asked me if I purchased wardrobes—I said, "No," and sent him round to Mrs. Flint, a wardrobe dealer—he said he had ladies' clothing to sell—that was on the Saturday; when I called on the Monday he showed me the furniture—I went all over the house with him and bought the furniture and made arrangements to remove it the following evening—the agreed price was £1 12s. 6d.—there
were corded boxes on the landing—on the Tuesday I went with my van and saw the prisoner and paid him the £1 12s. 6d.—he made out this receipt (Exhibit 19, produced): "Received of Mr. Shallis the sum of £1 12s, 6d, for goods sold, February 7th, 1905, A. C. Egerton"—among the things I purchased there were two framed certificates of Mrs. Devereux's proficiency as a pianist.
Cross-examined. He did not tell me his name when I first saw him; I first knew it when he signed the receipt—I did not ask him his name—that was the first time I had seen him or had any communication with him.
SUSAN FLINT . I am the wife of Lewis Flint, of 6, Park Parade, Harlesden, and deal in wardrobes or secondhand clothing—in the first week in February the prisoner called at my shop and brought some women's clothes—he said they belonged to his sister and that they were no use to his wife, and that he wanted to dispose of them to get his rent—I looked at them—they were women's things—he come once or twice and brought things to the shop, children's at well as ladies' clothes—some of them were baby's clothes, but I do not remember what he said about them—these (Produced) are some of the things he sold me—I think I paid him between two and three pounds.
Cross-examined. This was the first time I had seen him or had dealings with him—I did not five him a receipt—I had not asked him whose the things were; he told me they belonged to his sister—I think my husband was present, and may have joined in the conversation—I am sure the prisoner mentioned his sister—I was first asked about the conversation perhaps a month afterwards by the police—the prisoner did not mention his sister's name—he said the other things belonged to his twins—I did not ask him about the clothes.
EDWARD LEWIS GARDINER . I am a builder, of 18, Craven Road, Harlesden—at the end of January or beginning of February I had a visit from the prisoner, who asked me if I had a piece of zinc—he indicated roughly with hit hands the size, which was about 2 feet or 2 feet 6 inches—I asked him if he wished it old or new—he said it did not matter—I found a piece of old zinc, which he bought, I think, for 1s. 4d. or 1s. 6d—he took it away with him.
Cross-examined. I have no note in our books of the transaction, because we do not generally sell things in the yard.
JOHN TEBBOTH . I live with my wife at 92, Harrow Road—early in February I advertised a bed sitting-room to let—on Monday, February 6th, the prisoner called-at that time there was a single bed in the room which I was advertising at 5s. per week—he said in the event of his taking the room he should require a double bed, as he had a little boy of five years old, who was coming there to live with him—he said he might want the room for about a fortnight—he did not give me his name that evening—he said his wife was away in the country with their two twin boys—it was arranged that the double bed should be put into the room and he
should come into occupation next day—I was at home next day, when he arrived with a number of boxes in a van, some of which with a bath were taken out of the van and placed in my House—he then went away with the van—I do not think he gave mo his name that day; I think it was after he had been there a day or two—he came back that night—he said his name was Devereux—he remained as a lodger until February 20th, when he left to take up a situation at Coventry—on the 19th he asked if we would look after his little boy for a short time, when his wife would fetch him—we agreed to that—the terms were subsequently arranged by letter—while the prisoner was with us some of his boxes went away—when ho came on the 7th he was accompanied by the little boy—it was about 11 a.m., and until the 20th the little boy was upon the premises all day except when he went out with the prisoner—he was not attending any school during that time—the prisoner wrote from Coventry, first on February 21st—this is his letter (Exhibit 5): "Care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry. Tuesday. Dear Madam,—I arrived here safely yesterday afternoon and am engaged to stay, so I will write to Mrs. D. and arrange with her to call for Stanley and bring him on here as soon as she can. She is down at Plymouth mat now. I am much obliged to you for minding the boy, and hope be has not been any trouble to you, and trust you can put up with him till called for. Again thanking you, Yours truly, A Devereux"—we also got this one (Exhibit 6), dated February 24th: "Dear Madam,—I received your letter yesterday, for which I thank you. I am glad to hear that Stanley is happy with you. I have heard from his mother that she is rather poorly just now and not able to travel just at present, so shall be glad if you will look after the boy for a short time longer for us. I am prepared to pay you up to 10s. per week for his board and lodging, and dull be glad if you will let him have 2d. a day to spend in addition, bringing it up to 11s. 2d. per week. Kindly let me know if this will suit you. If his mother does not soon get better I will come and fetch him myself. I received my box on Tuesday, and shall be glad if you will send by parcel post to-night, if possible, my hat box. I enclose the key. Please lock box and return key by letter and oblige. Yours truly, Devereux"—also this one (Exhibit 7), dated February 27th: "Dear Madam,—I thank you for your letter. As I am to be paid monthly here it will not be convenient for me to forward the money weekly, so I think I had better arrange to let Stanley stay with you until the end of the first month, when I will pay you four times the 11s. 2d. (£2 4s. 8d.), and fetch him myself as Mrs. D. is not likely to be well enough to travel for some time, I hear. She is consumptive, unfortunately. I am glad to say that this is a very good place, with good pay too. You will see by the enclosed envelope that Mr. Bird is one of the Coventry Aldermen. He is very well to do. In haste to catch the post, and thanking you very much, I remain, Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. Hat box received Saturday"—also this one (Exhibit 8), dated March 5th: "Dear Madam,—I shall be glad to hear whether you received my letter in answer to yours of a week ago, as I have not heard from you since. I hope Stanley is doing well, and is not any trouble. My last letter suggested
leaving him with you for a month. I shall get my first payment of salary in a fortnight's time. I will then come and fetch him. Hoping this will suit you, I remain, Yours truly, A. Devereux"—also this one, March 18th (Exhibit 9): "Dear Madam,—I hope Stanley is quite well and has not been much trouble to you. I have been up to the railway station and arranged for the guard to take charge of him from Euston to Coventry as I shall not be able to come to London to fetch him. Kindly let me know if you can take him to Euston for me and hand him over to the guard of the 1.30 train on Wednesday. I will then forward P.O. for his expenses to date and railway fare, etc. In haste to catch the post Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. Will you please oblige me with a bill?"—I wrote this letter (Exhibit 10) on March 18th: "Dear Mr. D.,—Your letter of date duly received, and I herewith enclose bill of expenses as requested, and shall be glad if you will send P.O. for the amount by return; also the money for Stanley's fare, as I have been out of work since September last and have not the money to pay same. I learn that the fare for Stanley will be 3s. 10d. and on receipt for enclosed bill your request shall be attended to. I remain, Yours truly, Mr. S. Tebboth. P.S. How shall we send the boxes and bath that are here?"—I enclosed a bill showing he owed me £2 13s. 7d., which would include the fare to Coventry—I received this letter (Exhibit 11): "Dear Sir,—Thanks for account. I will send on £2 15s. in settlement directly I get paid (to-night or to-morrow); you may keep the change. Thanking you extremely for your kindness. Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. I will let you know about boxes and bath later"—on March 21st he wrote to my wife (Exhibit 12): "Dear Madam,—Enclosed please find cash for £2 15s. as promised. Please send Stanley by the 1.30 from Euston to-morrow (Wednesday) afternoon. Give him into the care of the guard, who will know all about it. I will send you some labels for the boxes and bath in a day or two and order them to be called for, I am sorry to hear that Mr. T. is still disengaged, I hope he will soon be at work again. Thanking you very much for your kindness in taking charge of Stanley for me, I remain, Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. Please make a parcel of all Stanley's clothes and let him bring them with him. Dress him in his velvet suit and best overcoat. I will meet him at Coventry Station. A.D. Send me a wire if you miss the train or anything else goes wrong"—on March 22nd my wife wrote (Exhibit 13): "Dear Sir,—Just a line to say that I received the remittance quite safe this morning and saw Stanley safe into the custody of the guard, who promised to take great care of him; we all hope that he arrived safely. We shall miss him very much, and should you on any future occasion be so placed we shall be very pleased to have him. Thanking you very much, I remain, Yours truly, A. Tebboth"—the money having been sent, the boy was despatched and put into the care of the guard of the train and I got thin letter (Exhibit 14), dated March 22nd: "Dear Mrs. Tebboth,—I am pleased to say that Stanley arrived quite safely this afternoon. Many thanks to you; will write again to-morrow. Yours truly, A. Devereux"—on the 23rd I got this letter (Exhibit 15) "Dear Mrs. T.,—Your letter received this morning. Enclosed you will
find two labels for the tin box, which I have ordered the railway men to all for. I will write you about the other box and the bath later. Please put stanley's things only in the tin box and oblige, Yours truly, A. Devereux. All the books and toys are Stanley's. Please look and cord the box and send him the key by post. I have put him to boarding school"—the boy was apparently at school until the prisoner's arrest.
Cross-examined. I lived at 92, Harrow Road, for three years and know the neighbourhood fairly well—before going to Harrow Road I had lived at Queen's Park, which is not far away, for four years—when the prisoner arrived at my house he had six or seven packages, boxes and a basket and a bath—I did not notice any former address on any of the packages, and I do not think they had the name of Devereux on them—I had very little conversation with him; we might have passed the time of day as he was going in and out—there was no conversation as to where he had come from, and I had not the curiosity to put such a question—I knew where he had gone when he left, and I know now he was writing from the address of the gentleman in whose service he was at Coventry, and he told us that that gentleman was an Alderman of the Corporation—I first learnt that he was going to Coventry on the day that he left—he first mentioned Stanley staying behind on the Sunday—he seemed very much attached to the boy—it was very noticeable; he seemed quite wrapped up in him—he behaved with" all propriety in our house, and I had no occasion to complain of him—he was satisfactory as regards payment, and I regarded him as a decent well-behaved man—when he wrote from Coventry the paper had Mr. Bird's printed heading—I did not notice the prisoner's linen; I never saw any of it.
ADA TEBBOTH . I live with my husband at 92, Harrow Road—I remember the prisoner coming with his little boy on February 7th—he said he wanted my room for a fortnight—he said his wife was away with the twins in the country—I do not remember putting a question to him with regard to Stanley or the twins.
Cross-examined. The prisoner asked me if I would do his washing and I did so—there was no mark at all on the linen—on the child's bibs there were some initials, but I cannot remember what they were—I only knew the prisoner as Arthur Devereux—he was extremely attached to the boy and very much wrapped up in him.
THOMAS BANISTER . I am a furniture remover and contractor at 591, Harrow Road, and I have a warehouse at Buller Road, just off the Harrow Road—early in February this year I had two men in my employment named Allingham and Willoughby—Allingham is dead; Willoughby is here—I received a communication from my clerk, in consequence of which I gave Allingham and Willoughby instructions to take a van to 60, Milton Avenue—after being away with the van for some time I remember them returning and one of them giving me 5s. for the hire of it—the van had then a large tin trunk on it, and in consequence of a message given to me by my employees I consented to warehouse it at Buller Road—I do not think it had any name or address on it at that time, and my men eventually gave me the address it came from—it was put in the
top loft at Buller Road and remained there until April 13th undisturbed—about a fortnight after I received it, a Mrs. Gregory called to make enquiries—I did not give her any information—she paid me more than one visit, and consequently I wrote a letter, which I gave to Allingham, from whom I afterwards received an address—I did not give that address to Mrs. Gregory when she afterwards called—I should think she paid me five or six visits, but was never able to get anything from me—it was on April 13th that Pollard and Cole came and went to my warehouse and were shown the tin trunk, which was opened—I was present and saw its contents, amongst other things being the corpses of a woman and two children—I was shown this letter by Willoughby as having been received by him—I first received it and gave it to him unopened; he opened it, read it, and gave it back to me and I read it.
