HANNAH DOBBS.
30th June 1879
Reference Numbert18790630-626
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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626. HANNAH DOBBS (24), was indicted for the wilful murder of Matilda Hacker, alias Huish.

The ATTORNEY-GENERAL, MR. GORST; Q.C., and MR. A. L. SMITH, Prosecuted; MR. MEAD Defended.

WILLIAM STROHMAN . I am 15 years old, and live at 37, Providence Street, St. George's-in-the-East—I have been working for seven or eight months, prior to May 9th, for Mr. Bastendorff, of 4, Euston Square—prior to that date I had been on and off to the coal-cellar for coals for the family, and in consequence of orders I received from Mrs. Bastendorff on May 9th, I went to the cellar with a basket and shovel to clean it up—there were some coals there and some old broken bottles and other dirt—I first found a large bone like a person's leg, which came up with the shovel, and ran up and told Albert Savage, who went down to the cellar with me—Joseph Savage went down also, and pulled the body out from the corner where it was—information was given, and a policeman came.

JOSEPH SAVAGE . I live at Marchmont Place, St. Pancras, and have been in Mr. Bastendorff's employ about six years at 4, Euston Square—he manufactures bamboo chairs and articles of furniture—his workshop is on the ground-floor at the back of his house, but there is an area; you can get to it from the back of the house—on 9th May Strohman came in and told me something about the coal-cellar—I went there with him and found a body there—it laid straight; I cannot tell whether on the back or the side—the head was in a corner of the cellar and the legs laid out straight—I laid hold of something; I cannot tell you whether it was cloth or clothing, it came away immediately, and I told Mrs. Bastendorff—there was what I should consider coal-dust on the body—there were some coals in the cellar then—I saw no rope—I pulled the body out previous to the police coming, and I had it uncovered up to its head to convince me that it was human; it was decomposed to a great extent—there was no smell from it when I first went in, but I expected there would be, and I asked the mistress for some chloride

of lime, which I placed in the cellar, but not near the body—a man was waiting in the area to deliver some coals.

ISAAC DOWLING (Policeman E 198). On 9th May about 10.15 a.m., I was sent for to 4, Euston Square—I went to the coal-cellar and saw the remains of a body there—it appeared to have been moved before I came; it had come from the extreme end of the cellar; it had been removed about 6 feet, I think, not out of the cellar but towards the front of it—that is the cellar which you come to through the scullery in the corner; there are two cellars—the body had a silk dress on; I did not see anything else—Fulcher the carman pulled some pieces of clothing off it—I noticed a rope twice round the neck; it had the appearance of a clothes line; it was in level with the flesh, cut in tightly—I called Inspector De Maid—he cut the rope; at least, it tore away as he put the knife under it—I saw two pieces of oilcloth in the cellar lying by the side of the body, but separate from it; one piece was about 2 yards long, and the other was much smaller, but as you moved it it fell all to pieces.

WILLIAM DE MAID (Police Inspector E). On Friday, 9th May, about 11 a.m., I was called to 4, Euston Square, and found a body lying in the cellar; by the side of it appeared to be some pieces of a black silk dress, and there was a cloth cloak with a Lood; the hood appeared to have a silk lining, and there was what appeared to be a part of a black silk petticoat, and some brown coloured lace as if it had been a scarf or a shawl; the body was partly decomposed, there were two turns of rope round the neck, very tight, embedded in the flesh; I put the point of the knife in to raise it, it was rotten and broke; it was a light clothes line the sides of the neck were partly decomposed, but not the front, and there appeared to be the flesh with the clothes line in it—I left all the things that I saw on the body there—I examined the cellar with Inspector Hagan on the same day, and helped to find some small bones of a foot, close to the spot where the body had been lying—I saw the remains put into a shell—the foot was also put in, and the small bones which were taken up afterwards, and the remains of the clothing—they were then taken to the mortuary—I saw this brooch (produced), but not before Mr. Hagan showed it to me there.

Cross-examined. The bones might have been the small bones of a hand or foot; neither of them were large enough to be mistaken for a leg of mutton bone—I do not remember seeing any boots found on the feet—I could not see any end to the cord till I raised the corpse, and it fell to pieces—I did not see any cord away from the neck; there were no ends, or what there were were very diminutive—I do not know what length of cord there was; it was too rotten to take off, and I let it remain till the body was taken to the mortuary.

CHARLES HAGAN . I am an Inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department—on Friday, 9th May, I went to 4, Euston Square, and found the body in the left-hand corner of the cellar—I saw embedded under the right jaw two pieces of clothes rope or clothes line, that was level with the outside of the flesh—I saw no knot, but the body had been removed before I saw it—there were also some pieces of rope lying about; I only saw two strands of rope under the right jaw; I did not see what was round the other side of the neck; I took it away—I broke one piece in two with my finger, and kept one piece of it; it came away like tinder; it was quite rotten; the piece I took was from 3 to 4 inches long; this is it (produced)—it has shrunken away,

and is now about 2 inches long, being dry—it was more like 3 inches than 4 inches—several pieces of rope were lying about, 3, 4, or 5 inches long amongst the rags, that was just the same description as the rope that was round the neck—this piece is not in the condition in which I found it; it has become untwisted since, because of the dryness—that which was round the neck was much more rotten than the other rope I found—the clothing was put into the shell—I saw no boots found at that time; when the body was removed I found this brooch at the mortuary—this buckle was found in the cellar—it fell from the rags of the silk dress—I found a great quantity of lace—I found the other clothing described; all that was found was put into the shell and taken to the mortuary, where I made further examination of the clothing—there was a portion, as it appeared to me, of a black silk body, very strong and very good; it did not appear enough for a dress; there were parts of the sleeves, showing that it had been a body; here is a piece of it (produced)—there were also the remains of a black quilted satin petticoat, a good long piece of it—there was a piece of red flannel, or flannel which had been red with the colour somewhat blanched, which apparently had been an uuder-garment, and outside the two pieces of black lace I found this brooch, and here is the pin of it; there was also the remains of a large circular waterproof cloak with a hood to it, which was lined with silk, and silk ribbons were hanging from the body—those things were left at the mortuary—Dr. Davis, Mr. Bond, and Mr. Pepper examined the body afterwards—I had given orders to sift the contents of the cellar, and I afterwards saw a foot with part of a boot on it; only one foot was found to my knowledge; the inspectors were Sergeant Gatland and Sergeant Beeson—I saw two pieces of oilcloth in the cellar, one large and one small, in a decomposed condition.

RICHARD BEESON . I was ordered to go to 4, Euston Square and sift the contents of the coal-cellar—I went on May 10 with Inspector Gatland, and found some small human bones, some pieces of female wearing apparel, portions of flesh, and a small bunch of hair with flesh adhering to it—I went again on the 12th and found a human foot with some signs of leather on it, but the boot was so decayed that I could not pull it off"—I also found some more bones and some wearing apparel—I put all those objects into a box and conveyed them to St. Pancras mortuary—I observed no particular smell in the cellar.

HENRY WILLIS . I am mortuary keeper at the mortuary by St. Pancras Workhouse—on 9th May I received a shell there containing some human remains from Thomas Woodley, the coachman—the Inspector of the S Division also brought some other objects in a box—the mortuary was always locked, except when the doctors came—those objects were shown to them.

HENRY PARRELL DAVIS , M.D. and M.R.C.S. I live at 1, Euston Square—on Friday, 9th May, the police fetched me to 4, Euston Square, and I was shown a body in one of the front cellars—on going in from the light I could see nothing but a black mass, a black mound, but on more closely examining I found at the end of the mound the head of a female—the remains had coal-dust on them, from which they were quite black—the head was exposed, there was a very small portion of hair on the scalp at the back of the head, but I could not notice the colour then—the body was flexed and the back was uppermost—the arms were flexed across the breast and the body resting on them—the arms were attached to the body, but there were no hands—the legs were severed from the knees; the portion above the

knees was attached, but the bones above the tibia were parted and quite denuded—the bones down to the ankle were bare—it is quite possible that the separation of the limbs from the body would be the result of decomposition—there was nothing to show me that it was not—I gave directions that all the things should be "brought to the mortuary, where I made a careful examination on the 10th with my son—I found that the flesh was entirely absent from the whole of the face and from the front of the neck, I mean over the windpipe, as well as the principal part of the scalp, all. except the back, and at the back of the neck I found a very deep impression or indentation, in which I discovered the remains of a cord—the flesh was still remaining as far, as the ears—I could not remove it as a cord, because it broke at the touch—it was round the back of the neck nearly from ear to ear—I cannot say whether it had been fastened—it was such an indentation as would be made by a cord drawn very tightly round the neck either before or after death, it is impossible to say which—there was flesh at the back and tides of the neck, but it was highly decomposed; it was quite a substance and in a fatty condition, but all was gone in front from decomposition, at least that might have been the case—if any wound was inflicted in front of the neck it possibly would more easily decompose, it might or it might not—when I saw the hair at the mortuary I considered it a light brown; it was short, and it had half a turn round, as though it was disposed to a ringlet; it would probably have been short ringlets during the life of the wearer—there was no fracture of the skull or of any of the bones as far as I saw—the internal organs were as you would suppose some long time after death, they were passing away—there was nothing to lead me to a conclusion as to the cause of death—I carefully examined the spine; I presume there was a little tendency to curvature of convexity to the right side, a lateral curvature giving a tendency to stoop to the right side—that would cause an appearance of deformity; there would be a little prominence of the right shoulder and a bending of the head to the other side, as you see in old people—there would be a very slight stoop—Mr. Bond was with me—I can only come to the conclusion that the woman's ago would be from 50 to 70, the only indication was from the lower jaw, and it might take place after 50—when the teeth go, the alvera sockets go also, and that gives an appearance of age which seldom is before 50 or 56—the height was about 5 feet 4 inches—Mr. Bond and I put the bones together with a view of ascertaining the height—we did it as carefully as we possibly could—the body had been clothed—I saw only one foot which was found, but there were some small bones belonging to the wrist and hand—it strikes me that there was a boot on the foot and covered with coal-dust—I observed no unpleasant smell, but the coal-dust would be a deodorant, being carbon—if the woman had been strangled, most likely there would be a flow of blood from the nose, ears, or mouth; there would not be time for much, and there might be none—it probably would not be profuse, but I cannot say that I have had any experience—if an artery in the neck was severed that would occasion a considerable discharge of blood; the quantity would depend upon whether the jugular vein was severed; if it was, the body would be emptied of blood directly.