Cross-examined. When I first had any business to do with the prisoner he was at 60, Milton Avenue, but I had no name—I made an entry in my books as to the receipt of the trunk—I did not enter any name, I simply put, "Box, 60, Milton Avenue"—I do not believe any receipt was given for the trunk; this one (Produced) is for the hire of the van—the name is left blank, the address only being given—I do not remember hearing from the prisoner in relation to the trunk—the only thing I had was the letter to Willoughby—until Mrs. Gregory called, I was warehousing the trunk without knowing the name of the person to whom it belonged—Mrs. Gregory told me the name—when she called she enquired where I moved her daughter and said the neighbours had told her my van had moved the goods—I did not ask my man where the goods were taken to; they accounted for the time and brought back the money, so it did not interest me—I had not seen the prisoner—he booked the job with the clerk in the office—when Mrs. Gregory asked me if I had moved her daughter, she told me where the van had loaded up, so I said I remembered doing a job at 60, Milton Avenue—I did not tell her that I had a trunk then—she seemed very anxious to know where her daughter was, and was not very easily put off—if I have been specially asked not to say where people have gone to, I do not do it—I had no request directly from the prisoner not to say where he had gone, only through the men—Mrs. Gregory never got anything out of me—I was not suspicious—the prisoner told my men that the trunk contained chemicals—I believe when Mrs. Gregory called she told me that the person whose goods had been removed from 60, Milton Avenue, went in the name of Egerton—I do not think we had moved the prisoner from his other address to Milton Avenue—I have no record of it—I heard of the address at 92, Harrow Road—after Mrs. Gregory had called about three times I told her I could not tell her the man's address as I had no record of it, but that I had got a tin trunk warehousing for him, and that he would probably come and see me, when I would ask him to let his mother-in-law know where her daughter lived—she was surprised when I mentioned about the trunk and said she thought her daughter was in it—I told her I thought she was a wicked sort of woman to think anything of such a thing, and that her mind was on the previous case of the kind in the neighbourhood, that of Grossman—that case occurred
about half a mile from my warehouse—the next time she called she said she had found that the man had sold some of He clothes—at the time I did not attach the slightest weight to what He said—when she said she thought her daughter was in the box I went and looked at it to see if I could detect any smell, but I could not—when she called and said she had found some clothing had been sold I was suspicious, and it was on the strength of that that I sent one of my men to the address where the boxes had been taken with a letter to Devereux—the man knew where he had been, but could not remember the address—I addressed the letter to Devereux; I got the name from Mrs. Gregory—I told the man to leave the letter and bring the address back to me—I had no answer to my letter—the prisoner had gone to Coventry, as I afterwards found out—I did not write to the prisoner at Coventry, because I knew the police had been spoken to, and I thought it would be handy for them—the letter addressed to Willoughby of April 5th had the prisoner's Coventry address upon it—this is the letter to Willoughby (Exhibit 18): "Dear Sir,—Respecting the tin trunk containing the books and chemicals that I left in your care about two months ago, I have found a customer for the above, but as he will not be coming up to London to study for some months yet awhile I shall want it warehoused a few months longer. Shall I leave it in your hands and settle up with you, or shall I write to Mr. Banister About it? Awaiting your reply, Yours truly, A. Devereux, care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry"—I did not answer that letter—it was eventually handed to the police.
Re-examined. My man told me they had been paid some money by the prisoner for refreshment—I believe it was 5s, with the request that his name and address should not be told—it was partly on that account that I did not tell Mrs. Gregory where her daughter was, and partly because I did not know the name at the time—there is nothing in my books to show where my men took the boxes to—I think Mrs. Gregory was kept at bay for three or four weeks—I did not tell her that I thought there had been foul play—it was not until about the third visit that I told her I had a box.
ALFRED WEBSTER . I am medical officer at Willesden infirmary—on May 21st Henry Allingham was admitted suffering from pneumonia—he died in the infirmary on May 25th—I was in attendance upon him the whole of the time and saw him after his death.
EDWIN POLLARD (Detective-Inspector X.) I am in charge of this case, and was present at Harlesden Police Court on May 13th, when Henry Allingham was called as a witness on the part of the Prosecution and when he signed his depositions—this is his signature (The deposition was then read): "65, Denmark Road, Kilburn, carman in the employ of Mr. Banister. On the 7th February I went with Willoughby and a van to No. 60 Milton Avenue. I assisted in loading up the van with the boxes and a tin trunk. I accompanied the van to 92, Harrow Road, and afterwards we went to the Warwick public-house. Prisoner was with us. The van was then paid for and 5s. was presented to Willoughby. Prisoner said he wanted the tin trunk warehoused at Mr. Banister's. My mate
wanted to know the name. Prisoner said, 'No name; I do not want you to let my mother-in-law know where the boxes were brought to.' We drove to the Flora public-house and had some drink and prisoner left us. We took the box to Mr. Banister's. A mark of a cross was put on the box in chalk in the yard. Two days afterwards, 9th February, I again saw prisoner. He spoke to me. He said, 'I want to know if I can see the box at any time, because I am going to sell it as soon as I can get a chemist to buy it.' I told him it was in the top warehouse. He gave me a shilling. The little boy was with him. H. Allingham."
FRANK FREDERICK HOLLANBY . I am a clerk in the Accountant General's Office in the General Post Office, and produce an original telegram handed in at Queen's Park Office, Harrow Road, at 11.4 a.m. on February 20th.
Thursday, July 27th, 1905.
ELLEN GREGORY (Cross-examined by Mr. ELLIOTT). I think I first made the prisoner's acquaintance in 1896—we were then living at Hastings; that was the year in which my daughter first met him—from that time down to the birth of Stanley I was on friendly terms with him—I think the engagement between the prisoner and my daughter lasted for two years—I believe she was very devoted to him during that time, and he appeared to be very attached to her—when they were married it seemed to be a love match—the marriage was on November 2nd, 1898—Stanley was born in August, 1899—I was then living at Stockwell—I went to live with them at Dr. Adams' at Croydon—he was the same doctor who attended my son Sidney for meningitis—I do not know Dr. Adams' writing—I should think this (Produced) is in his writing, but I do not recollect his writing—I do not know that Sidney was then suffering from brain troubles—he may have done so at the time the doctor attended him, but I did not know he was ill then—I have heard since that it was for meningitis—I do not think he had suffered from brain trouble before; he had suffered from over-work from his examinations—he was also a chemist and was a great favourite with the deceased—he afterwards went to Plymouth and married a Miss Florence Manning—he wrote to me whilst he was there—July 28th, 1903, was the last time that I heard of him—from that time down to the present moment I have not seen or heard of him—I know that his clothes were found on the foreshore at Plymouth Hoe—this (Produced) is his writing—he may have suffered a great deal from depression, but I do not know that, nor that he wrote or behaved in an extraordinary way. [MR. ELLIOTT proposed to read the letter from Sidney. MR. MATHEWS objected and the COURT ruled that it was inadmissible.]—before Sidney disappeared there had been family troubles about my husband—I had a little mental trouble at the time of the birth of my twins, but every married woman is liable to that at child-birth—it lasted for about six weeks—the deceased had occasional fits of depression—she was very much upset by the loss of Sidney—she did not take it so much to heart as I did—we were then living at Brixton—after we left Dr. Adams' at Croydon I went to Brighton with the prisoner and the deceased, and I remained more or less with them till June, 1904, at various addresses—the deceased did not like the prisoner
not showing the same amount of affection for the twins as he did for Stanley—she often complained bitterly about it—he was always taken up with Stanley—she was fond of all three—I never cared much about the prisoner—in June, 1904, I had a room of my own and did not live with the prisoner and the deceased—after that they moved to Paddington—we were at Tottenham before that, where I lived for a time with them, and then I took a room—the prisoner did not complain to me about following them about—when they lived at Shirland Road, Paddington he objected to my going to the house—I was living in Walton Road then—in consequence, I only visited the house when he was away at business—when they went to Harlesdon I went to Minet Avenue—my daughter asked me if I would leave my place and help her to pack up the china—the prisoner still objected to my going to the house at Harlesden, so I only went when he was at business—I went every morning and took the babies out in the afternoon—I knew that the prisoner objected to my going there and I told my daughter that I would rather not go, and she said, "Come just the same and help me"—I never met the prisoner at Milton Avenue, and to me he never threatened to blow my brains out, but he told my daughter he would—he said to her, "If you can get rid of your mother you will find me a different man"—my daughter was worried by the prisoner losing his situation at Mr. Turner's, and wondered what he was going to do, and was afraid he would not get another situation unless he made his own references—she last spoke to me in that strain about January 17th, when we both knew that he would be giving up his situation on the 22nd—she spoke to me about it once or twice—I have heard of a woman named Harries—she never knew the deceased—I am quite sure she never saw her or spoke to her—I knew a man named Cox at one time; he lived in the same house with me and the deceased as a lodger when we lived at Eastbourne Terrace, Paddington, sometime before the deceased's marriage—I once had an interview with Mrs. Harries about four years ago—she was on intimate terms with my husband and she lived with him for a considerable period—I did not know that they stayed together at St. Albans—I know it now by the papers, and have no reason to doubt it—the bottom flat at Milton Avenue was only used for boxes and the perambulator; it was not used except for storage purposes—when my daughter wanted anything out of the boxes she would go down and fetch it——the perambulator was used every day—there was some rubbish in the bottom flat, oilcloth, brooms and pails—I remember the tin trunk which had been bought at Stroud about two years before—it was used for old clothes—it was kept in the downstairs back room with other boxes.
Re-examined. The top flat was composed of a front room, two bed-rooms and a kitchen—all the family slept in the front room—there was a crib for Stanley, a swing cot for one of the babies, and a cradle for the other, and a bedstead for the prisoner and his wife—the room behind that was the living room, where they had their meals—the room behind that was Stanley's playroom—it had no furniture in it, only toys—they did not use it much—the cooking was done in the kitchen—the boxes were stored in the back room in the bottom flat, and the perambulator
in the front room—when I had puerperal fever it was a premature confinement, and I was delivered of twins—the fever lasted six or seven weeks—that was thirty-three years ago, and I have never had a return of it or of any ailment which affected my mind—Sidney disappeared in July, 1903, and has not been heard of since, but I believe that he is alive, and that I shall see him again—that has always been my belief—I take no notice of the bundle of clothes found on the shore—the prisoner was not concerned in the trouble in which Sidney was involved—when we were at Stroud there were many matters of disagreement between the prisoner and myself—it was after the birth of the twins—he wanted to borrow some money from me which I refused to lend him—he said, "If you don't I will shoot you," and I was going for the police but he stopped me—the deceased was not present; she had been confined three weeks before and was not yet up—the prisoner never repeated that threat to me—my daughter said to me, "You do not know what he might do to me"—I said, "I do not think he would do anything to you"—she said, "I would not trust him"—they were living at Milton Avenue when she last repeated such a statement to me—the deceased several times said that the prisoner, before he left Mr. Turner's would be obliged to make his own references—he said that a six months' reference would be no use to him for a manager's place, and he wanted four or five years—the deceased did not like the prisoner not taking notice of the twins, and said that he had said to her, "If I had not got all this b—d lot to keep I could get on better by myself"—she always confided in me—when Cox was lodging with us at Eastbourne Terrace, in 1898, my husband had left me—Cox remained as a lodger for six or seven weeks—he gave me no notice of his intention to leave—he went off after he had robbed me—he stole an Indian silk shawl, a heaver cape, some china, a reading lamp, and several other things, amounting to about £10—he did not pay for his board and lodging—he promised to pay me when he got a situation, but of course he never got one—he borrowed 5s. from me, which he did not repay.
GEORGE WILLOUGHBY . I live at 55, St. Margaret's Road, Kensal Rise, and am employed by Mr. Banister—I had a fellow workman named Allingham—he was working with me on February 7th—on that day I got some orders and went to 60, Milton Avenue, with Allingham and a horse and van—we got there about 10.30 or 11 a.m.—I saw the prisoner there and a little boy about six or seven years old with him—the prisoner wanted us to remove some boxes—I went into the house and saw the boxes—I think there were five or six and a hip bath—most of the boxes were downstairs and the rest upstairs—I think we dealt with the boxes downstairs first and put them on the van—I cannot say how many boxes there were upstairs—one of them was a large tin trunk, which was in the back room—I think the window of that room looks out over the back yard—I think if you looked out of the window you would look into the yard sideways—the tin trunk was very heavy indeed—willingham came up with me—the prisoner was upstairs also—I got the Cox up on my knees and found it was rather difficult—at the top of the
stairs I said to Allingham, "Harry, put it down; I will slide it down the stairs"—he could not hold it coming down after me—I complained about the weight, and the prisoner said it contained chemicals—I slid it down to the bottom of the stairs and he said, "Don't tip it up"—I said, "That will be all right, sir"—then I asked him to lend Allingham a hand, so that we could get it into the van, which he did—when we had got all the boxes into the van we all got up, I and Allingham, the prisoner and the little boy—our first stoppage was the Royal Oak at Harlesden—that was before any boxes were taken out of the van—the prisoner asked me if I would have something to drink—we got down and had something to drink, for which the prisoner paid—we then went to 92, Harrow Road, where all the boxes were taken off the van bar the large one—the prisoner then told me to pull over to the crossing where there is an hotel—he came over to us with the little boy and we all went in—the prisoner asked me if I would have something to drink—we had something—the prisoner paid—I had this bill for 5s. with me for the use of the van (Produced)—the prisoner paid it in the public-house—I think the name of the house is the Warwick Castle—he had told me before that he wanted the tin trunk warehoused at Mr. Banister's, and said he would call up that evening and settle about it—he said he was going to sell it—in the Warwick Castle he gave me a 5s. piece for myself and Allingham—after leaving the Warwick Castle we were going home and the prisoner said he was going to Harlesden as well, so Allingham said, "You may as well ride up as far as we go," so we all got on the van again—we stopped at the Flora in Harrow Road—we went in and had some more drinks—the prisoner paid—he had drink at each of the public-houses, as we did—I and Allingham got on the van and drove home—the prisoner did not accompany us beyond the Flora—we bid him "Good-day"—we took the box to Mr. Banister's yard—I left it in the yard—I did not assist to place it in a warehouse or shed—I believe there was a label on it—there was a strap round it, but I did not take particular notice of it—I am not sure if the prisoner told me his name—I cannot say if the other boxes were labelled—the tin one was the most secure—on April 6th I got this letter (Produced)—the envelope is addressed, "Mr. G. Willoughby, van-man, care of Mr. Banister's yard, Buller's Lane, Harrow Road"—it should be Buller Road—enclosed with the letter was an envelope addressed, "A. Devereux, care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry," and 1s. postal order—I used the money—that is the tin box (Produced)—I think the leather strap which was round it had sealing wax on it.
Cross-examined. I do not know if it was our firm who moved the prisoner into Milton Avenue; I have heard that we did—I do not know if I was the person who did it—there are other carmen in the employment—I knew by the parcels that I left at 92, Harrow Road that the prisoner had gone there—I took the parcels up to the third floor backroom there—it was a furnished room—I saw a lady there—I think it was the lady of the house—I did not notice if there were any labels on the packages—some of the boxes were tin—I think one was wood, and the prisoner carried a basket—I did not know his name then—I first knew the name of Devereux on
April 6th, in consequence of the letter that I received from him—I never had any conversation with Mrs. Tebboth about the name—I did not later on go to 92, Harrow Road, to discover the name; it was Allingham who went.
AUGUSTUS JOSEPH PEPPER , F.K.C.S. I practice at 13, Wimpole Street—on April 14th and 16th, with Dr. Robertson I made a post-mortem examination on the bodies of a woman and two children at Kilburn mortuary—they were lying in a tin trunk there in the position shown in this photograph—the woman's body was lying on the left side with head bent on the chest and the thighs and legs flexed—the clothing consisted of brown stockings half drawn down, the upper pail being turned over the lower, a black slik bodice, corsets which were fastened, white cotton drawers, pink vest, and white chemise with lace edging—there was no petticoat, and no outer skirt—the body was that of a woman between twenty and thirty and 5 feet 6 inches high—there were marks of a slight bruising received before death—I noticed no other marks of any kind—I found no foreign body in the mouth or air passages—I found no trace of disease—I think she had been dead from two to three months—the air had been practically excluded from the trunk—the lungs were congested and contained a considerable quantity of blood, as did the right side of the heart, and the latter had contained more—the left side of the heart was nearly empty—the heart was in a healthy condition, as well as the other organs of the body—I opened the skull and examined the brain—there was no injury to the skull—the brain was very much congested, but was in a healthy condition as far as I could tell—it had decomposed considerably—I had the stomach and intestines removed and tied for the purpose of subsequent examination—I concluded that the woman had died from asphyxia—there was no evidence as to the cause of death, only as to the mode of death—I examined the other two bodies—they were those of two male children, about two years of age—the body of one of them, said to be that of Lawrence, was lying face downwards between the thighs and legs of the woman—the legs were bent on the body to adapt it to the shape and size of the box—I found no mark of violence on Lawrence—the mouth and air passages were free from obstruction—there was no mark of constriction of the throat or anything of that kind—the only sign of disease which I found was that of ricketts, which is a disease affecting the system, and especially the bones of the body, due to improper nutrition and generally improper feeding—the bones are soft and unable to stand the weight of the body—I found the organs to be healthy—the lungs were conjested—there was blood on the right side of the heart, the left side being empty or nearly so—the brain was conjested, but it was very far advanced in decomposition—I formed the opinion that the mode of death was asphyxial—there was a child's striped flannelette nightdress on the body, a pink vest, and a napkin—the third body, that of Evelyn, was that of a male child—it was lying in the box huddled up in the same way—there were no external marks on the body, no sign of constriction or obstruction—the internal organs were healthy—the right side of the heart was congested; the left side nearly empty—it was dressed the same as the other child, except that there was a calico nightdress over the other things—I should say the children had been dead about
the same time as the mother—I removed the stomach and intestines of both children for future examination—Dr. Robertson took charge of the liver and kidneys—after death at certain intervals rigor mortis sets in—it is a stiffening of the muscles of the body—it generally commences about ten or twelve hours after death, but it is extremely variable—in cold weather it would be longer delayed—where the mode of death is asphyxial, vigor mortis would as a rule come later—there must have been a considerable amount of manipulation to fit the bodies into the box—they had been very carefully packed—it would be just possible to have done it if rigor mortis had set in—with great force the rigor mortis may have been overcome—I do not think that would hive left any marks on the body, but it would have been extremely difficult—I should certainly say that the bodies had been put in the trunk Wore rigor mortis set in, but I cannot say within what time.
Cross-examined. I have had great experience in examining bodies after death which have suffered violence in life—I should say there was no violence used in this case, the slight bruises on the woman may have been caused in packing the body into the trunk—they had been caused either just before death or immediately after—they were only skin deep—the first was on the inner side of the left knee—the second on the back of the left forearm, the third on the left side of the chin, and the fourth, on the left thigh—there was an entire absence of any external injury which might have been fatal to life—the sooner rigor mortis sets in, the sooner it diasppears, and vice-versa—I do not think there would be any sign left if the body were bent after rigor mortis had set in—by the position of the woman's body I could not tell in what stage the rigor mortis was.
Re-examined. I think the bruises were inflicted while the body was still warm.
GEORGE ROBERTSON . I am Doctor of Medicine, and practice at 1, Fernhead Road, Paddington, and am Divisional Surgeon—on April 13th I saw this box with the bodies in it, and on April 14th and 16th I took part with Dr. Pepper in the post-mortem examination—I agree with him in his description of the lungs, heart, and brain, the absence of any indication of disease, and that the organs generally of the three bodies were healthy—I also agree that in each of the three cases death was caused by some asphyxial gas—the liver and the kidneys of the three bodies were placed in separate jars, and given by me to the Coroner's officer, and later on I sent by him a further portion of the woman's body and of the children's.
THOMAS SIMS . I live at Western Buildings, Ladbroke Grove, and am yard foreman to Mr. Banister at his works in Buller Road—I was present when this trunk was received at the warehouse, and when an entry was made in this book of the receipt of the trunk [Read] "7th February, 60, Milton Avenue, one large box of books and chemicals at 3s. a month"—afterwards the entry was made, "Taken out by police, April 13th, 1905"—I was present on February 9th when the prisoner accompanied by his little boy, visited the warehouse yard—he asked me if Mr. Banister was in—I told him no, but that I represented him during his absence—he asked me what the cost of
warehousing the box would be, and I told him it would not be a great deal, as we removed his other things—he said could he see it at any time, and that he might want to see it in a couple of days' time to bring a gentleman to look at it, as it contained books and chemicals that he used in his examination, but as he had passed all those he was about to sell them, and this gentleman was going to purchase them—he told me that if Mrs. Gregory, his wife's mother, came and asked any questions I was to let her know nothing, as it was through her they were moving—he did not mention any name—he said his mother-in-law—he asked where the trunk was, and I pointed up to where it had been put in the warehouse—he wished us good-day and gave us a 1s. between me and Allingham—that was the same trunk that was removed by Pollard on April 13th.
Cross-examined. The impression I had was that he did not want his mother-in-law to find him out—I am sure he did not mention any name—I was to know she was his mother-in-law by her statement—it did not occur to me that I might have some difficulty in knowing his mother-in-law if she came.
HENRY CRAWFORD . I live at 2, Queen's Road, Stonebridge Park, and am a general dealer—about February 7th I remember the prisoner coming to my shop—he asked me if I would send round to his house at 60, Milton Avenue, for some old things he had there—I went there and saw some rings and women's and children's clothing, also some medicine bottles and jam jars, and things of that sort—I agreed to buy them for a trifle—I saw some furniture there—the prisoner said it was going to be sold to Mr. Shallis—he said he had sent the best of his furniture away with his wife and children to the country—I went there between 10 and 11 a.m.
CHARLES ROGERS . I am manager to George Smith, pawnbroker, at 131, Harrow Road—I recognise the prisoner—he has pawned things at our establishment in February this year—I produce two tickets dated February 14th and 15th, for a pair of eyeglasses and an umbrella in the name of Devereux, of 92, Harrow Road, and four other tickets in February for sheets, curtains, blankets, and knives and forks, pledged in the same name and address—I got this letter of March 25th, 1905, "Please send sheets (for which I enclose P.O. 4s. 6d.), per Pickford, carriage forward. In the event of my mother-in-law (or any of our relatives) calling upon you, please do not give any information whatever This will much oblige, Yours truly, A. Devereux, c/o Mr. Bird, chemist, Spon Street, Coventry, Warwickshire"—I sent the parcel away as requested.
JAMES MILLER . I am a dealer in secondhand books at 479, Harrow Road—I recognise the prisoner—I remember his coming to my shop in the early part of February and asking me if I would buy some books of him—I said I was full up—then he asked me if I took in letters—I said I was not in the habit of doing so, but I would oblige him—he gave the name of "A. Taylor," but no address—some letters came addressed in that name, which the prisoner called for and took away—I did not notice the post-mark upon any of them—I fancy I saw one from Malvern, but I am not sure about it—I remember a telegram coming addressed in the name of Taylor—the prisoner had that—I afterwards got a letter (Ex. 25)
"If any letters come for me during the next few days, please forward in enclosed envelopes at once (don't put 'Taylor' on them), and oblige Yours truly, A. Taylor"—these are the two envelopes, each addressed: "A. Devereux, care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry"—no letters came, so I did not use either of the envelopes—I do not know what post-mark was on the envelopes which enclosed these two.
FREDERICK BIRD . I am a chemist at 156, Spon Street, Coventry—at the beginning of February this year I was in want of an assistant at that shop, and advertised in "The Chemist and Druggist"—I received this letter: 92, Harrow Road, February 17th, 1905. Dear Sir,—I note your advertisement in the "Chemist and Druggist," and beg to offer myself for the berth. I am thirty years of age, 5 feet 11 inches tall, and possess the minor qualifications. I am now disengaged and require £50 as salary I have been during the past five years with Mr. Taylor, of 479, Harrow Road, and was formerly with the late Mr. Marshall, of Sloane Square, and Streatham Hill, S.W. Any further particulars I shall be pleased to give you upon application. I have just left my last berth to make room for my employer's son. I am, Dear Sir, Yours truly, A. Devereux"—I replied to that by telegram and got this letter: "February 19th, 1905. Dear Sir,—I thank you for your telegrams and will come on to Coventry to-morrow (Monday) afternoon. I much regret not having been able to come yesterday, but as Mr. Taylor was called away suddenly owing to the serious illness of a relative I had to go back until Monday morning to oblige him. I sincerely hope and trust I shall get on well and remain with you as, indeed, I think I shall. Again thanking you and apologising for not having been able to come before, I remain, Dear Sir, Yours truly, Devereux"—in answer to that letter I telegraphed again and got this telegram, dated February 20th: "Bird, Chemist, Coventry. Devereux good man; suit your requirements, Taylor"—the prisoner came down to Coventry and took up the situation—he was engaged at a salary of £50 a year, living in the house, and remained in my service until April 13th, when the chief constable of Coventry took him into custody.