Cross-examined. It is quite possible that she might have died from natural causes, provided the cord was placed round the neck afterwards: I cannot form any opinion—I saw nothing inconsistent with death from

natural causes—if there was a rupture of an internal vessel where the blood could escape there would be a considerable flow—a person might vomit a great deal of blood—the same would happen with hæmorrhage of the lungs.

AUGUSTUS JOSEPH PEPPER , F.R.C.S. I am a pathologist of St. Mary's Hospital—I made two examinations of the body at the mortuary, one on May 15 and the other on May 19, in company with Dr. Davis—I have heard his examination, and agree generally with what he has said—there was only presumptive evidence as to the cause of death; the deep mark in the neck showed what the cause of death might have been, but not what it was—the cord in the neck was at an angle of 45 degrees, which is consistent with death by hanging, and it is not the angle you would expect to get by death from strangulation—if the body had been tied round the neck by a cord after death and dragged, that would be consistent with what I saw—the groove was at both sides of the neck as well as at the back, and the higher part of the groove was at the back—it sloped from the front to the back backwards and upwards—all the flesh at the front of the neck was gone—there was no trace of the windpipe, but I may say that that is the first part of the body to decompose—there was a double lateral curvature of the spine, one curvature first to the right, and a second or compensatory curvature to the left—that must have existed during life; I examined the vertebrae, and found one side much deeper than the other—the main bone of the right leg, the tibia, was thickened; that would be caused by inflammation of the bone—that would almost certainly cause pain, which would be alleviated by rest, internal remedies, and warmth—a person suffering, from that disease might without medical advice resort to fomentation, and it might somewhat relieve the pain—the right fore arm was detached from the upper arm, but it must have been flexed on the chest before death—Inspector Hagan afterwards brought me a piece of carpet with several colours on it, and the stains were not very manifest on the upper surface, but on the under surface it was stained for rather more than a foot and a half very plainly, and nearly circular; it was caused by blood—I examined it by all the wellknown tests—I can only say that it was the blood of a mammal, but I cannot say that it was human; we cannot distinguish between the two—I put some of the viscera in a sealed vessel and gave them to Mr. Luff, the analytical chemist—my opinion is that the body had been dead from one to two years—I do not think more than two years.

Cross-examined. It was not entire; the left hand was attached, but all the bones were there except some of the small bones—they were broken off, and the foot was quite dry by a process called mummification—only the two large bones of the right foot were present; all the rest were missing—no bones were missing from the other foot—I found among some of the lesser bones of the head two bones which were not human; one was a leg of mutton bone, and the other was the foot of an ox, the femur, no small bone; I only saw one—strangulation would make a very considerable indentation in the neck, and that was consistent with hanging, and not strangulation, unless the person strangling was very much taller.

Re-examined. It might be caused by dragging the body—the comunnication of the foot was due to exposure on account of the small amount of flesh—I found the long bones of both legs perfect, and the long bones of the arms, all of which probably belonged to the same body—the bones missing were of the feet and hands—the mutton bone and ox bone were

quite clean and bare—they were the only bones I saw which were not human—the mutton bone appeared fresher than the ox bone; it is very difficult to form an opinion how long they had been there, as there was no soft material on them at all—I examined all the bones at the mortuary very carefully indeed.

THOMAS BOND , F.R.C.S. I am assistant-surgeon at Westminster Hospital—I was directed by the officers of the Criminal Investigation Department to go to St. Pancras Mortuary, and went on 12th May with Dr. Davis—I heard his evidence at the police-court, but not to-day—we found the body in a state of decomposition by a process called saponification—most of the viscera were decomposed or missing; some parts were very much decomposed—the front of the neck had perfectly disappeared, but at the back and sides I noticed an oblique depression—I formed no opinion whether that had been done by hanging or strangling, but I formed the opinion that it had been done by a cord—I estimated that the deceased was from 60 to 70 years of age—I measured the height very exactly, and found it to be 5 feet 4 inches—all the bones were there excepting a few small bones of one foot—if a person were strangled there might be a flow of blood some days after death, not likely a very large flow; there might be an oozing of blood from the mouth and nostrils, but not so much as would be required to make the stain on the carpet—I should expect to find a flow of blood at some variable period after death from 24 hours to a week—the mark on the neck was higher behind than in front—if a dead body was dragged by the neck by a small cord it would leave an indentation similar to what I found, and the cord would get totally embedded in, the neck—I noticed a curvature of the spine, which in life would cause, a perceptible stoop—Inspector Hagan brought me a piece of oilcloth; I examined it carefully, and by the general odour it appeared to have been in contact, or to have been subject to the same process of decay—I cut some hair from the scalp, took it home, washed it most carefully, and examined it with a microscope, but found no signs of any dye; it was slightly brown, and there was an indication of grey at the roots—it was short and very much tangled, probably as if it had been curled—a piece of drugget was brought to me—it was coloured on one side, printed, and whitey-brown on the other—there was a stiff stain on it, which was much more apparent on the whitey-brown side—I tested the stain by the usual processes, and found it was undoubtedly the blood of a mammal; that is as far as I can tell you—I sent it to Mr. Pepper.

Cross-examined. Judging, from the size of the bones, and the appearance of the flesh, I think the deceased must have been a heavy woman—from the stiffness of the blood on the carpet I believe it was undiluted—I have seen a person who died from hanging, but never saw one who was strangled and then fell on the floor—I do not think strangling a person in a recumbent position would would be more likely than hanging to induce a flow of blood—the flow of blood is caused by decomposition taking place—I see no evidence of this carpet having been washed; it is just in the condition it would be if it had been worn with the stain on it—it may have been washed on the surface, but not thoroughly—I am certain it has not been taken up and washed.

Re-examined. If a blood-vessel burst at the time of struggling or from natural causes that would cause a great discharge of blood, which would come from the stomach, or wherever the cause might be, out of the mouth—that would be pure blood.

ARTHUR PEARSON LUFF . I am an analytical chemist—I received from Mr. Pepper a portion of the kidneys, the liver, and the large intestine of a human being, which I analysed for mineral poison, but found none.

THOMAS WOODLEY . I am coachman at St. Pancras Mortuary—on 9th May I received a shell containing some human remains at 4, Euston Square, which I took to the mortuary, and gave them to Henry Willis, the mortuary keeper, in the same state in which I received them.

EDWARD HACKER . I live at 9, Rochester Row, Kentish Town, and am an artist—I had a sister of the name of Matilda Hacker—in the autumn of 1877 she was 66 years of age—these (produced) are photographs of her; one of them is in an evening dress and the other in a morning dress—my sister was in the habit of dressing somewhat gaily, too young for her age—I should think these photographs were taken some 10 or 15 years since—up to about five years ago she was a resident at Canterbury; she had lived there all her life—her means were derived from rentals of houses at Canterbury—her income was about 130l. a year—Mr. Cozens collected her rents—she left Canterbury about two years ago; she left of her own choice—her sister having died, she chose to leave, and took a house at Brighton—after leaving Brighton she was living under assumed names—she lived at Brighton about two years or two and a half—I have learnt that she lived under assumed names in consequence of some dispute with the landlord; a claim which he made which she thought unjust, about some water rate—her height was 5 feet 4 inches, I should say—she got stouter after these photographs were taken; in fact, there is so much clothing here you can hardly see the stoutness; but she appeared stouter latterly, and stooped and was round-shouldered—she called on me, perhaps, once in three or four months, otherwise I never saw her—I have never heard of her being alive since October, 1877—I always expected to see her once in four months, at Christmas time—the last Christmas she did not call—I thought it rather strange, and knowing there was some claim upon her which she seemed determined not to pay, I thought it possible that she might be in some trouble, and therefore I made it my business to go to Canterbury some two or three months after that, and I found she had not called for her rent—there was not the slightest quarrel or difference with me to make her keep away, except that I did not approve of her taking a large house, which I thought she had not the means for—she took a house at Brighton at something like 160l. a year rent and taxes, and I did not approve of it—in May this year I went to the mortuary with Inspector Hagan, and there saw a portion of human remains—some hair was attached to portions of the skull—that hair was of a similar character to that of my sister's; it was rather light brown, and being in ringlets I identified it the more as being her hair—I have no doubt that this watch was hers, and that is confirmed by the fact of its having been made by Warren, of Canterbury, where I know her watch was bought—we were natives of Canterbury—the two watches were bought at the same time, and given by my father to each of his daughters—that was about 40 years ago—I have not looked inside the watch (opening it)—yes, I see it has the name of Warren, of Canterbury—it is precisely identical with the watch which my other sister had—this chain is similar to one I have seen my sister wear, but I have never taken particular notice of it—it was of a more recent date, which she purchased probably herself, but I believe it is the chain I have seen her wearing; it is similar to it—I know nothing about the locket—