Cross-examined. He gave me every satisfaction—I considered him a clever chemist and a good business man—his little boy did not come there to my knowledge—I heard that he came to Kenilworth, where he went to school.
CHARLES CHRISTOPHER CHARSLEY . I am chief constable of Coventry, and in consequence of a telegram received from the Metropolitan police on. April 13th I went to Mr. Bird's and saw the prisoner—I said to him, "Your name is Devereux"—he said, "Oh yes,"—I said that I was chief constable of the city and had instructions to arrest him on suspicion of committing murder—he replied, "Oh, yes"—I asked him whether he wished to see the telegram on the strength of which I arrested him, and he said he did not want to see it—Mr. Bird came in and said, "Devereux, I am sorry to hear of this"—the prisoner said, "It is all right, Mr. Bird; I can clear myself"—Mr. Bird was about to put another question to him, which I stopped, and told the prisoner he had better not say anything until he had seen a solicitor—I found upon him a bunch of keys—there was a box at Mr. Bird's, and the prisoner
pointed out one key of the bunch which opened it—in the box I found this writing case (Produced)—I locked it with a key on the bunch—I found some papers in it, amongst them being these little books and a marriage certificate—I handed them all to the London police when they came the next day—Inspector Pollard and Sergeant Cole came down and the prisoner was handed over to them—after I had arrested him I took him to the police station, where I repeated the charge, and added that I could not give him details, as the London police were on the way, and when they came they would give them to him—he replied, "Oh, yes"—this receipt from Banister for 5s. was also among his papers.
Cross-examined. When I arrested him he did not seem anxious to make a statement, but he did afterwards when at the station—the London police arrived about an hour and a half after he was arrested, but I did not see them until the next day—the prisoner was detained in Coventry that night—it was the next day about 11.30 a.m. that he was first disposed to make a statement, before he was handed over to Pollard, but Pollard was present at the time—we advised him not to make a statement until he reached London—I arrested him about 8.0 p.m.
EDWARD POLLARD (Re-examined). I am stationed at Westbourne Park—on April 13th, in the afternoon, with other officers I went to Banister's at Buller Road and saw this tin trunk bound with a leather strap and padlocked—there was string through the loop of the lock and through the eyelet holes of the strap doubly sealed—I had heard statements that it was supposed to contain books and chemicals, but on shaking it there was no vibration, so I ordered it to be opened—from some keys which I had I found one which fitted the lock—on opening it I found a kind of inside wooden lid—the lock of the box was a cheap one; there is a rim round the box which acts as a ledge [The witness then reconstructed the inside lid of the box as found by him]—some piece of wood are now missing, as I took them to Sir Thomas Stevenson—when I found it the wooden lid covered the whole of the top of the box, and hermetically sealed it—it looked to me like another box formed of wood—it was air-tight and very completely done; in fact, the sixteenth of an inch thickness of glue which was over it bad hidden the joints, and formed an additional surface to the wood—the glue surface was against the aides of the box right round so as to conceal the contents—pieces of the wooden lid were screwed down to cross pieces with eighteen screws; the holes are there now—when I opened the box I could smell glue—I then unscrewed nine screws, and with a jemmy forced the others; there was no smell then—I saw a couple of table cloths and a quilt, which were glued together and covered over with a lot of glue—on gulling that away I put my hand down and felt a child's head—the quilt was tucked right into the sides of the box, and it had stuck there with the glue; there are some traces there now—directly I found the child's head I sent another officer to wire to Coventry and another to the Coroner—the bodies were not disturbed in the least, but were taken to the mortuary, where we had them photographed—that evening I went with Sergeant Cole to Coventry, and on the morning of the 14th I saw the prisoner at the police station at Coventry, and told him we were
police officers from London, and before he answered any question or said anything I should caution him, as I was going to take him back to London to Harlesden police station for causing the death of his wife and children by poisoning them;, that I had made enquiries about his wife and children, who had been missing from Milton Avenue since February, and that afternoon I had gone to Buller Road, where in the warehouse of Mr. Banister I found a trunk, which he had said contained chemicals and books, but which on opening I found contained the bodies of his wife and children—he simply said "Yes," and nodded his head—I told him that Dr. Robertson had seen the bodies and had certified them dead, but was unable to certify the cause of death, but suspected poison, and that I was going to take him to Harlesden and charge him with administering the poison—he replied, "Very well; I wish to make a statement, but will do so later on—I received from the chief constable what had been taken from the prisoner and a basket of other things, and brought them up to London with me—I told the prisoner I had found that he had sold his wife's clothes to a Mrs. Flint at Harlesden—Cole and myself came up to Willesden in a second-class compartment with the prisoner by ourselves—in the train he said, "I think I will make my statement now"—I handed my fountain pen to Sergeant Cole, but the ink save out, and the prisoner declined to make his statement—I said, "At the station I will give you paper and ink"—I heard Cole before the Magistrate give an account of what took place, which was correct—in the train the prisoner asked me my name again and said, "Did you open the trunk?"—I said, "Yes, with this officer and others"—he said, "On opening it you did not smell anything"—I said, "No"—he said, "No, you would not, because I prepared the glue with boric acid to prevent the fungi growing, otherwise they would have decomposed and smelt I had for four days been trying to solder a sheet of zinc in the box as a covering, but I failed in that, and I almost began to despair when I thought of the wood, and that took me three days to do. I had in my mind at the time a recent case, but the cement in that case was bound to give way, but I thought of a better plan"—he then asked who was going to hold the post-mortem and we told him Professor Pepper and Dr. Robertson—I felt rather sick then and want to the other side of the carriage and left Cole to continue the conversation—he was very cheerful in the train—I got a luncheon basket for him—he enjoyed himself—I gave him a cigar and he was laughing and chatting—he was taken to Harlesden Police Court, and before he was charged I said, "You have time to make your statement," and I provided him with ink and a pen, and he sat in the room and did it—I and Sergeant Cole were in the room—this is it (Read): "Metropolitan Police, Harlesden Station, April 14th, 1905. I, Arthur Devereux, hereby declare that one evening towards the end of January or beginning of February last, after having been out for a few hours with my child Stanley, I returned to find my wife and twins lying dead in their beds, evidently, to my mind, Wing died from poison taken or administered. Rather than face an inquest I decided (with a recent trial fresh in my mind) to conceal, the bodies in a trunk which I had had in my possession for about two years. This I proceeded to do at once. I missed some poisons (chloroform and
morphia) which I always kept in my writing desk after leaving my last situation, in the event of my wishing to end my own life rather than face starvation. The room smelled strongly of chloroform, so I concluded that my wife had administered it to herself and children, probably also the morphia. I had had a violent quarrel with her previously to going out; also many times quite recently and during the past twelve months. I make this statement quite voluntarily, without any threats having been made or promises held out to me. I wished to make it when first detained at Coventry, but was advised not to do so. Arthur Devereux. Witness, George Cole, P.S. 14th April, 1905."—I saw the prisoner write that; he wrote it slowly without any hesitation—I found no correction; he punctuated it as he went along—I took possession of it and he was shortly afterwards brought before the Justices, after having been charged with causing the death on or about February 1st—he made no answer to the charge—the justices were then sitting and I gave a portion of my evidence and a remand was ordered—on the 14th and 16th Mr. Pepper and Dr. Robertson held a port mortem examination on the bodies—the prisoner was remanded from time to time—the first detailed hearing before the Magistrates was on May 12th—the Coroner held an inquest and an adjourned inquest, the prisoner being present on each occasion—I was also present—the second occasion was on May 17th, when Brazier gave evidence in the prisoner's hearing—that same day the prisoner said, "Brazier is a fool: there is no other woman at 60, Milton Avenue, only my wife and her mother, Mrs. Gregory. I can now recollect the day I went out with my son Stanley for a walk and returned and found her and the children dead. It was on Tuesday, the 31st of January last. The milkman is not correct about the matter, but he cannot help it."
Cross-examined. I think the milkman has made a mistake—as far as I know, except Mrs. Gregory and Mrs. Devereux, no woman has been seen at the flat—I do not suggest that the prisoner was bringing any strange woman there—when I saw Mr. Charsley he said he had advised the prisoner not to make a statement—I made inquiries as to where Stanley was, and about 12 o'clock that day I found him at Kenilworth—I wanted to catch the 12 o'clock train, and rather than stay at Coventry for the prisoner to make his statement, I said he could make it in the train—he did not wish not to make a statement, he wanted to do it in the train, but when the fountain pen gave out he would not do it—he appeared to treat the matter very lightly, with apparent unconcern—he was unusually cool, considering the gravity of the charge—he explained about the other trunk tragedy—I was concerned in that matter—he discussed it in a calm sort of way, and when I said no smell came from this tin box he smiled and said, "I knew you would not find any smell," and then be laughed—in the train he enjoyed himself—he did not write anything in the railway carriage, when the ink in the pen gave out—Cole was going to take the statement in pencil, but the prisoner would not do it—he seemed to be discussing the matter the whole time with perfect freedom—I did not want to enter into the conversation—the thing he was most anxious about was the smell from the trunk, and who was going to make the post-mortem
examination—I received him from the Coventry police at 12 o'clock that day and he was sent to Brixton prison at 5 o'clock that night—he went before the justices at 4.30—after he was charged his demeanour changed, and he seemed to realise the gravity of the situation—when he was first remanded he made no reply—tie was not represented on his first appearance, but he was on the following Thursday—in consequence of a communication from the Treasury I have made enquiries into his family history—I have been to the Stone Asylum at Aylesbury and saw Dr. Humphrey—I was permitted to search the records of the asylum with him and found that the prisoner's uncle, Caleb Francis Devereux, was admitted on April 18th, 1895, and discharged on March 27th, 1896—he suffered from mental depression and suicidal tendencies; he was dangerous to himself, but harmless to others—I learnt that he was discharged from the asylum absolutely cured, and is now in the best of health—he now resides at 1, Sidney Terrace, High Wycombe—I also searched in the asylum records for the case of Miss Susan Devereux, but I could not find one—I went to Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire, and saw the prisoner's uncle Louis Devereux—I found him very reluctant to give any information, and in consequence I went with Inspector Marks and interviewed Mr. Morford, a Justice of the Peace in the district, and other people. [The COURT ruled that statements made to the witness by others in regard to the prisoner's family were not admissible.] I have seen the record of a conviction of the prisoner's father, Arthur James Devereux, for attempted suicide at Amersham Petty Sessions on November 9th, 1891, when he was bound over in £20 to keep the peace for six months—it was alleged that he took rat poison—I have seen a conviction for assault against Louis Devereux who was fined 10s.—I have no other asylum records, as the medical gentlemen are dead—the prisoner's aunt lived under the protection of a gentleman and threw herself out of a window twenty-two yean ago, and a verdict of suicide was returned. [The COURT ruled that this evidence was not admissible, as the circumstances of the case were unknown.]—I have made enquiries about the prisoner and have traced him from his youth—I cannot trace that at an early period he was sent to a farm on account of his strange behaviour—the one of Crossman, to which the prisoner referred, was a case where a man murdered a woman; we do not know the cause of death, but on March 24th, 1904, we opened a tin box and found that it was hermetically sealed with cement, that a body had been put in, and theft sealed all round and after being there for fourteen months a smell came out which caused the person in the house to complain, and as the box was being removed the murderer, who was also a bigamist (he had had seven wives), ran away and cut his throat when he saw the police approaching—me and Sergeant Cole were the officers in that case.
Re-examined. An injury had been done to the woman's head in that case, the base of the skull having gone—the body had been placed in a trunk half the size of this one—the woman was murdered the same day that she was married—I have found nothing as to the prisoner's mental history except that he was of sound mind and understanding—every person that I have asked said he was perfectly sane, and all his employers
said that he was the best chemist they ever had—the prisoner's father after his appearance before the Magistrate, took an important post as a chemist in Gloucestershire—he left there owing to senile decay, and is now living in Buckinghamshire.
GEORGE COLE (Sergeant X.) With Inspector Pollard I went to Banister's on April 13th and saw this box opened, and also the false wooden lid inside, and the glue covering the quilt and the counterpane underneath—the rivets in the front of the box go right through the metal, and the inside points of the rivets are soldered round, which makes it airtight, and the same underneath the hasp—I also noticed one or two places where apparently something had been attempted to be soldered at the side of the box, and some solder has dropped on to the floor of the box—I went with Pollard to Coventry and received the prisoner from the Coventry police on April 14th, and then we all three got into a railway carriage to come up from Coventry by the 12 o'clock train—shortly after leaving Coventry the prisoner was told, as he had expressed a desire to make a statement, that he could then make it—he was cautioned that it would be taken down and might be used in evidence against him—he said, "There is plenty of time before we get to London; I want to think first, as I am not sure of dates"—shortly afterwards he said, "My conscience is perfectly clear as to their deaths, but I was wrong in concealing the bodies"—he afterwards said to me, "Did you find any smell when you opened the lid?"—he was told "No"—he said, "You never would; the glue was treated with boric acid, which prevented fungi from growing, which would have allowed the smell to come through"—he then asked who would make the post-mortem—I told him Dr. Robertson, the police surgeon, and possibly Professor Pepper—he said, "He will have no difficulty in finding the cause of death; there is no doubt about that, but that does not say that I have administered it"—a little later on he said he would make his statement—he was again cautioned that it would be taken down, but the fountain pen gave out, and I began to write in pencil and ho said he would rather make it in ink—I had not taken anything down; I had simply begun to make the preface—he said, "I would rather have it made in ink, and I will wait until we get to London"—he was brought to Harlesden Police Court and supplied with pen, ink and paper, at his request, and before he was charged—he then made this statement (Produced)—he was brought into Court and remanded—amongst his property which we received at Coventry and brought to London was this basket, with some papers inside it, and some little books, a letter written by Mr. Tebboth, some certificates as to the prisoner's qualifications as a chemist, some pawn tickets, referring to articles pawned at Mr. Smith's, and a number of photographs, including the one of himself, and of his wife and child—I was present at the Court on April 20th before the Justices—the prisoner spoke to me before going into Court and, referring to the photographs, said, "There are some of myself, wife, and twins; they were taken one day on Hampstead Health. You will find them in an envelope; I shall want them for my defence"—I said I would look for them—I produced them before the Magistrates—the prisoner said, "About that receipt of Willoughby's, I have fixed the date it happened; it was the night before the milk was left for the last time
Stanley drank that; it was on a Tuesday, just a week before we moved"—on May 17th I was present at the adjourned inquest, which was the final one, when the prisoner said that his reason for wanting the photographs was to show what a good family man he was, and he went on to say, "Brazier has made a mistake; there was no other woman there, and I think he is wrong in his dates. It was on a Tuesday, the week, before we moved."
Cross-examined. He was anxious to make a statement—I did not take—this statement down from his dictation; I made my note after I reached. Harlesden—he explained the action of the boracic acid; that it would, prevent the glue from perishing—he discussed it as a man who had some knowledge of it—from the time I first saw him at Harlesden till he was before the Justices at Harlesden he seemed to treat the matter rather lightly—he was cool and collected the whole time, and smoked a cigar in the train, but he seemed to realise his position when in the train—I do not say he was merry and chatty—he was talking nearly the whole way, sad in rather a light-hearted way, but I should hardly say with unconcern as to the consequences to himself—he stopped talking at times, and seemed to be in thought—I was present when he wrote his statement at Harlesden—he wrote it off fairly freely—it had no corrections, except one slight scratch—he showed no reluctance in discussing the whole question, but rather forced himself upon us—Pollard got rather sick of it, and went to the other side of the carriage.
FREDERICK BAKER (20 X.R.) I act as Coroner's officer, and took charge of this box from Buller Road at the mortuary—I was present at the postmortem and received from Mr. Pepper and Dr. Robertson twelve jars, a table doth, and a pocket handkerchief, all of which I gave to Sir Thomas Stevenson at Guy's Hospital—on April 18th I took three other jars to him which had been given to me by Dr. Robertson, and also a sheet and a duster—I gave one lot to Mr. Wilcox, Sir Thomas's assistant—I also took a portion of the glue out of the box to Six Thomas.
EDWIN POLLARD (Re-examined). I agree with Mrs. Gregory that it was on March 14th that she first communicated with the police at Harlesden police station, and I saw Banister on the 20th—he seemed to treat the matter very lightly, and said he did not believe there was anything in the trunk—I obtained the address where the prisoner had gone, and on the 21st asked the chief constable at Coventry to make enquiries, and he had the papers for nearly a fortnight making enquiries unbeknown to the prisoner, and in that way the delay was caused—I received the papers back from Coventry on April 5th—the enquiry at Coventry had to be made very discreetly.
SIR THOMAS STEVENSON , M.D. I am official analyst to the Home Office—from Baker on April 17th and 18th received twelve jars, separately labelled and sealed, the first four containing portions of the body of a woman, marked with t he name Ellen Beatrice Maud Devereux—four contained the duodenum, the liver, the lower bowel and the kidneys of the woman.—the other eight related, four in each case, to the organs of the two children—on April 18th I received some additional jars, containing some portions of the flesh taken from the three bodies, and also a packet containing glue,
two handkerchiefs, a table cloth, portions of a sheet, and a coloured duster—I examined the glue, and found that it had been treated with boric acid—boric acid, or boracic acid, is an antisepic, and would prevent the invasion of the glue by fungi that would arise from the decomposition of a corpse, or from the air—if the glue were poured over the wooden surface it would render the substance air-tight—the table cloth had glue and boric acid marks upon it—the handkerchief and the smaller things which I examined I attributed no importance to—the handkerchiefs were stained with bloodstains, and mucous and epithelia cells, apparently from the mouth—they might have been used for wiping the mouth either before or after death, and there was a small stain of blood upon the coloured glass cloth, or duster—I could not say what age that stain was, but I should say some weeks; it might be months—the organs of the woman's body were decomposed, but not so much but that I could see that there were no signs of disease upon them—I made an exhaustive analysis of the different organs, and found in the stomach, the abdomen, the liver and the kidneys, morphine, or morphia which is a vegetable poison; it is the game thing, the official name being morphia—in the stomach and abdomen there was 14 of a grain, in the kidneys 16 of a grain, and in the liver 82 of a grain, making a total of 112, or 1 1/8th of a grain-morphia is extracted from opium, and is almost insoluble in water—there are several common forms—it is combined with an acid and a salt, and those are the forms in which it is used in medicine, that is as an alkaloid—the ordinary use of the silt in medicine is for injection in 1 per cent solution, and it is given internally in 5 per cent.—it is used for injecting under the skin hypodermically—this form of morphia is not ordinarily found in a chemist's shop—it is used in chemists' shops for testing, but not for being sold—the morphine in the body had probably been used in a salt, but in what form it had been administered I cannot say—the alkaloid would remove the acid, and leave morphine in the body—the 1 1/8 grains which I obtained was morphia itself, which would form 1 1/2 grains of a salt of morphine—many chemists keep the alkaloid of morphia, but it is only used in the process of testing substances—it is not in our pharmacopoeia, and I believe it is never used, or extremely rarely given in medicine, but always in a salt, became it is soluble—the employment of it is almost invariably in salt of morphine—the alkaloid is kept by some chemists, and the salt in its different forms by all—stout would be a liquid in which the salt would be readily soluble, but of which the taste would be easily concealed from the person who took it—the slight bitterness of the morphine would be covered by the stout—morphine would spoil the flavour of milk, rendering it slightly bitter, and the same with water—in my experience I have known of several cases of a grain of salt of morphine being fatal to an adult—the 1 1/8th grain found in the three organs of the body, in my opinion, does not represent the whole amountll of poison taken—I estimate from my experience that there were four grains at least in the body-the effect of four grains probably would be that there would be a slight transitory excitement—a pleasant feeling, quickly followed by a tendency to sleep—the time at which sleepiness would appear would depend on the condition
of the person, and the form in which it was taken—an empty stomach it would probably affect quickly; in five minutes the person would be gradually getting sleepy, and in twenty minutes, or at least half-an-hour, he would be aroused with difficulty. Respiration would fail; there would be profuse sweats, a ghastly appearance of the body, and death would occur, after four grains, in from three to six hours, it may be much less—the person would be asleep before twenty minutes, but the sleep of death would come on in about that time—if the patient were to be aroused, you could do it within half-an-hour, but not afterwards, and death might supervene in from three to six hours, or life might be prolonged for eight or ten—the, post-mortem appearances usually show signs of asphyxia, congestion of the brain and lungs, and to the right tide of the heart and liver—I have heard the description given by Professor Pepper of the brain, heart, and lungs in this case; they are such as would be found in death after morphia—there were no indications in the organs which I examined of chloroform having been taken through the mouth—if it had been taken through the mouth the condition of the stomach would be different from that which I found—there was nothing to suggest or refute the fact that chloroform had been inhaled except that chloroform might show certain conditions which would be common to it and to morphia—I think it would be well nigh impossible for a person who bad herself taken such a dose of salt of morphine as I have described, to administer chloroform by inhalation to herself—certainly after the sleepiness had come on it would be impossible—if the chloroform had been administered by the dead person herself after taking morphine, that could not have caused death—if she had died quickly from the chloroform the morphine would not have been distributed in the quantity I found in the liver and other organs, it would have remained in great part in the stomach—the quantity" I found in the liver enables me to say that the morphia had been taken some time before death, because it would first of all have to be absorbed into the stomach and blood, and then passed to the liver, and be deposited there, and as I found about six times as much morphia in the liver as in the stomach, some time must have elapsed; it would not be the case of a few minutes—I cannot say how long, but I should not expect that condition within half an hour—when a person is about to be anaesthetised there is generally a resistance for the first few minutes. when you administer chloroform on a handkerchief or pad, for a few moments the patient will generally try to resist, and try to remove the cloth—chloroform is very volatile, and evaporates with great rapidity, and if its effects are to be of use it would require to be renewed from time to time in order that it should be kept effective, except occasionally, if the pad is placed over the mouth, and the person is asphyxiated at once; but for the purpose of keeping it up it must be renewed from time to time—I do not think it would be possible for a person who had taken such a dose of morphine as this to be able to renew this evaporating spirit except immediately after, and putting an excessive quantity, and being suffocated at once, but in that case the poison would not have been absorbed from the stomach in that time to that large extent—in this case there had been
a very great absorption into the liver, and if it had got into the circulation it must have produced its narcotic effects—I examined the viscera of both of the children, and satisfied myself that the same poison had got into their organs, but not in such a large quantity, but in sufficient quantity to destroy their lives in my opinion—it is my opinion also that the poison was the cause of the woman's death—I cannot say if the children would die sooner than the adult, but they would die from a very much smaller proportion, and even a smaller proportion relative to the body weight pound for pound, a smaller dose would kill—children are very susceptible to morphia—I think 1/8th to 1/10th of a grain might perhaps kill a child twenty-one months old—there would be no difficulty in getting a child to take a dose: put it in half a teaspoonful of water, put it at the back of the throat, and it is sure to go don.