this letter, dated 5th Sept, 1877, addressed to Mr. Tuxford, is my sister's writing. (Read: "Miss Hacker wishes an advance of 250l. on the enclosed, in which she has a life interest at 5 per cent, and a life policy for like, in the Norwich Union Office, Chancery Lane, for the sum of 250l. Mr. Ward has not the money at his command, and is sorry he cannot get it for me. Friday evening, Sept 5, 1877.") This other letter, dated 10th Oct, 1877, is also her writing, and the envelope also. (Read: "Dear Sir,—It is very annoying, after receiving a bill from you for nearly 6l., to hear from the tenant the water pours in, and the plaster is all down, which if properly done would last for years; and he was obliged to have a man to do the gutter himself. I have written to him to go on the roof to see if there has been a new gutter, and that has been done. It appears you then are not to be depended on, if they cannot stop the water out on such a small roof. Did you see it done? There is a window-frame wants repairing at 7. Yours truly, M. Hacker. Trusting you will attend to their complaints—I can't pay if there is nothing done.") I did not know my sister's address in Oct, 1877—I did not know that she was suffering from a varicose vein—I never heard her complain of her leg.

WALTER COZENS . I am a builder at Canterbury, and live at Dover House, Dover Road—at one time I had the management of Miss Hacker's property at Canterbury, and received her rents—I received her rents in 1877—I gave it up on 30th March, 1878—neither I nor my father received her rents after that—this letter of 10th Oct is Miss Hacker's writing; it was written to my father—we did the repairs to her property—that letter of the 11th Oct, enclosing a cheque, was written by me to Miss Hacker—the cheque was for the rent of a yard which we occupied. (Read: "Miss Hacker. Madam,—I enclose you a cheque for a half-year's rent of my premises as above, less a balance of account for which I have your authority to deduct Please sign and return enclosed acknowledgment In regard to your letter of this morning, I must decline to do necessary repairs to your property, and I advise you to employ a man whose word can be taken, and one whose word can be depended on. I am, yours, Thomas Cozens") I enclosed in that a cheque for 5l. 14s. 3d.—the letter is addressed to "M. B., Post Office, 227, Oxford Street, London"—those were Miss Hacker's instructions to me by a letter sent to me from London—this is the letter—my letter came back to me through the dead letter office—I never heard from Miss Hacker since 10th October, and have never been applied to for the cheque.

ARTHUR RICHARD LEWIS WHISH . I am manager of the National Provincial Bank of England, Lincoln's Inn Fields branch—in August, 1877, a person representing herself as Miss Hacker called on me, and wanted an advance on some property in the country—I think I referred her to her solicitor—she asked me if I would name one, and I named Mr. Ward—I don't recollect whether I gave her my card to take to Mr. Ward; I very likely might have done so—I have no recollection of the person; she was a complete stranger to me.

JOHN SANDILANDS WARD . I am a solicitor, of 51, Lincoln's Inn Fields—in August, September, and October, 1877, Miss Hacker came to me relative to some business about the transfer of a mortgage—she was a perfect stranger to me before this—I think she brought me Mr. Whish's card on 29th August, 1877—the last time she came to me was on 5th October, 1877—I had eight

interviews with her—I can give the exact dates of each of them from my deed book, which I have here—she came into my private room, and sat immediately opposite to me, on the other side of my table—she was dressed in a very eccentric manner—I recognise her photograph—I noticed the eccentricity of her attire altogether, particularly her jewellery—she wore a buckle similar to this; she wore a light silk dress, either blue or white, a white lace shawl thrown over her shoulders, which was joined by a brooch, a light-coloured broad sash, with a buckle similar to the one produced—the brooch was very similar to this, and similar to the one in the photograph—I particularly remember the eyeglass—she generally rested her hand on the table while consulting with me, and she held an eyeglass similar to this in her hand, nervously moving it about between her fingers—she often used it when in my presence, and in the manner I have described—her hair was in curls—I saw the hair on the remains at the mortuary, and it was very similar to the hair of Miss Hacker.

WESTON TITUS TUXFORD . I am a wine merchant, living at 21, Castelnau Villas, Barnes—I have been acquainted with the Hacker family for nearly 40 years—this letter, dated 5th September, 1877, purporting to come from Miss Hacker, is wrongly dated; it ought to be October instead of September.

ELIZABETH EAST . I live at St. Lawrence, Ramsgate—in the year 1876 I kept a boarding-house at 19, Woburn Place—a lady calling herself Miss Stevens came to lodge with me in February of that year, and remained till the early part of May—the photograph produced is like her—she had an eyeglass, which she used in rather a fanciful manner; also a buckle which she wore whilst with me—the cash-box produced is like the one she had, and also the trunk—I recognise the large watch and chain and other articles that have been produced.

Cross-examined. It is more than three years ago since I saw the handkerchief—I recollect only the peculiar way in which she wore it and would put it on the table; it was a narrow, old-fashioned border; it is not extremely common—to the best of my belief that is the eyeglass also.

LIZZIE BRIDGES . I am a widow, and live in Hill Street, Dorset Square—in 1876 I was living at No. 4, Bedford Place—a lady named Miss Bell came to lodge with me about the end of May, and went away again in October—I have seen similar photographs to these in her own possession—I recognise this photograph of her; she had a cash-box, and this is like it; she wore an eyeglass, and this is quite like the one; the large watch and chain produced are exactly like those she wore, and the basket trunk is like the one she had—I remember Superintendent Davis coming from Canterbury with a warrant and taking possession of some of Miss Bell's property.

ROBERT PARSONS DAVIS . I am the chief constable of Canterbury—I knew the late Miss Hacker since the year 1857—I came to London in October, 1876, with a warrant to distrain upon her goods—I went to 24, Bedford Place, and saw her there; I took possession of her trunk, and while putting it on the cab outside a gold watch and chain fell out; this is the watch, and this is the chain, but it had not these appendages at the time, it was a plain one—I have not the slightest hesitation in saying that that is the identical trunk.

Cross-examined. There is no particular mark by which I know the chain—I had it in my possession a day and a night; it was an ordinary lady's gold chain; it was broken—I did not take particular notice of the links—I gave the watch and chain back to Miss Hacker the next morning.

MARY HONOR . I live at 7, Mornington Crescent—on 7th May, 1877, I let apartments to Miss Hacker; she remained with me till the end of August—I think this photograph is like her; she passed by the name of Sycamore during the time she was with me; the letters came addressed to Miss Hacker, and were taken up to her by the servant—she was dressed very conspicuously; the eyeglass produced is like that I saw her with, and the watch and chain also; the links of it were the same as my own, that is why I noticed it—she wore a skirt with a black silk body.

REBECCA NASH . I was in the service of Mrs. Honor in 1877—I remember a lady coming and residing there under the name of Miss Sycamore—this photograph is very like the lady; letters came addressed to Miss Hacker, which I took up to her in consequence of the orders she gave; she had a waterproof with a deep cape, and a large lace fichu, which came across the shoulders; she also wore a red flannel bodice; she had a basket trunk like that produced; I remember the hard leather handles which hurt my hand—I don't remember having often lifted one like it; it was in very good condition then; it had a tray to it—she had a dream-book, I quite remember that; this is very much like it—she wore a black satin quilted petticoat the whole time she was with us, except she occasionally wore a white petticoat—I remember her using an eyeglass exactly like this, if it is not this—it was not cracked—I do not remember the watch and chain—I have posted letters for her to Canterbury—she used to complain of her leg being painful when she came in from a walk; I forget which leg it was; I never saw it—she used to ask me for a little warm water, that was the most I heard about it; she said it was painful—that happened very often; it was fine weather, and she was out a great deal, and when she came home she used to complain of its being painful, and I used to take up the warm water for her—on 17th May last I was taken to the mortuary, and there saw some hair on portions of a scalp—I thought it was very like Miss Hacker's hair in the length and colour, and it was, curled like hers—I saw the remains of a black satin quilted petticoat there; I know she wore one—I also saw the remains of a red flannel bodice.

Cross-examined. I know the dream-book was called Napoleon's Book of Fate; that was on the top of the leaf—I often had it in my hand, and I know it by the general look and by the title.