Cross-examined. There was nothing inconsistent about the handkerchiefs and dusters with their having been used before death—the whole evidence which I have given with reference to the general effect of morphia applies equally whether self-administered or whether administered by another—it would take time, for morphia to reach the liver, but there was a larger proportion in the liver as compared with the portion in the stomach—the length of time for a dose of 4 grains of morphia to absorb would depend upon the state of the stomach as regards food—by what ever avenue it gets into the body when it gets into the skin some portion goes to the stomach and is excreted—if death took place within three hours, I should expect to find a considerable quantity distributed through the body—I do not think that if a small quantity of morphia was administered the distribution would be much slower—a large portion had been absorbed and still remained in the circulation, but the time would partly depend on the quantity originally adminstered—if you administered 4 grains as distinct from 1 grain, the condition of the stomach being the same, you would find a larger quantity in the circulation than if you administered 1 grain—I do not know that if there is more it is more rapidly circulated—there would have to be a larger absorption to produce death; I do not know about more rapid absorption—you must have a certain amount in the blood to produce a fatal effect—in this case there was five times as much in the liver as in the kidneys or stomach—if the quantity that had been administered had been less than it was, the proportion would probably have been different, a larger proportion in the circulation—if the total dose had been 1 grain instead of 4, I should have expected to find about a quarter of a grain in the liver—in my experience I find the proportion in the liver is about one third of the whole circulating in the body; that is in about an hour—where the dose which has been taken is known, that in the liver is multiplied by four and that in the stomatch added to it which gives you the whole amount, but after a long time the absorption decreases—I said I thought there were at least 4 grains, because I know if I take four times 82 you get practically 4 grains, I put that as a minimum—it may have been greater; I do not know how much had been excreted before death took place—if greater the operation of the poison would be surer, and probably it might have been a little quicker—my experience teaches me that if you add what is in the stomach and the
bowel to what is in the liver that gives you the whole dose—I have never had an adult die from 80—a case of my own died within thirty-five minutes—I have edited a good many editions of "Taylor's Jurisprudence," where a case is mentioned where a patient died in about half-an-hour—I do not know if there was any evidence of any subcutaneous injection in this case, as I never saw the body—there is a form of opium poisoning in which a considerable time elapses before death, and then there is the form in which death takes place with frightful rapidity—in "Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence" a case is quoted where death took place within half-an-hour, but that is not my edition of the book; it was one of my own cues—it was a case of administration in my own hospital by mistake; the nurse went for the house physician and I was subsequently sent for, I think, and the times are not very accurate—it was not discovered until a few minutes elapsed, when the woman was dangerously ill—I do not think 4 grains is an exceptional dose, as people who die from morphia poisoning generally take far more than sufficient to produce death—I do not dispute the possibility of a person, such as this woman, dying in less than three hours after a dose of 4 grains—I do not think I can give you the minimum time which would be possible under those circumstances—I think it is possible that it might be two hours, but I do not think it likely—it would be possible for a person who had self-administered morphia to saturate a pillow with chloroform and then lie down, and he would be likely to become subject to the influence of the chloroform slightly in advance of the effect of the morphia, but probably the chloroform would go off by the time the morphia effected, then the morphia would come into play and the person would die from morphia, not from chloroform, but pouring chloroform on the pillow it would soon evaporate and I do not think unconsciousness would be produced—it would evaporate even more quickly on a pillow than on a small surface—the more porous the substance the more quickly it would evaporate—if a person wore a cap or a soft hat with a handkerchief inside it, overlapping the face, saturated with chloroform, it might produce for the time being unconsciousness, but it would be a very ineffective way of doing it; the part over the face would not be sufficient, and to get insensibility you would have to put more on—if your object was to produce unconsciousness, which would endure only until the morphia, which you had previously taken, had begun to operate, it might have some influence, but a person taking a large dose of morphia would be almost immediately in a pleasurable condition and they would go off to sleep—if a person was bent on suicide they might try the two things—people do sometimes resort to alternate methods, in case one fails—there was no evidence in the case of the children or of that of the mother of chloroform being administered at all—if the chloroform had been merely inhaled I should not expect to find traces of it after that space of time—there was nothing to show me whether the children had the poison administered to them earlier than the mother or not—my position on that point is purely neutral—there were no bottles of chloroform or morphia brought to me—morphia is used largely in connection with what are called soothing syrups and with powders for sending children to sleep—I have known cases in which
the fatal dose has been administered to a child in those soothing powders by persons who had them in charge, and who did it by mistake—people who were devoted to them.
Re-examined. I know of about six instances in which 1 grain has been fatal two or three of them are my own cases—they were taken by the mouth—if the intention was to destroy life, 4 grains would be pretty certainly effective in the majority of cases; I am excluding, of course, persons who take morphia habitually,
E. POLLARD (Re-examined). Amongst the contents of the trunk I discovered a black silk skirt of similar material to the bodice which the deceased was wearing—it had been packed in the corner under the quilt and table cloth—that and the rest of the clothing which has been described had to be destroyed—on opening the trunk we could not tee anything until we took the covering off, and then the woman's face was underneath, one of the children's heads being placed close to and above it—both of the children's heads were visible.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he had dispensed median all his life; that he first met his wife, at Hastings in 1894, and that they were married on November 2nd, 1898, at Paddington; that Mrs. Gregory lived with them at various places; that when they were at Milton Avenue he came home on December 31st about 8.30 or 9 p.m., having been out for a walk with Stanley; that he gave Stanley some money to buy some cakes and entered the house alone, leaving the front door open; that he went upstairs into the front room, and, on opening the door, smelt a strong smell of chloroform; that his first impulse was to rush across the room and open the window; that he did so and pulled up the Venetian blind, and from the light of the street lamp opposite he saw his wife lying on the bed and the twins lying each in its own cradle; that he endeavoured to rouse his wife, but failed to do so, and found that she was dead; that she was lying lengthways on the bed and was dressed exactly as she was afterwards found in the trunk except that she had a skirt on, which came off when he was moving her; that the twins was also dead and dressed in their night clothes; that he then heard Stanley coming up the stairs so covered the bodies over; that he put Stanley to bed in the same room, and told him his mother was asleep and he was not to make a noise; that he concluded that his wife had poisoned the twins and then herself with chloroform, which was the poison he referred to and not morphine; that all that day the had been grumbling about having to do the washing herself without the aid of her mother, whose absence was owing to his (the prisoner) being at home, as he did not allow her to be in the house when he was there; that his wife had said nothing about taking her own life, but had said she would run away and take the children with her owing to the ill-feeling between himself and his mother-in-law; that after he had put Stanley to bed he went downstairs and got the tin trunk, which was full of clothes and which he emptied, and packed the bodies into it that night in the way stated and just as they were; that it was true that he caused the trunk to be removed to Banister's that he did so because he was so frightened when he discovered the bodies; that he knew he should have called in outside aid, but owing to the arguments he had had with his wife about his mother-in-law and the ill-feeling born towards him by her, he was afraid to adopt the paper course; that it was not true that he had ever administered any chloroform or morphia to his wife; in cross-examination
he said that he had brought the tin trunk upstairs within two hours of Stanley going to sleep; that he took it into the back room and carried the bodies from the front to the back room, put them into the box and locked it; that they were still warm, but his wife was warmer than the children; that he then went to bed and to sleep; that he afterwards took the bodies out of the trunk, but that they remained in practically the same position, as they were then stiff; that he told Stanley in the morning that his mother had been taken to the hospital, as she had been once before, and that the twins had been taken to a public nursery; that he took Stanley to school and then moved the trunk to the living room, moving the bodies and the trunk separately; that on the Thursday he tried to solder zinc over the top of the box to make it air-tight; that he failed in that, and on the Saturday began the wooden cover; that Stanley was with him when he cut (he wood up; that he placed the wooden cover in the box at night; that he finished it on the Monday; that he brought chloroform and morphine home from Mr. Turner's a day or two before he left; that he used the chloroform in his private dentistry; that he always kept morphine and morphia locked up in his desk, which was sometimes kept in the tin trunk; that he had one key of the desk and his wife another; that when he came into the bedroom and found his wife dead he missed the morphine; that the desk was lying open on the floor under the bed; that he had thrown his wife's key of the desk away with all the other things which he did not want; that there was about 30 grams of morphia in the desk and 4 oz. of chloroform; that he knew that hit mother-in-law was going away, but did not know that she was going to a situation; that he answered an advertisement in the "Chemist and Druggist" of January 7th for an assistant at Hull by telegram on January 13th, saying that he was a widower with one child; that he intended to leave his wife at Harlesden, as he had done before, as it was more difficult for a married man to get a situation; that he had not told Garfath that the twins cost him 10s. a week for milk; that he had said that if he had not got the b—lot to keep he could get on better by himself; and that when he went out on December 31st his wife had mid that when he returned he would find her and the children gone.
Evidence for the Defence.
JULIA MARIA DEVEREUX . I am the prisoner's aunt and live at Perm, in Buckinghamshire—my father lived at High Wycombe, where he had a public appointment of Supervisor of the Inland Revenue [MR. ELLIOTT stated that he was calling evidence to show insanity in the prisoner's family to support the contention that prisoner must have been mentally defective, though not insane, in not informing the police of his discovery of his wife's and children's dead bodies. MR. JUSTICE RIDLEY said that he would take the evidence, but that he could not see that it was of the slightest value], and I was living with him in 1862, when he endeavoured to commit suicide by hanging himself, but he did not succeed—my brother, Arthur James Devereux, the prisoner's father, was married in 1866 to Cicele Lewis, the daughter of John Lewis, who was Colonel; Lewis at the time, I believe—I know the whole Lewis family—my brother tried to commit suicide in 1891—I knew Lady Lewis, the mother-in-law, and knew that her mental condition was very weak—my sister-in-law's sister threw herself out of a window at Regent's Park, I think, in 1883—I do not know that she was
living under the protection of a man who was not her husband—I have heard that about nine or ten years ago the prisoner was on a farm in Gloucester.
LOUIS DEVEREUX . I am a watchmaker at Middle Lane, Hornsey—the prisoner is my brother—up till recently I have seen him from time to time—some time ago I had lodgings with him at Highbury, and during that time he caused me a lot of anxiety—I cannot say exactly in what way—he used to wander about—for instance, he once stayed out in Finsbury Park for three nights, and when he arrived home he was in a very dilapidated condition, and I decided to call a doctor to him—I should say, in my opinion from what I saw of him, that he was not in an ordinary normal condition—I called a doctor in because he behaved in such a strange manner: he was mentally weak—in consequence of the doctor's orders he was sent away for a quiet rest—he is Dr. Sworn, of Highbury. [MR. ELLIOTT said that he did not propose to call Dr. Sworn, as he had no record in the matter, whereupon the COURT held that the evidence at to that was of no value.]
HUMPHREY WHEELER . I am a medical practitioner, of Dial House, High Wycombe, and am the parish doctor—I attended Caleb Devereux, the prisoner's uncle, in 1895, and certified him as insane—I also attended his daughter, the prisoner's first cousin, for insanity—she was ill for about a month, but she recovered.
Cross-examined. Caleb is out now alive and well.
BENJAMIN JOHN SHORT KIRKBY . I am the Vicar of Penn—I have known the Devereux family for a considerable time and knew the prisoner as a boy—I saw him last, probably in 1891—during the two years that I knew him as living in Beaconsfield I always considered him wanting in many things—it is rather difficult to explain, but we always considered him a little bit of the top—he did ridiculous things and he was commonly known in the parish of Beaconsfield as wanting.
Cross-examined. In 1891 his father was churchwarden, and therefore I saw more of the prisoner than perhaps any of the other lads of the place—it would be some fourteen years since I last had any observation of him—I have known that for the last thirteen years he has gone through a number of situations practising with very considerable skill as a chemist's assistant, but I have also known that he has done extraordinary things such as passing as an American millionaire—I agree it is not always insanity which leads people to pretend that they are richer than they really are—I do not think I can give you an instance of the absurd thing he did; they were very numerous; but I remember one where he posed as a magician in a crowded hall to give an entertainment: there was no magic except the turning out of the whole audience in a very few minutes.