FRANCIS RIGGENNBACH . I am a merchant living in Brixton Road—in April, 1877, I went to lodge at 4, Euston Square, at the house kept by Mr. and Mrs. Bastendorff—I occupied the whole of the first floor till September, 1878; I took my own furniture there; the prisoner was the servant there all the time I lodged there, and waited on me, except with one interruption, when she went for a holiday; that must have baen at the end of August or beginning of September, 1877; I dc not remember a lady lodging above me on the second floor—I have a vague recollection of seeing an elderly lady in the passage at the time I had received a dog; I can't exactly tell the day; it was on a Sunday in October, 1877—while I lodged there I used to go out on week days between 9 and 10 o'clock in the morning, and return about 9 or 10 o'clock in the evening—on Sundays I used to go out in the afternoon about 12 or 1 o'clock, and come back about 10 o'clock in the evening—I remember the Sunday, the day of the French elections in 1877; it was the 14th October; it was a very remarkable election, and I took a great deal of interest in it—I went out about 12 o'clock that day, and went to see my partner, who then was in London, and a friend of his who had come over from

Paris on business, and my partner took lodgings in Torrington Square for himself and friend while he was here—I was absent from my lodgings that day till about 4 o'clock, when I came back with my partner and his friend for a few minutes; they came into the house with me; I only stayed a few minutes—I came back about 11 o'clock at night—I had a latch-key, and let myself in—I went several times into the back area, because my dog was tied up there—I never went into the front area—while the prisoner was away for a month's holiday there was a temporary servant; I recognise her now as Mrs. Hobson; it was after the prisoner came back from her holiday that I have a vague recollection of seeing the old lady in the passage—I was absent from the house in the spring of 1877, and also from the evening of 8th September until Friday morning, 14th September; I went away again on the evening of 14th November, and came back on 21st November, 1877, in the morning—in the interval between those two absences I was not absent for the night.

Cross-examined. I cannot tell whether I had the dog on the 14th October; I might or might not—I was occupied with the dog in the passage at the time I have a vague recollection of seeing the old lady—I don't remember whether it was after the French elections—I once saw the prisoner take the children out, and I know they were almost always with her.

MARGARET HOBSON . I am a widow now living in Tavistock Place, Tavistock Square—in the middle of August, 1877, I went as servant to Mrs. Bastendorff at 4, Euston Square, and left in the middle of September—the prisoner came back from her holiday three weeks after I was there—she then went into the country with Christina Bastendorff for a day or two, and when she came back Mr. and Mrs. Bastendorff, Christina, and Peter went, as I thought, to Sheerness; they went away till the Monday morning, and I stayed with the prisoner—I left when they returned—I used to go into the coal-cellar every morning for coals, and two or three times in the day—the coal-cellar opens from the washhouse or scullery—when I left there was about half a ton of coals in the cellar, and a certain amount of rubbish in the corner on the right.

SUSANNAH BUTCHER . I am the wife of Henry Butcher, of Brighton Road, Red Hill—on 28th August, 1877, the prisoner came to my house with a little girl whose name was Christina—she came on Saturday evening between 6 and 7, and left on Tuesday morning between 10 and 11.

Cross-examined. Ours is a private house; we occasionally let lodgings, not as a rule—the police came to me about this—I should think the little girl was between 5 and 6 or 6 and 7—they were out all day from about 10 till 8 at night, except on Sunday, when she came in about tea-time and had tea.

THOMAS RAPER . I am a lamp-dealer of 233, Euston Road—on Monday, 24th September, 1877, I sold a lamp, not to the name of Mrs. Bastendorff, but to the address, 4, Euston Square.

MARY BASTENDORFF . I am the wife of Severin Bastendorff, and live at 4, Euston Square—my husband is a bamboo worker—we have four children; the eldest, Christina, is 7 years old, and the youngest, Rosa, is 18 months—we went to live at 4, Euston Square, in March, 1876—we have been accustomed to let out the house in apartments—the prisoner came to us as servant in the summer of 1876 as maid-of-all-work at 14l. a year—about the

middle of August, 1877, she went away for a month—whilst she was with us the attended entirely to the lodgers—I remember a lady coming to lodge with me in the name of Miss Huish—she took the second-floor front room at 12s. a week—I remember buying a lamp of Mr. Raper the same day she came, the 24th September, 1877—Mr. Riggenbach was then lodging with us—we had no other lodgers at that time—we had had an American gentleman named Finlay—he left in August—before that we had a gentleman named Leffler; he had gone—some persons named Willoughby came after Miss Huish, I think at the end of November—I saw Miss Huish on two occasions while she was with us, on Sunday morning going to church—the prisoner lot her the lodging—she always waited on the lodgers, and attended to everything they wanted—she had the entire management of the lodgers, letting the rooms, and so on; she always consulted me—she of course asked me what the rent of the rooms was to be—I did not see Miss Huish before she had the room—I saw her on two occasions on two Sunday mornings pass the window going to church—the prisoner came down and asked me if I would lend Miss Huish my Church Service—she always passed by the name of Miss Huish whilst she was in our house; I never heard any other name—on Monday, 15th October, I remember my husband sending the prisoner up to ask Miss Huish for her rent—I don't know whether I was present—I made out the bill and gave it to the prisoner; it was for 1l. 16s., three weeks' rent—she took the bill upstairs and brought it down with a 5l. note—she came down directly; it is so long ago I can't tell to a minute or two how long it was—she brought the change down when she brought the bill—she had to go and fetch change I think; I don't know who got the change—I believe my husband got the change—I took the 1l. 16s., receipted the bill, and gave it to her—she said the lady was going away presently; that was said when she came back with the bill—about 1 o'clock, at dinner time, she said that the lady was gone—my husband and I and the children were present, nobody else—the prisoner came down while we were at dinner; she never sat down to dinner with us—I never saw Miss Huish afterwards—a day or a day or two afterwards I had occasion to go upstairs to the room that Miss Huish had occupied—she was not there—I saw a large stain on the carpet, which I am quite sure had been washed out—the colour had run—the prisoner followed me into the room, and I said to her "Hannah, you are a dreadful girl to trust any one's things to; I had a great deal better be without lodgers than have my things destroyed in this way; I wish I had seen this before she went away, I would have made her pay for the damage"—she did not make any remark—she did not look at the stain—she seemed rather confused—it annoyed me and I came out of the room—the stain was not there when Miss Huish took the room; it was just by the side of the bed—it was such a stain that a person would notice at once on going into the room, because it had been washed—that was why I noticed it so particularly, because the colour had run—I did not notice whether it was dry or wet—shortly after the lady left the prisoner brought down-a dream-book, a book of fate—I believe this (produced) is it—she said the old lady had left her dream-book—it was in better condition then—we kept it and used it till we gave it to the police—when the prisoner brought it down I said "She will, I think, come back for it; she will be in a way"—I said so because the prisoner told me that the old lady used to amuse herself with it—the prisoner went away for three days' holiday about the latter end of Oct, 1877—she told me she was going

to her home at Bideford, that her uncle was dead, and had left her a watch and chain and some money—she did wear a watch and chain, but I could not tell at what time I saw her wearing it—I never noticed the chain particularly; I believe it was similar to the one produced—I do not think that by any chance I ever went into the cellar while the prisoner was in my service—I don't remember ever going into the cellar at all—I did go there after the prisoner had left—she left about Sept., 1878—she said she was going to apartments in George Street, Euston Square, 57, I think—I had been into the cellar after she left—I never experienced anything particular there, except that I thought it was rubbish—after she left, I remember going upstairs and finding the trap leading to the loft and the top of the house shut down; as a rule it was open—we were without a servant for a few weeks after she left—Louisa Barber was the next servant who came; she was with us seven weeks exactly—during that time she brought me some clothes, towels and cloths that she found in the cellar—our next servant was Sarah Carpenter; she came about Jan., 1879—a short time before the discovery was made she came up and told me that there was a large bone in the cellar; she did not bring it to me, I went down to see it—I went into the scullery—the cellar in which the body was afterwards found leads direct through the scullery—I saw that it was a large bone—I said it was one of the wild boar's bones that was thrown out into the area—it was a large animal that my husband had—I never saw it—I don't know what kind of thing it was, he brought it from Germany after a sporting excursion—we ate some of it; it was dried and salted, and kept down there—on 9th May last I gave instructions to the lad Charles Strohman to clear out the cellar, and the remains were then found—up to that time I had not the slightest idea that there was any body or any remains in the cellar—on Sunday, 14th October, 1877, my husband was at Erith; he went down on the Saturday night, the 13th—I believe I was at my sister's, Margaret Pearce's, that day; she lives at Holloway; it was my custom when my husband was away on Sunday to take my little girl and go to my sister's—I remember buying a coat for my boy Peter at Moses's on Saturday, 13th October, 1877—I don't know what I bought it for, except that he wanted it—I don't remember whether he was going anywhere, but he did go with the prisoner to Bideford—I could not say how long that was after the coat was bought—I never told the prisoner that Miss Huish had gone, and that she had left a shilling for her—she never did so—I never spoke to the lady; I remember that the prisoner took the children to Hampstead; I could not say what date it was—I could not say whether it was in October—I never went into Miss Huish's room during her tenancy.