FORBES WINSLOW . I am a Batchelor of Medicine in the University of Cambridge, a Member of the Royal College of Physicians, a Doctor of Civil Laws in the University of Oxford, a Doctor of Civil Laws in the University of Cambridge, late Lecturer on Lunacy at the Charing Cross Hospital, late Physician of the West End Hospital for the diseases of the nervous system, late President of the International Medico-Legal congress
in the Lunacy Department of New York and author of a number of works on lunacy—I have been present during the whole of this trial and I have heard the facts which have been proved or accepted in evidence in relation to the history of the prisoner's, family—in consequence of instructions received from the prisoner's solicitor I made a personal examination of him. [MR. MATHEWS submitted that the plea of insanity not having been set up, Dr. Forbes Window's opinion as to the state of the prisoner's mind was not evidence in the case, and that it was for the Jury to decide on the facts as to what a pawn would do under certain conditions. MR. ELLIOTT pleaded for the admission of the evidence, contending that it would be most undesirable to exclude any evidence which might throw some light on the action of a man at a particular period of his life, and that the Jury could accept or reject it as they thought fit. MR. JUSTICE RIDLEY said that it was inadmissible and ought not to be accepted, but as a matter of indulgence he would accept it.]—I examined the prisoner at Brixton Gaol in the presence of Doctor Scott, Doctor McCarthy, and Doctor Armstrong, on the 17th and 21st July—I had previously been furnished with copies of Doctor Maudsley's report, and Doctor Scott also informed me as to the prisoner's conduct while in prison; that he had been uneasy, boisterous' and filthy in his habits and nonsensical in behaviour—I was surprised on entering the prison to find the prisoner my quiet—I questioned him as to his former nonsensical or foolish behaviour, if I may use the expression that Doctor Scott used, and he replied the reason was that the newspaper, which had been paid for, had not been delivered to him—I then said to him, "You have been reading the newspaper lately, can you tell me anything that has been going on in the world?"—he hesitated for a moment and said "The war"—I said "Anything else?" and he said "the appointment of Dr. Osler as the greatest professor of the University of Oxford"—having examined him subjectively I then tried various tests which we use in cases of mental diseases—this was more especially at my second visit—I had a strong battery and I tried to get some sense in his foot; I put his foot on a metallic slab and passed a very strong current of electricity while he held one end of the battery with one hand; he could not feel it in his foot—I then tried knee jerks, which are most important diagnostic symptoms in cases of incipient brain diseases—Dr. Scott told me they were absent when he first came, but they were increased at my first visit and diminished at my second—there was one symptom that occurred to me as very curious, which we very often get in cases of mental degeneration; it is called the lunatic's ear which is a swelling behind both ears: it was most marked and most conspicuous in his case—it is a symptom which is quite impossible to find developed from any conduct of the accused him self—his handwriting is peculiar and strange—these are some of the specimens which were handed to me (Produced)—I can give no opinion as to the prisoner's condition on January 31st—when I examined him he appeared to me to be a man of very weak intellect, suffering from what I should term partial mental disease as opposed to total insanity—he knew absolutely the difference between right and wrong and he would be responsible for any act committed by him: he was a mental degenerate—heredity would certainly bear upon his condition—I regard him as a man of most irresolute will.
Cross-examined. I have heard him examined here to-day, and I should certainly not certify him as a person of unsound mind in his present condition—I have had the opinion to Dr. Maudsley before me, the effect of which is that the prisoner is sane and has been sane during the time that he has been under his care—I know that Dr. Scott has come to the same conclusion—you can have a person with incipient insanity without his being of unsound mind according to the legal term—I do not think he was shamming when I saw him—this writing of the prisoner's, written before he came under my notice, has nothing much wrong with it—these examples of the prisoner's handwriting which I have handed to the Jury were given to me by the solicitor amongst other papers—I have not written to any newspaper with reference to my visits to Brixton gaol; people have spoken to me, but I have not given any information to put in the papers of any sort, neither am I responsible for it—as a result of my visit of the 17th or 21st, I gave the information, "The prisoners mind appears to be a complete blank from the early days of May last"—the prisoner told me so, and that was certainly quite sufficient for me—I am not responsible for what the Press put in—five or six people called upon me one day and in the course of the conversation I gave that information. [The COURT intimated to the witness that he should be more cautions in the matter of giving information on such occasions.]
JOHN ARMSTRONG . I am in the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons of Edinburgh, and live at Selby House, Powman Terrace, Kensington—I was present twice at Brixton gaol with Dr. Winslow, Dr. Scott and Dr. McCarthy, to see the prisoner—I have heard the evidence given by Dr. Winslow and I agree with it in the main.
Cross-examined. I have nothing to do with anything that appears in the papers—I think whoever was the cause of that article getting into the paper did not do so with my consent—I am not a specialist in lunacy, but to nervous diseases I have devoted a good deal of attention—I have a surgical home, and attend a lot of epileptics—I do not call the prisoner a lunatic.
Re-examined. I noticed objective symptons in relation to the prisoner's ear—it is very marked, and if I had met it in any ordinary patient who came to me I would have his mental condition examined into very carefully—it is given by most of the authorities as one of the principal signs of general paralysis of the insane—I have read an article by Dr. Maudsley, where he attaches importance to the insane ear.
EUGENE TALBOT MCCARTHY , L.R.C.P., L.R.C.S. Ireland. I live at 124, Grower Street—I was present with Dr. Armstrong, Dr. Winslow and Dr. Scott when the examination was made of the prisoner—I was present on three occasions when examinations were made, I agree with Dr. Armstrong's and Dr. Winslow's evidence in the main, and I also agree with what has been mentioned about the insane ear in Dr. Maudsley's book.
Cross-examined. I have had a great deal of experience in lunacy—I have a little general practice, but not very much—I agree that the prisoner is not of unsound mind, but I say in addition to Dr. Winslow and Dr. Armstrong that he is not capable of exercising the same reasoning powers that another man would.
Re-examined. I am satisfied that he has the insane ear.
MARY FRANCES GREGORY . I married Sidney Gregory, the brother of the deceased woman, in June, 1903—I noticed in the last week in May, 1903, he was quite well or as well as he had been since his illness—he went out one afternoon and came back looking very white—I asked him what was the matter and he told me it was the heat—I noticed from that time that he got worse and I asked my brother to watch him with me, as I was afraid—he got very bad headaches after that and seemed very depressed—I remember one night finding him out of bed and I thought he was walking in his sleep first of all, because he looked so strange; by the time I got up he was at the razor drawer—I got him back to bed—I told my brother about it the next day and he came to live with me from July 11th to the 25th—on July 25th my husband went into the dispensary in the morning, as usual, and when he came upstairs after the doctor had gone he said, "My head is very bid indead"—I tried to persuade him to lie down, but he would not at first, but after a great deal of persuasion he did—I got some menthol and bathed his head to make it better—while he was lying down the telephone went and the doctor wanted some instruments—I said to him, "You are much too ill to go out; let me tell the doctor"—he said, "No, I must go; it will be a critical case"—I think as far as recollect he was gone about an hour; he came back and had dinner—he seemed to be very bad in his head and I said, "Why not lie down again?" and he did—about 2.30 he had some letters to post for the doctor—and I said, "Do not go out alone if your head is so bad; I will go," but he said, "The weather is too rough for you to go out, but it will not hurt me"—he went out and after that I did not see him again—he had an old suit on, that he used down in the dispensary, when he went out—he took no money whatever with him, because he wanted some change and asked me if I had any, and I said, "No, you had better take a sovereign out of the drawer"—when he did not return I found 19s. 7d. on the mantelpiece—we had been a very united couple and the longest time he had ever left me, unless on business matters, was only twenty-five minutes—I had not the faintest idea that he was going away.
Cross-examined. I received a letter from him on the Monday—his clothes were found on the Saturday evening—the letter was enclosed in a letter to the doctor, who did not like to send it on to me before—I cannot say what the post-mark on the envelope was.
Re-examined. The doctor received the enclosure on the Sunday and posted it so that I got it on the Monday—I have never since heard what happened to him—I believe myself honestly that he is dead.
By the COURT. My mother-in-law does not agree with me; she believes she will see him again, but she has never seen or heard of him.
EDGAR MANNING . I am the brother of Mary Frances Gregory—I visited the Devereux family twice at Croydon—while on my visit there sidney Gregory was ill with meningitis and I assisted in nursing him and helped to hold him down—my sister called me in in May, 1903, when she was living in Plymouth—Sidney Gregory seemed to be very peculiar at times; that was a month before he disappeared—I slept there every night in consequence of the communication I had from my sister, who was
afraid—Sidney was passionately fond of her and they were very happy together—I remember the day he disappeared vividly.
By the COURT. I know that meningitis is a brain disease.
EVELYN ADAMS . I am a fully-qualified medical practitioner, and live at 119, North End, West Croydon—I remember attending Sidney Gregory in September—this is a certificate I made, given some months afterwards (Produced)—whilst under my care for the first few days I thought he might be in for an attack of meningitis, but it cleared up—I think I only attended him fifteen days at the outside.
Re-examined. There was no evidence of insanity as far as I could see—the prisoner was employed by me for some eighteen months as a dispenser, and during the whole of that time I could see nothing strange or unusual in his manner.
ANNIE ELIZAFETH HARRIES . Since I have been in London I have been living at 10, Elgin Avenue, Notting Hill—in 1891, I think it was, the deceased called upon me at Oakley Crescent, Camden Town—she had a little baby with her a few months old, Stanley—she asked me for her father and I said he was not at home—I asked her to come in—she came in—it was not at all a good day, so I know it was winter time; I have not at all a good memory for dates—we talked about babies first; I had my youngest boy there—she said she was in very great trouble about her mother—she said bad it not been for her mother she would not have been able to get through this baby, and all the trouble she had had since its birth—what she really came for, I gathered, was to try and get some money from her father for her mother—she said her mother was in great trouble—she wan very much depressed, and I was depressed too because I was in trouble abort that time—she said that her father had recently gone through the Bankruptcy Court and a terrible disclosure had been made about him living with a servant and having three children, and it had nearly killed her mother—she left her visiting card on the table—I had it for a long time afterwards—it said "Mrs. Arthur Devereux, Professor of the Pianoforte"—she said that nothing would make her do the same as I had done or a certain person, saying, "I would rather commit suicide and take my child away; I would never leave my child to the mercy of the world—she meant that she would rather commit suicide than commit adultery or immorality—that impressed itself on my mind terribly, because I had to give my little children up; I had one little boy then—she was very nice and quite charming, but she was morbid and depressed, and in great trouble, I thought.
Cross-examined. This would be in the year 1899, because Stanley was quite a small child in arms—I have looked for the card everywhere; I thought it might be amongst some of my old luggage, but I have not been able to find it—we were talking of immorality in connection with her father and her servant—I was not actually living with her father then; I was living in the same house—I was a married woman at the time—I eventually left the roof and went and lived elsewhere with her father—she came to see her father, not me—she talked with me for about an hour—I did not think much about it until I heard of this case, and then it came back to me—since that time I have been three or four times confined in an
asylum—I do not remember the last time; it might have been in May of this year—I do not scarcely remember when I came out—I remember being found wandering at Talbot Street, Strand, and taken to the Endell Street infirmary—I remember only too well being taken at Nottingham and having been certified as insane, remaining there for something like nine months, October 11th, 1902, to June 20th, 1903—I was in an asylum in York, and very likely remained there until February 6th of this year—again in May of this year I was found wandering and was confined in an asylum.
Re-examined. I expect it would be after I had paid a visit to Mr. Pierron (the solicitor for the Defence) I was in this further trouble; any upset or fright will make me lose my memory entirely, but it comes back again—I wrote to Mr. Pierron, telling him what I knew, and I called on him at his office.
GUILTY . DEATH .
The COURT commended the police for their discretion in the conduct of the case.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Old Court, July 24th, 1905.
619. LEO GOODWIN (50) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully and fraudulently converting to his own use 1s., part of the sum of 5s. received by him in order that he might pay the same to Mary Ann Lines on behalf of the Guardians of the Poor of the West Ham Union; and to other counts for converting other sums received by him in order that he should pay them to the same person. Three months in the Second Division.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Old Court, July 24th, 1905.
620. HORACE ELLIOTT (24) and JOHN WILLIAMS (25) PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling house of Francis Snoad and stealing a salt spoon and other goods and 4s. 2 1/2 d. in money, his property, having been convicted of felony, Elliott at Stratford on June 4th, 1904, as Thomas sale and Williams at Clerkenwell on May 13th, 1902, as John Thomas two other convictions were proved against Elliott and there against Williams. ELLIOTT— Nine months' hard labour. WILLIAMS— Three years' penel servitude.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
Third Court, July 28th, 1905.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Old Court, July 24th, 1905.
New Court, July 25th, 1905.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted; MR. SYMMONS Defended.
FRANCIS ROLFE (Inspector L.) At 1 a.m. on July 12th I found the prisoner detained at 19, Princes Road, Lambeth, which is a shop and a dwelling house—there is a small boot repairing shop in front, and the rest is a dwelling house, with a small yard or garden behind, with a wall between the garden and that of No. 18, next door—the sergeant who was with me had a warrant which I read to the prisoner—it charged him with assisting in the management of a brothel—he said, "I hive had no accomplice since I have been at this house"—I went over the house—on the ground floor was the boot repairing shop and the back room or kitchen—the first floor back room was furnished as a bedroom, and the front room too, but the bedstead was being displaced—in the garden there was a box on each side of the wall which divides 18 from 19, and a part of the wall had been broken away in the centre, so as to allow anybody to step on the boxes and get over into the next garden—a sort of stepping-stone—I pointed that out to the prisoner—he made no reply or explanation—in a corner of the garden at No. 19 I found a bed tied up ready for moving—in the bedroom on the first floor I found a sheet marked "9s." a similar mark to that on a sheet found at No 18, as to which two men named Sharp and Latriell had been convicted of keeping a brothel—there was a piece sawn out of the back door at No. 19—those men were arrested on July 12th—when the charge was read over, the prisoner made no reply—on him was a pocket book in which was the name of Latriell.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. When I came into the shop you were there with Sergeant Emery—I did not bounce into the shop, and say, "Where is the garden wall?"—a panel was cut out of the back door so that anyone could crawl through into the garden—it was a clean cut with a saw—the garden wall is about 4 feet 6 or 9 inches in height—you did not tell me that the children of the people who had lived in the house had been in the habit of clambering over the wall—the wall is not so high that you can scarcely look over it; I could vault it—the bedstead was tied up in the back room on the first floor; I did not notice any bed—when I took you away I asked you whether I should lock your shop up—you gave me the key, and I sent you in charge of an officer to the police station—that was about 1.30—I came to the shop about 1.5—I had other business to attend to before coming to the station—I also searched No. 19—I did not find any pawn tickets—I took a pocket book from you at the station—I said I had been at the station eighteen months—you asked me whether I
looked into your shop, and I said it was not part of my duty to look at shop windows—I did not see any couples going in.
BERNARD O'NEIL (Sergeant L.) I was instructed to keep watch on 19 Princes Road, Lambeth, and I did so from June 23rd to 28th in company with another officer—I saw well-known prostitutes enter between 6 p.m. and 2 a.m. on each of those nights from Charing Cross, the Strand, Picadilly, and various parts of London—they were accompanied by men—I saw them enter and leave—on June 23rd I saw three couples enter and leave between 11 p.m. and 12.45 a.m.—one woman entered twice with a different man each time—they were admitted by the prisoner—judging by the lights turned on, they generally went upstairs—there are public seats exactly opposite the door, so that I could see who admitted them—on June 24th I saw five couples enter and three couples leave between 10.5 p.m. and 11 55 a.m.—they knocked at the door, and were admitted by the prisoner, except the last two couples, who apparently had a key—at 10.5 and at 11.30 the same women went in with different men—they were the same class of women who entered each time as those who had been in before; I generally saw the same faces who resorted there nightly—on June 25th I saw three couples enter and leave—they knocked at the door, and were admitted by the prisoner—I had seen the same women go there before with different men—on June 26th I saw three couples enter and one leave—they were admitted by the prisoner after knocking at the door between 10.25 p.m. and 1.35 a.m.—on June 27th I saw six couples enter and leave—they were admitted by the prisoner between 10.20 p.m. and 1.35 a.m.—I saw one woman go in with different men at 10.20 and 1 20—on June 28th six couples entered and five left—the prisoner admitted them all, with the exception of a couple at 1.55, who entered with a key—I did not see them leave—on that occasion, one woman entered with different men at 11 p.m. and 12.40 a.m.—I knew Sharp and Latriell—both of those men were convicted of keeping a brothel next door to this house—I have seen the prisoner with them at various public-houses in the locality—the prisoner always admitted the couples, except where they admitted themselves by keys.
Cross-examined. I was on duty on various evenings in plain clothes in the Strand (although of the L Division), and I have seen these women in the Strand whom I have seen at your shop—they went to the shop door most times I speak of—one women was dressed in black, with a lace collar, she frequently went to the house—the women could be produced if I could find them—I could not see through the shop window so as to see you at work, but I could see the hammer going—the view of the shop was obstructed by old clothing—I watched from opposite every night, not near the fish shop, that is about 50 yards lower down, but I walked up and down the street repeatedly—I never stood outside the fish shop eating fish and potatoes—I went to the Rising Sun to have a drink, but I could not keep observation from inside that place—I could not see you at work when I was at the Rising Sun, or 40 or 50 yards away—I watched every couple that I reported from the opposite side of the way—old clothes were banging all round the bay window—we were in the vicinity from about 8.30 or 8.45 p.m., but it was to light then to keep
other than casual observation, as it was near the longest day, and practically light till about 10 o'clock every night—you repeatedly went into the Black Prince or the Rising Sun every night—you locked the shop door when you came out, and there was no one to let the couples in, but I have repeatedly seen couples walk up and down the road, and you walk quickly in advance, and open the door, when they would enter—you came from every public-house in the locality—one is within 50 yards, another within 80 or 90 yards, and another about 150 or 200 yards away—No. 19 is nearly in the centre between two public-houses.
WILLIAM SHARPLES (272 L) I watched these premises with the last witness between June 23rd and 28th between 6 p.m. and 2 a.m.—I have notes which I made in this book of the times the couples entered and left—during those days I saw twenty-six couples enter, and twenty-one leave—I mean by a couple a mule and a female—the women were well known prostitutes—I also went on duty in the Strand, near Charing Cross and that district, in plain clothes—I have seen women enter this house whom I have seen walking in that part of London—they were mostly admitted by the prisoner—others let themselves in by a key—I have seen the same women come again on the same evening with different men—I have seen twenty-three couples go in and out between 9 and 11.35p.m.—I have the particulars if asked.
Cross-examined. I did not watch how long you stopped out I was watching the couples who came there—sometimes you would go out of the shop for about five minutes, and then back again, and sometimes you were longer, but how much longer I cannot say—I have seen one or two couples go in during the time the shop was open—it was not open on Sundays, and the shutters were down, but there was a lamp alight—I cannot say who entered for the purpose of buying or selling.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he worked for his living at boot repairing, and kept a secondhand clothes shop; that he had never admitted men and women in couples, except his friend Mr. Russell and his wife, who name to see him every other Sunday, and denied keeping a brothel at the time alleged, or getting his living otherwise than in a respectable way.
Evidence for the Defence.
FREDERICK BIGNALL PYKE . I live at 28, Frank Street, Kennington Cross—I have come here on behalf of Mrs. Pyke—I am a barman at the Rising Sun in Princes Road, and about 30 or 40 yards from your house—I do not remember serving you at the Rising Sun on a Sunday night—there are four of us behind the bar, and I do not recognise you—I do not know you.
ALBERT HACKMAN . I am a barman at the Black Prince, Princes Road, Kennington, my mother's house—I assist her in the business—I do not remember serving you and Mr. Russell and his wife and two children on Sunday night, June 25th—You may have been there, but I cannot remember so long ago as that—I have served you, but on that particular night I cannot remember whether you were in the house or not, nor can I remember seeing Mr. and Mrs. Budd, who keep a shop round the corner.
GUILTY . Five other convictions were proved against him for similar offences. Six month' hard labour.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
Fourth Court, July 25th, 1905.
MR. MAY Prosecuted; MR. SANDS Defended.
JOHN THOMAS LENTON . I live at 90, Livingstone Road, Battersea—on Wednesday last week I was at home and about to go out—I was standing with my wife just inside the front door, when a Mrs. Stannart came up the steps and struck me in the mouth—I had asked her to go away—she had previously threatened me that she would stick a knife into me as far as she could, if I put her away on a summons which was then pending—I caught hold of her, when she fell down in the struggle—I sent for the police—my wife shut the door—a crowd collected outside—after a while the door was burst in—I left the woman on the ground to go to the door, when she jumped up and ran away—I ran down the stairs at the back, then the prisoner ran after me and came up to me—he caught me round the neck and struck at mo three times as hard as he could on the left side of my head—he then ran away—on the previous Friday I was outside my house when the prisoner came up—there was a policeman there and several other people—the prisoner said "You and your lot has done something for that man; I shall pay you before I have done with you. I shall put you through it"—he referred to a man named hedges, who was sent to prison for assaulting my daughter.
Cross-examined. Mrs. Stannart was not friendly with me—I did not raise my stick to her—while she was on the ground she screamed out "Murder," but there was no reason for it—I did not see what the prisoner struck me with, but it was something sharp.
MINNIE LENTON . I am the last witness's wife—on Wednesday of last week about 7 o'clock I was with my husband at home—we were standing at the door waiting to go out—Mrs. Stannart came along and threatened my husband—she came up the steps and struck my husband in the face—he stepped back and she followed him—he drew back and shut the door and sent for a policeman—the door came open and we shut it again—it was burst open again and the prisoner came in—Mrs. Stannart disappeared down the stairs—the prisoner rushed by me and said, "Where is the f—man that is knocking the woman about? I'll give him something"—he followed my husband down the kitchen stairs and caught him at the door—I saw him holding my husband's head and arms and banging him in the face—he had got him round the neck, and with the other hand was punching him—the prisoner then went away.
Cross-examined. The woman was screaming out "Murder"—she was making a noise as if hurt.
JAMES HALLS (489 V.) On Wednesday, July 19th, at 7.30, I was called to 90, Livingstone Road, Battersea—I saw the prosecutor there—he was bleeding from a wound over the left eye—from information received I went to 89, and there found the prisoner—he came out and I think he said. "I am the man you want."
Cross-examined. As far as I know the prisoner is a respectable man—all the row was over when I got to the prosecutor's—there was a large crowd there.
WILLIAM FINCH (489 V.) I was with the last witness on this Wednesday evening—on the previous Friday I bad been in the street in question when there was a crowd—on that occasion I heard the prisoner say to the prosecutor "You and your lot has done a fine thing for that man"—I told him to go in and be quiet—he replied, "All right, governor, I know what I am doing."
Cross-examined. From what I know, the prisoner is a respectable man—his neighbourhood is very rough—there had been some little excitement about the man the prosecutor had put sway.
FELIX CHARLES KEMPSTER . I am Divisional Surgeon for the Battersea district—I examined the prosecutor at the police station on this Wednesday—he bad two wounds over his left eye, one was a clean cut, incised wound about 3/4 inch long, cutting down to the bone and being deeper at the back than the front, showing that it had been inflicted from behind; the follicles or roots of the hair were cut through; there was an entire absence of bruising, all of which showed that the wound had been inflicted with some sharp instrument—the wound in front was similar in character—I also examined his hand and found the bone was broken through—I also examined his eye and found that he had an injury to the pupil of the left eye, the pupil being irregular in shape and refusing to act in response to light, the eye itself being bloodshot—in my opinion he had received a severe blow in his eye—I should suggest that the wounds were done with a small pocket-knife—there were also two scratches on his cheek—the injury to the eye is likely to be permanent.
Cross-examined. I should say he had received a blow in the eye with a knuckle or fist—I had not heard the blows described as being given with very considerable violence—they were glancing wounds, being deeper it the back than the front—they were given from behind.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he lived right opposite the prosecutor's house; that he had never spoken to him in his life; that he did not know anybody in the street, having only been there eight or nine weeks; that he was looking out of his window when he saw a row going on and heard a screaming "Murder" and "Help"; that he went to the place and went inside as the crowd had burst the door open, when the prosecutor caught hold of his (the prisoner's) arm; that he (the prisoner) struggled to get away; that he had no knife and did not go there with the intention of injuring the prosecutor.
Evidence for the Defence.
Cross-examined. I do not know the woman who was screaming—I know her name—I have never spoken to the prosecutor or his wife—I saw the prosecutor's daughters and wife standing at the door and the man had the woman pinned to the floor and was beating her with a big stick—I saw it from my window.
Cross-examined. I did not see Mrs. Stannart strike the prosecutor—I know there had been trouble in our street—I know the prosecutor but had never spoken to him.
WILLIAM HUNSON . I live at 99, Livingstone Road—on this Wednesday I was sitting in my kitchen and heard an altercation opposite—I went outside—I saw Mrs. Stannart being pulled inside the door of the prosecutor's and there were screams of "Murder" and "Help"—I and my neighbour rushed across the road—I saw the prosecutor and two or three of the women hanging on to the prisoner, who seemed to be trying to get out of the house—I volunteered to come and give evidence here—I had to get leave of my employers.
Cross-examined. We thought foul play was going on—when I got to the house I hesitated which way to go and the people were running down the back stairs—I then went to the area and saw the prosecutor and prisoner there—I did not see any fighting going on nor any blow struck.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding. Discharged on his own recognisances in £5.
ADJOURNED TO TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12TH, 1905.