SEVERIN BASTENDORFP . I live at 4, Euston Square, and am a manufacturer of Japanese, bamboo, and straw goods—my workshop is at 4, Seymour Road, which is at the back of 4, Euston Square; this is it on the plan—I employ from 10 to 16 men, and some boys—the prisoner came to my house as a servant in 1876, and remained till September, 1878—I remember her telling me that the lady who lodged in the house had a dream-book, and was very fond of it—I never saw the lady; it was not my habit to see the lodgers—on Sunday, 14th October, I went to Erith with Mr. Whiffling; we got down about 3 p.m., and went to stay with Mr. Richards—as soon as it was daylight on Sunday morning I got up and went out shooting—I had a gun licence—a policeman came up and asked me to show him my licence, and copied

my name off it—I was afterwards summoned for shooting too near the high road, and fined 2l.—I think it was pretty near 11 o'clock that night when we got back to Euston Square—I found my wife there, and the prisoner; my wife was sitting in the front kitchen on the left side of the table as you walk in; she had on black silk and a hat—on the Monday morning I said to the prisoner "If you don't go up and fetch that money down," meaning the rent, "I will go myself"—1l. 16s. was then due—she jumped past me, and said "I will go up, then," but why I spoke so sharp to her was because I had asked her on former occasions to go up and get the money, but not from that lady—I mean that she had shown unwillingness to get the money from other lodgers; she was away just long enough to go upstairs and down; she brought down a 5l. note, and said that the lady had no other change—I said "That will do," and took it into the shop, and told a boy to go and change it, which he did, and wanted to give it to me, but I told him to take it to Hannah, and saw him go upstairs with the whole amount, but did not see him give it to her—I heard at dinner that day that the old lady had left, but cannot say who said it, and on the next day, or two days after, Hannah brought down a dream-book in her hand, and said that the lady had left it behind, and I think she put it on a shelf on the dresser, and said "Won't she be in trouble now?" my wife said that she would be sure to come back for it; the book was left some time in the kitchen, and then it was taken up into the parlours; I ultimately gave it to the police; this looks like it (produced)—I saw the prisoner with a watch and chain late in 1877, and I think these are the things or something like them—I know the key the best of anything, I never saw one before nor yet after—I cannot say whether it was before or after the Sunday I went to Erith—I wore the watch and chain half a day—I went down and asked her to show me the watch her uncle left her, in consequence of something which was said in my shop, and this is the watch she produced—it is the only watch I saw her with—I said "This is a very nice watch, I wish I had an uncle to leave me one"—I had no watch when she lent it to me—I had had one, and I bought the one I have now in June 1878—I first saw this cashbox in the front kitchen about six weeks or two months before Christmas, 1877—I asked generally in the room, "Whose is this cashbox?" or where it came from, and the prisoner said that it was hers; it was broken then as it is now—she said that she had lost the key and had it broken open, and it was of no use any more—my children took it out and played with it in the square, and I afterwards gave it to the police—a month, or two or three months before Christmas, 1878,1 saw a basket trunk in the scullery—I had not seen it before because it stood in between a cask of claret and the wall—my brother asked me some time after Christmas for a basket to keep dirty clothes in, and I gave it to him—when the discovery was made in the cellar I got the basket back and gave it to the police—in the autumn of 1877 the prisoner was several times away from my house—I do not remember her going to Red Hill, I remember her taking my daughter away—she was supposed to go down to Bideford in the autumn of that year, and she took my son Peter with her—there are two coal cellars in my front area, I used one for coals and the other was let to lodgers, but when it was not let we used it for coke; that is the one that opens into the area, but sometimes it was empty—these (produced) are my coal bills for 1877; on 21st July I had in one ton of coal and a chaldron of coke; this is the bill, it is for 1l. 3s.—there is no bill before that, but when Mr. Roberts came I had just had

two tons in and did not want any, and I only gave him an order out of old friend's sake—that would be put into the cellar opening out of the scullery, so that I had possibly nearly two tons and three-quarters—my boys used to go very often to. the coal cellar in the winter of 1876; I do not think they went much in 1877, but the prisoner went there and the boys went to the other cellar—I burn coke in my business, and when it burnt dead the boys went to the coal cellar and fetched coals—I went into the coal cellar once last Christmas when I had no servant, and I went in the other cellar when we salted a wild boar—one Saturday afternoon in 1877 I went through the area and the prisoner was standing at the washhand-stand—there were some big bones on the shelf and some rotten eggs, and I told her she must keep the place clean because it smelt too strong—that was in the scullery, and on the Sunday she went down in the country with Peter, and I went into the scullery and looked to see if my orders had been executed, and everything smelt sweet and proper—I brought the wild boar to the house in January 1878, we skinned him in the shop and cut him up in the back kitchen, and took him down and put him in a large basin and put him in the coke cellar—I mean the cellar which opens into the area—I remember a lodger named Finlay being in the house, he left in August 1877, and never came back that I know of; while he was there I saw him with a little American pistol about five inches long.

MARY BASTENDORFF (Re-examined). I found two pawn-tickets in the prisoner's box just before she went away—I took the name and address, and went to Mr. Thompson's, the pawnbroker—I only asked to see the chain; he showed me this chain.

Cross-examined. Whenever the prisoner chose to ask me I allowed her to go out—I had a little girl to attend to the lodgers when she was out—she was my second servant, a nursemaid; she was not with me at the time Miss Hacker was at my house—I had no little girl with me then—I don't think the prisoner went out during the three weeks Miss Hacker was with me—I was without a second servant till January—I never had occasion to wait upon the lodgers if she was out; she always said they were provided for—I may have waited upon them on a single occasion—I think it is impossible that I could have spent a Sunday afternoon with Miss Hacker in her room and not remember it—I have a faint recollection of Miss Hacker taking my children into the square; I heard she borrowed the key—she never visited me—the stain on the carpet was not there before Miss Hacker took the room—I did not see the room all the time she occupied it—I do not recollect entering the room all the time she was there—I was much engaged with other things, and did not look after the lodgers; it was not my place—the prisoner said between 11 and 12 o'clock that Miss Hacker was going—I never heard any cab come; I did not watch—it did not occur to me that I must have heard some noise if a heavy box was carried down—I believe she had luggage—the prisoner told me she had gone; I expressed no surprise—the prisoner took the children out two or three times, but not often—she took them to Hampstead, and showed me a portrait of them on her return—this is it (produced)—it may have been done in October; it is impossible for me to say—I don't remember the prisoner taking my children out on the day Miss Hacker left; it may have been on that day; if so it was in the afternoon—she did not say that Miss Hacker had gone while she was absent—Miss Hacker did not give me a shilling for Hannah, nor did I say so—the lodgers

never left gratuities—as a rule Miss Hacker dressed in the morning and went out—I have not seen the oilcloth in which the body was wrapped—we had some oilcloth in the passage of the house when Miss Hacker left, but I never missed any—I understand there was a basket trunk found in the coke-cellar—I did not know that Miss Hacker had a trunk of that sort—there was a back room on the top floor locked once when I went away, but not after—Inspector Hagan has been in there, and in every room in the house—it was about 11 o'clock when Hannah came downstairs and said that Miss Huish was going away, and it was 1 o'clock when she told me that she had gone; I was not surprised, because anybody could come down and I not hear it in the kitchen—I don't think I suggested to Inspector Hagan when the body was found that it was a lodger—I was in the dining-room on the ground floor when I saw Miss Hacker going to church—that looks out into the street.

Re-examined. I generally spend my mornings in the kitchen, which is below—I did not see a cab at the door; I should not unless I watched for it—I saw nothing to lead me to suppose Miss Huish had gone—the front kitchen window opens into the area, and the back kitchen into a yard behind—a person who left the house would go out of the passage on the ground floor into the street—if I was looking out at the front kitchen window I could see a cab—in this photograph my little girl has on a light blue dress trimmed with fur—these are summer dresses which my children wore in warm weather—that applies to them all; the baby has on a white marcella pelisse; that is cotton—the basement only of my house has oilcloth on it; the kitchen is covered all over with linoleum, which is never taken up—the oilcloth is in the passage leading from the yard to the back stairs—there is oilcloth in the front hall; that is never taken up—there is none on the stairs nor in any closet—I missed ne oilcloth which was down, and we have never had any new oilcloth since I have been in the house, but I took some up last Christmas which was worn out and put it in the kitchen.

By the COURT. It is not at all usual for our lodgers to give notice—I do not think it is usual in furnished apartments; I never made it a rule—they left just as they liked—the last lodger before Miss Huish was a lady named Leslie; I saw her go, because Hannah was away—I do not think the former tenants gave notice—I did not go into the cellar at all that I know of before the prisoner left in September, 1878—the coals were put into the cellar from the top, from the street—it will hold a great many; we have had 4 tons in—it is, I think, a light cellar; it is not so light as this room, but I do not consider it a dark cellar—I did not see Miss Huish's luggage when she came—I may have asked Hannah if she had any, or I may not—I knew that she had arrived; I was at home at the time, and heard some one come in—I cannot hear any one walk upstairs when I am in the kitchen—I always make inquiry, and I believe she had luggage—I believe I asked, and I suppose I was told that she had, but I don't remember—I think she had been asked previously for the money—I was three weeks without, a servant after. Christmas this year—I have had no lodgers since the prisoner left; Mr. Riggenbach left just before I went away—I recollect his going; he had his own furniture.

SEVERIN BASTENDORFF (Re-called and Cross-examined). I never went outside the house with the prisoner during the time she was in my service—I know Argyll Street, but not the Prince's Hotel—I was never in Argyll

Street with the prisoner, and never went to Eedhill to see her, or to her lodgings in Edgware Road, or a tobacconist's shop in Euston Square—I have seen her outside the house when she went to fetch the beer, but never walked one inch with her—as I went into the public-house she came out—I know Mr. Johnson, the publican near me, and his brother John Johnson—I have not seen him for one or two years; I did not tell him I had been out with the prisoner—I liked the prisoner very well, because my brother kept company with her, but for no other reason—my brother has never said I was too fond of her; he has never complained to me or to any one that I ever heard of—it would be untrue if he said he had observed I was too fond of her, and that he had complained—I never gave her any present exceeding the value of half-a-crown—I gave her a cabinet once—sometimes she left her wages for a fortnight or a month, but not at ray request—at Christmas, 1877, she lent me 3l.; she did not lend me anything else but money; she gave me a gilt pencil-case in the summer of 1876 or 1877—I cannot say whether it was before or after the watch and chain; it was, I think, long before the 3l. was lent, more like a year than a month—I never gave her a present besides the cabinet—I never gave her a gold watch—I did not give her a watch I was wearing, and tell her to say her uncle left it her, because I did not want my wife to know that I had given it to her, nor a chain, nor an eyeglass—I do not recollect seeing the basket trunk before last autumn—I saw it then in the front scullery—I had not seen it before that in the coke cellar to my recollection—it might have been in the house without my seeing it—it might have been in another basket in the coke cellar—there were other baskets there, and one large enough to hold two of the basket-trunks—I was there in 1878, when I put the wild boar in—I have not been in the cellar from time to time—I kept no bamboo there till the last three or four months—I do not know whether the basket was there, but I never saw it to my recollection—I had the cashbox from Christmas 1877—Hannah Dobbs gave it me, I asked her for it and she said I should have it—it was in my possession when the police came to me—sometimes a game of cards was played on Sundays at my house, but not since I went out on Saturday, I did not like to play any more on a Sunday since then—we played before and I wanted to give it up—about August, 1877, I took to going out from Saturday to Sunday night shooting, and I think my wife joined me once on a Sunday with the children at Sheerness and only once—I was generally alone on the Sunday, shooting—my wife was not always with me—if she went to Sheerness I stayed at home—I think my wife only came once to Erith on Sunday in September, she used to come before morning service; she came one Sunday at Erith—when at the police-court I said, "I left home Saturday and returned home on Sunday, and sometimes took my wife with me"—I had not time to think, but my impression was that we went out often together, I did not then know when it was that Miss Hacker was in the place—I might have said, "In Oct., 1877, I was with Mr. Richards of Northumberland House, Erith, he is a builder"—I think it was September my wife went there—I have one book here referring to Mr. Riggenbach, but no other—I had no other account-book when Miss Hacker was with us, and my wife had not that I know of—I don't know why several leaves are cut out; that was done before we were married—I had a revolver, but sold it in 1876—I had no revolver in 1877; my brother Peter had one, and I took it in the country with me—he lent it me—the prisoner

never saw it to my recollection—I do not recollect a lodger named Mr. Ross in 1877 after Miss Hacker went—Mr. Kiggenbach had a latch-key—there were keys in the kitchen, and when my wife or the servant went out I suppose they took one, hut sometimes they forgot it—I think my brother Pierre had one; I suspected he had and asked him, and he said no—I always used the cellar for myself where the body was found, and the lodgers used the coke-cellar—the coal-cellar was being prepared for our lodger because I had bought about 3,000 bamboos, and I had nowhere to put them but the coke-cellar—we kept our own coals in a cellar under the shop—the coal-cellar was being prepared for Mr. Brooks, a namesake of the other lodger—he went away next day, and sent for his furniture—he did not live there or sleep there—this affair occurred about my shooting in the highway before breakfast—Mr. Richards is here with whom I was stopping—the children would sleep on that Sunday night in their bedroom upstairs unless they were from home; I do not recollect anything about it—Hannah Dobbs used to go out sometimes; she went whenever she asked, if there were no lodgers there, but not if there were—between the times when they did not want any attendance, if she asked she might have gone out—it was always arranged for her to be there when the lodgers wanted anything—if they wanted anything while she was away my little girl took it to them—she is 5 or 6 years old—my wife prepared breakfast for Mr. Riggenbach once, and my little girl took it up—Hannah Dobbs went out in the evening for a short time—my little girl would not attend to the lodgers when she was out; if they rang they would very likely go on ringing the bell till Dobbs returned.

Re-examined by MR. GORST. My wife came once to me on a Sunday at Mr. Richards's at Erith—I went down on the Saturday—we did not go in those two months' time, but I drove her down once last year to see Mr. Richards—I recollect her coming down on one occasion, I think before the Sunday I was interrrupted by the policeman—I took her down several times last year—I don't know what sort of cabinet Dobbs took; there were a dozen of various sorts; she prized them, and I told her she could choose one—they were Japanese cabinets which I had bought; I had a box full, and have some of them now—the 3l. she lent me was for a cask of claret which came from France, and I did not want it to stay in the docks or to be stored away—I did not like to lose time, so I asked Dobbs to lend me 3l. to pay for the cask of claret—I think it came on Tuesday—I had no money in the house, but if I had spent a quarter of an hour I could have got 20l.—I paid her back on Saturday in the same week—the children's bedroom I think was always the top back room, the large room on the floor above Miss Huish—there are four floors—the children were put to bed about 7.30 or 8, and we made no difference on Sundays—an uncle of my wife's died in 1877.

GEORGE GREENHAM (Police Inspector). I prepared this plan of the basement of No. 4, Euston Square; it is accurate and to scale of one-eighth of an inch to a foot, anybody going from Miss Hacker's room could get into the cellar leading out of the scullery without going outside at all, but if they went into the other cellar, they would have to go into the area.

JOHN EDWARD RICHARDS . I live now at 39, Brook Street, Erith—I formerly kept the Duke of Northumberland, Northumberland Heath, Erith—Severin

Bastendorff was introduced to, me by Mr. digger, and first came to my house in the beginning of 1857—he has come down on Saturdays and Sundays for two years from this time; he began to do so in June or July 1877, when the fruit was about—he generally came on Saturday afternoon about 5 o'clock, and would go out shooting that afternoon round the fruit ground; I used to give him permission to go, and he would retire early, at 10 or 11 o'clock, and be up very early on Sunday morning, and I used to go out with him; he would be out several hours shooting small birds round the fruit ground, and would come home to dinner, and leave on Sunday night—his wife came with him once on a Sunday in the first week in September, 1877—he came down on the Saturday afternoon and brought the little girl, and on the Sunday morning his wife came and brought the little boy, and they stayed till Tuesday—that was the only occasion his wife came in 1877, but she was there in 1878—I recollect his coming down on Saturday evening, October 13, and on the Sunday morning I went out shooting with him—he had a friend named Whipling with him—I went back about 6.30 to get breakfast, leaving him with Whipling and did not see the constable—he remained at Erith till nearly 10 o'clock that night; I left him on Northumberland Heath about 9.30, and I ran and overtook them because a friend of his had brought a string of birds, and then he went to town.

LOUIS WHIPUNG . I am a cabinet maker, of 48, Gower Street—I know Severin Bastendorff, and went shooting with him once two years ago—we went to Erith and got out at Belvedere, between 3 and 4 o'clock—it was Saturday, I don't know the day or the month—we went to a man named Skinner, who kept a public-house—we stayed all night at Northumberland Heath, at an inn kept by Richards, and in the morning we got up at daybreak and went out; Bastendorff had a gun and shot some birds, and I saw a policeman coming and told him so—the policeman charged him with firing too close to the highway—while fee was firing the policeman was about 300 yards off—he said something about a summons, and Bastendorff did not go on with his shooting; we went back to Mr. Richards, and after we had been there some time he went off shooting again—we remained in, the neighbourhood all day and I came back with him—we got to Charing Cross Station shortly after 10 p.m.; I know the public-houses were not closed, they close at 11—we walked to a public-house in St. Martin's Lane to get something to drink; we did not stay long, and then walked home together as far as my house, which is in Gower Flace—it took us about half an hour to walk there from Charing Cross—I wished him good-night and went into my house—we may have gone into another public-house, I cannot recollect.

THOMAS MARTIN (Policeman). I was stationed at Erith in 1877, and remember that autumn seeing a man shooting about 6.40 one morning in the public highway—I reported him at the station—that was on 14th October, 1877—the sergeant has my book, but that was the date—I attended before the Magistrate; this (produced) is the summons I took out—it was the 14th—he was fined.

HENRV BAKER . I am a clerk to Moses and Sons, Tottenham Court Road—on 13th October, 1877, we sold a boy's coat to a person named Bastendorff, of 4, Euston Square, and I have the parcels book here—it is signed for on the same date "H. Dobbs."

ELIZABETH PEARCE . I am a widow, of 17, Charrington Street—I am Mrs. Severin Bastendorffs mother, and used to go to 4, Euston Square, to

see her and go into the kitchen—in the autumn of 1877 the prisoner gave me the watch produced to get cleaned, as I had a lodger who did that, and Mrs. Bastendorff considered I could get it done cheaper—I cannot give you the date—I gave it to David Rose to get cleaned, he returned it to me, in a short time, I paid him and I gave it back to the prisoner, who paid me and I gave the money to Rose—I saw her wearing a watch and chain in the autumn of 1877; I cannot recognise this chain—I told her I thought it looked very out of place for her to wear jewellery in the presence of lodgers—she did not seem pleased—I also saw her with an eyeglass like this, but it was not broken then—I had it in my hand and looked at it, thinking it belonged to an old gentleman and might suit me.

DAVID ROSE . I am a working silversmith, and have lodged for seven years in the same house as Mrs. Pearce, who gave me a watch to get cleaned in the autumn of 1877—I believe this to be it—I cannot speak to a nearer date—I gave it to Mr. Jenchner, who has a shop in Crown Street, Soho, who works for the trade, so that I got it done cheaper—his apprentice, I believe, cleaned it—I paid for it, took it back to Mrs. Pearce, who paid me what I had paid—a great many persons who clean watches make marks on them showing the month or the year when it is done—I can see an anchor here, and 901, and 10.77.

JULIUS JENCHNER . I am a watchmaker, of Crown Street, Soho—a year and eight months ago Mr. Rose brought me an old watch to clean—I remember this watch—my apprentice, who is dead, cleaned it, and I gave it back to Rose—it is customary for watchmakers who clean watches to mark them, but for trade jobs I do not mark—here is a mark in the case of this watch, "10.77.J."—my apprentice may have scratched that—I cannot say—I can also see "Ackers, 901," and one word which I cannot decipher.

(On examination with a magnifying glass the word "Acker," 901, appeared in one place and "Hackers "in another.)

WILLIAM HAN WELL . I am a worker in bamboo, at 23, Grafton Place, Euston Square—I was in Mr. Bastendorffs service from March, 1870 to the early part of April, 1879—I remember the prisoner and little Peter going away to Bideford as I understood; that is where her friends lived—I think that was some time after the bank holiday—I repaired an old-fashioned gold chain for her; I think just before she went away—it was broken in two or three places—I twisted a little metal wire in the links—it had a key attached, but no watch—I saw a watch and chain on her about that time; the watch had a metal face, but I did not look at it—this is the chain I repaired—it has since broken, I do not know whether at the places I repaired, because it is tied with cotton—she said that her uncle had left it to her, and I believed her—some time after her return from Bideford I saw her with another watch, a smaller one, and I think she voluntarily told me that her sister had died and left it, to her, or that her brother would prefer her having it to anybody else—I also saw a locket and neck-chain which I had not seen previously—I looked at them but did not examine them—I also saw two rings, she was either taking them off or putting them on—they were not on her fingers—I just looked at them, that is all—I should not know them again.

WILLIAM PARTINGTON . I am assistant to Mr. Thompson, of 155, Drummond Street, Euston Square, pawnbroker—this gold-faced watch was pawned there on 5th November, 1877, for 1l., in the name of Rosina

Bastindo, 8, Drummond Street, and never redeemed—I have no recollection of seeing the person—it was put up for sale on February 21, 1879, but not bought, and it remained in my master's possession, and was subsequently given up to Inspector Hagan—this gold chain with a watch attached and a necklet and locket were pledged by the prisoner on 28th March, 1878, in the name of Rosina Bastindo, 4, Euston Square—I took them in and lent her 2l. 10s. on them—they remained with us till given up to the police some time this year.

JOHN EDWARD THOMPSON . I am a pawnbroker, of 155, Drummond Street—this ticket, dated 5th November, 1877, is in Mr. Partington's writing—it relates to an old-fashioned gold watch, the larger of the two, the vertical one—it was put up for sale on 21st February this year, and bought in by me—it remained in my possession till the beginning of May this year, when I took it to my brother Frederick with a lot of other jewellery—I kept the other watch and chain until I gave them up to the police—I know that the ticket relates to this watch—I distinctly recollect the watch—there is no mark on the ticket to show it.

FREDERICK JOHN THOMPSON . I am a pawnbroker, of Roman Road, Barnsbury, and am the brother of the last witness—he brought me about the end of April, this year, an old-fashioned gold watch with a lot of goods—I have got the note he sent with them—this is the watch—I kept it till I gave it to the policeman.

HANNAH EARLS . I live at 68, Cromer Street, St. Pancras—I am a laundress—in the autumn of 1877 I washed for Mrs. Bastendorff and a lady that lived there at that time—I only received the lady's washing two weeks, and the prisoner told me on a Monday, at about 11 o'clock, that the lady had left in a hurry, and there were no clothes that week—I cannot tell what month that was in, not taking any notice—I do not think it was Midsummer—the articles were underclothing—I generally went about 11 a.m.—I afterwards continued to wash for Mrs. Bastendorff, and after a time for some other lodgers there named Willoughby and Bowie—I began to wash for them I think about a week or a fortnight after I had the lady's things for the last time, or very soon after—I got these clothes from the prisoner, and saw her wearing a gold chain, which attracted my attention—I did not see a watch attached—that was after she told me that the lady had left, but I cannot say how long after—I said "It does not look very well for a servant to wear that in her work, and if you go to the door you perhaps may lose it, or have it snatched from you"—she made no answer—I understood from her that her uncle had left it to her—I said "I never saw Mrs. Bastendorff wear such a thing in the house"—I remember the prisoner giving me 8, 9, or 10 beautiful handkerchiefs to wash; I said that she might wear them longer and have them washed after, for they did not appear dirty as if they had been used; however I washed them—that was some time after she said that the lady had left, and I think it was after I began washing for Willoughby and Bowie—this is one of them (produced), but they were better than this, and not so large some of them—I did not observe it, but here is something worked in the corner—I do not know whether it is "H"—the prisoner paid me herself for washing that lot of handkerchiefs—I remember her going away for a holiday with little Peter, and I think she gave me these handkerchiefs before that—she did not speak to me about going, but I noticed a person there after she went to the country, and that was my reason for supposing she had gone.

Cross-examined. I sometimes went into the kitchen for the washing, but cannot recollect whether I did on that occasion, it is so long ago—I wash for a great many other people, and collect it on a Monday—the handkerchiefs were very new, as if they were fresh from a box—I think they had been bought at a shop—I think they had been used; I did not notice a shop-mark on them.

Re-examined. To the best of my belief they had been used and washed and kept folded up some time without being used.

JOHN WRIGHT . I now live at 57, Sparsholt Road, Crouch Hill—I formerly lived at 67, George Street, Euston Square, and took in lodgers—a woman lived on my top floor last autumn, but I never saw her—I do not know whether my wife detained some of her boxes when she went away, or whether they were left, but I believe she did not pay her rent when she went away—my wife is very ill indeed, and not in a fit state to give evidence—even if persons went to her where she now is, to question her, I do not think she would be able to give evidence—when we left George Street and went to our present house those two boxes were taken with us, and my wife afterwards gave them up to the police inspector.

LOUISA BARKER . I live at 61, Margaret Street, Cavendish Square—on 3rd November, 1878, I entered Mrs. Bastendorffs service as general servant and remained there seven weeks; that was nearly to the end of December—I often went in and out of the cellar; there was coal and rubbish and straw there, and in the left-hand corner there was a heap of something, apparently coal—I used not to go far in—I took the first coal I could get at, that which was nearest the door—when I was shovelling up some coal one day I came upon three or four towels, one or two of which were rotten—I do not think the others were so bad—I did not know of the body being there before I left.

PETER BASTERDORFF . I am Severin's brother, and work now in bamboo—in the autumn of 1877 I lived in Hampstead Road, and worked for Mr. Dixon, a cabinet-maker—I was in the habit of going to my brother's in Euston Square—I cannot say when the prisoner went there first, but I believe it was in 1877—after she had lived there some time I kept company with her—I remember her going away with little Peter to see her friends—I cannot tell in what month it was; she was away, I believe, three or four days; I kept company with her before that; I believe I began to keep company with her about Christmas, 1876, or the beginning of 1877, and I did so still when she left my brother's service; she left once before for a month; I understood she left for good, but she came back, and then after being there some time she left altogether, some time last year—I know nothing of Miss Huish—I remember my brother going to Erith on 14th October, 1877, and getting summoned for shooting on Sunday morning—I was not in the house at all that day, I was down at Maidstone, at East Farleigh—I went there on the Saturday with my youngest brother Antony; we got back about 12 o'clock on Sunday evening—I know that the prisoner's father and mother lived at Bideford.

Cross-examined. I know John Johnson; he did not make a communication to me about the prisoner and my brother, but I heard that my brother had spoken to Mrs. Johnson and another friend, and said that he used to go with Hannah Dobbs; I do not know where, but I spoke to her about it the next day—I did not cease going to see her, but I told her several times of it—I always considered that there was something between the two one way

or other, and complained to her of what was taking place between them, and told my brother of it as well—I never saw my brother out with her.

ANTONY BASTERDORFF . I am a brother of Severin and Peter—on a Saturday evening in 1877, about 4 o'clock, I went down to East Farleigh with Peter; we stopped there the whole of Sunday; it was the same Sunday that my brother got summoned for shooting on the highway—we returned home on the Sunday night at 12 o'clock.

JOSEPH BASTENDORFF . I am a brother of Severin, and live at Charlton—I lived there in October, 1877.

Cross-examined. My brother gave me a basket-trunk three weeks after Christmas; he brought some baskets into the shop, and I said "I want to have a basket like that"—he said "Take one if you like"—he did not say who gave it to him, or where he bought it.

JAMES HAMLIN . I live at Newton Tracey, near Bideford and Barnstaple, and am the prisoner's uncle; her father and mother are alive, and live at Bideford—I am her mother's brother; there are only three of us; my only brother's name is John; he is here—we came up together—the prisoner's father has a brother, George Dobbs; he lives, I think, at Frimmington, near Bideford; I heard that the prisoner was at home about two years back, but I did not see her—about a year and three-quarters ago an uncle of hers by marriage, who lived at Newton Tracey, died; it was a little after harvest, I think—ho had married my sister—he left a widow and five children; his widow is now dead, but she lived some months after him; he was a nurseryman.

DR. PEPPER (Recalled by Mr. Mead). 'I heard the reference yesterday to a varicose vein—the effect of a varicose vein suddenly bursting would depend upon the size of the vein; if it was a large one it might possibly cause death in a short time—I have seen one death from it, not a death immediately, but in a few days, from the effects of the loss of blood—there would be a very profuse flow of blood if a large vein was opened, sufficient to account for a much larger stain than I saw on the carpet—the vein would not cause inflammation, it would be diseased first—that might give rise to ulceration of the soft parts of the leg; that might account for the appearance of the bone that I saw; it is one of the causes of thickening of the bone—the immediate cause of thickening of the bone is inflammation—the condition of the bone I saw was not consistent with the results from a varicose vein; it may burst, and there may never be an ulcer at all—you must not confound a varicose vein with a varicose ulcer; you must have a varicose vein before you have the ulcer, the ulcer must result from the vein—if there were such an ulcer it would be consistent.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Suppuration from the ulcer is more likely in that part of the leg than any other—inflammation, if set up there, would produce thickening of the bone—inflammation may arise from any other cause than varicose vein, any local cause, for instance a kick would do it, or any constitutionul cause—there was nothing to show that this lady was suffering from varicose vein—the bone was quite bare—if she had been suffering from a varicose vein it might burst and cause a profuse spilling of blood—varicose veins give rise to a sense of weight and fulness in the leg, that is where they are not inflamed, very likely they become inflamed, then they are exceedingly painful—I don't think that persons suffering from varicose veins would be likely to complain to those about them of pain or

inconvenience unless the rein became inflamed, that Would be sure to give rise to lameness, and probably to a good deal of pain.

By the COURT. I should not expect an instantaneous effect from a varicose vein bursting—it would probably take some time—the patient would gradually sink from loss of blood—in the only case I Saw, death occurred in two or three days—death would ensue within twelve hours if the bleeding went on, but it would not be likely to go on for twelve hours, because the patient would be almost sure to call for assistance, or become faint and fall down, and then the bleeding would cease; the horizontal position would tend to stop the bleeding—the sudden application Of constricting force to the windpipe would produce great congestion, the patient would become black in the face—that might result from the bursting of a vein, not of a main vessel, but of a number of small ones—the bleeding from that would not be sufficient to relieve the patient: it would not be sufficient to cause death—there would not be a considerable flow of blood from that, only an oozing—it would not cause the rupture of a large vessel—it would be very difficult to form an opinion as to the quantity of blood that had been spilt on the carpet; I should say at least 4 oz.—there was a great deal of blood in the substance of the carpet—it was not only the stain the carpet was quite stiff, the whole piece that was stained, and that would not have taken place if the blood had been very much diluted with water.

ROBERT VERMULIN . I am chief Warder at Her Majesty's prison at Westminster—I returned with the prisoner and a female warder, Frances Hawkins, from the police—court on June 5; and on the way to the prison she said there had been a lodger of the name of Finlay, living in the house in Euston Square, and he was in the habit of carrying a seven—chambered pistol loaded—she also stated that he had Committed a murder, and wanted to confide the secret to her keeping, and offered her 50l. to go to America with him, but she refused—I gave information of that statement the next day to Mr. Thomas—she also said she had pawned an article for the purpose of clearing off Mr. Bastendorff's bastardy debt.

Cross-examined. This conversation took place in a four—wheel cab—there was a great noise, a large number of persons following the vehicle—I think she did not say some one had told her that Mr. Finlay had done this—if she had said so I think I should have heard it, as I was sitting opposite to her.

FRANCES HAWKINS . I am a warder at Westminster Prison—I was also in the cab, and heard the prisoner make the statement just mentioned—she said the second—floor lodger, Mr. Finlay, always carried revolver against robbers, and that he had offered her 50l. to keep a secret and she refused—she said Mr. Finlay wanted her to go to America with him.

Cross-examined. That was all I heard—I was sitting by the side of the prisoner.

INSPECTOR HAGAN (Re-examined). On May 12, 1879, in consequence of inquiries made, I went to see the prisoner; Inspector Gatling was with me—I made a memorandum of what she said to me—I first asked her "How long were you in Mr. Bastendorff's service at 4, Euston Square?—"she answered "About two years"—I said "Do you remember any of the lodgers that were in the house?"—"Yes, I do—severel of them"—at this time there was not the least suspicion attaching to the prisoner—I said "What were their names?"—she replied "Brooks, Kiggenbach, Lefler, and some more—I said "Were they ladies or gentlemen?"—she replied "Both"—I said

"Do you remember any single ladies lodging there?"—she said "Yes"—I said "Do you remember one with short curls?"—she said "Yes, there was one on the second—floor front room"—I said "How long was she there?"—she replied "About six weeks or two months"—I said "How long is that ago?"—she said "About two years"—I inquired her age, and she said about fifty, or more; I said "What coloured hair had she?" to which she replied "Greyish"—I said "Was it not fair?"—she replied "No, it was grey; she wore it in short curls"—I asked whether she knew her name, she said "No, I don't know now; but I'll try and think of it"—I asked if she saw her go away, and she said "No, I didn't; because I had to go out sometimes with the children; I went once with them to Hampstead Heath, and I rather think that was when the old lady went away"—I asked how she used to dress; she answered "She dressed very smartly when she went out; she used to wear a blue silk dress, with a white hat and large feather in it; in the house she dressed very shabbily; she wore a black satin quilted petticoat; she wore a lot of lace about her head"—I asked if she had a waterproof cloak; she said "Yes, she had; she was a very mean woman, and would only have fourpenny ale; she used to send for a glass with three farthings; I did not like to go myself, so I gave the boy a farthing to go; I once had to ask her for the rent; Bastendorff"—told me if I did not like to go he would—I went, and the old lady gave me a 5l. note to get changed—I don't know who went to change it, I or Bastendorff"—I said "Are you quite sure—the hair was grey and not light?"—she said "Yes; quite sure"—I asked her if she often went to the coal-cellar, and she said every day—I said "Did you ever notice anything wrong there?"—"No"—"Did you ever notice any bad smell there?"—"No"—I said "There has been a dead body found there; do you know anything about it?"—she replied "A body—a body in the coal-cellar! I am sure I never saw anything in there"—I said "Then you can throw no light on it?" and she said "No, I cannot;" afterwards I saw her again, and she said she remembered the old lady's name, it was Miss Hacker—"she told me she came up to collect her rents"—I said "Was not the name Huish?"—she said "No, it was Hacker"—I said "Had she plenty of money?"—she answered "I don't know; she had a gold watch and chain, which she wore on Sundays; I am sure now I was with the children at Hampstead; when I got back I was told she had gone, and had left a shilling for me"—I said "Who told you that?"—she said "Mrs. Bastendorff"—she continued "After the lady had gone I found her dream-book in a drawer, and I gave it to Mrs. Bastendorff; she used always to be reading that book"—on May 14th I took the prisoner to the mortuary—I told her she was going to see the remains of the lady; I asked if she was sure she was at Hampstead on the day the lady went away?—she replied that she was—I showed her the articles, and she said "Those are all like the things Miss Hacker used to wear in the house, especially the lace, but they are in such a state now"—I showed her the hair; she said "The hair is not Miss Hacker's; hers was decidedly grey"—I showed her the brooch and buckle, and she knew nothing about them—I said "Then you say the things are like what Miss Hacker wore, but the hair is not, hers was grey"—she said "Yes, that is it"—I received two watches and a chain from a pawn-broker, the cash—box from Mr. Bastendorff, also the dream—book and the basket—trunk—the buckle and brooch I found with the remains—I cut out a piece of the carpet in the second—floor front at No. 4; I gave it to Mr. Bond in the first instance, and afterwards to Dr. Pepper—I got some boxes rom Mr.

Wright, and from those boxes I took the pocket-handkerchief and eyeglass—I asked Mrs. Bastendorff to point out to me the place where the bed used to stand—the stain was at the side of the bed—there was a stain on the floor corresponding with the one on the carpet.

Cross-examined. It was in consequence of what the prisoner told me that I was enabled in a great measure to trace Miss Hacker.

DR. PEPPER (Re-examined). I saw the way in which the rope was embedded in the neck—I did not see the rope; I saw the wound; it was as broad as my little finger.

DR. DAVIS (Re-examined). I saw a portion of the rope in the flesh; it was over the back, and almost as forward as the ears—I could not judge how tightly the neck had been compressed, except from the deep depression—it must have been very firmly and tightly tied round there—that would be sufficient to produce death—it could not fail to produce death if it was kept on; it could not fail to cause strangulation.

MR. MEAD submitted that there was no ease to go to the Jury on the charge of murder as, deduced, from the medical evidence, death might have arisen from natural causes.

MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS held that the case must go to the Jury.

NOT GUILTY .


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