21st October 1889
Reference Numbert18891021-859
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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859. JOHN PEARSON , Stealing a watch, watch-chain and seal, the goods of Emma Crowe, from her person.

MR. SANDYS Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended. EMMA CROWE. I am unmarried, and live at 21, Martaban Road, Stoke Newington—at 3 o'clock, on the afternoon of Wednesday, 25th September, I was in Church Street, Stoke Newington—I was about three yards from the gate leading into the churchyard, when the prisoner sprang out from the gate, walked up and looked at me—I looked at him—he came up to me, and I thought he was going to speak—he gave a snatch and took my gold watch, chain, and seal, worth £12—this watch was in the watch-pocket of my dress, the chain round my neck—he turned back into the churchyard and ran—I spoke to a young woman, and ran and called out, "Stop thief!"—I saw several running, the gang—a man came out of the gate towards me, and I begged him to run after the man—he did nothing—on the Saturday, 28th, I went to Kennington Police-station where I saw a number of men—among them I recognised the prisoner—I have no doubt he is the man—I believe I also saw at Kennington, in the row with the men, the other man who came and spoke to me after my watch was gone, but I would not swear to him—he was a tall fair young man.

Cross-examined. The prisoner was among seven or eight or nine men at the station—they were not like working men—not one of them was like the prisoner in face—some had beards; some had no hair on their faces—I examined them all rather closely to make sure—none had a moustache like this man, I think—before I came to him my impression was that he was not there—I had never seen him before—he seemed to spring out, and almost immediately afterwards he snatched at my watch and ran away—the whole thing did not take quite a minute; he stood before me half a second—I only saw him for about a minute—he was dressed in shabby dark clothes at the time—I think he was dressed in

the same way when I picked him out—I did not look at his face much; I looked at his face and build.

Re-examined. When I came to him at the Police-station I recognised him at once.

MARGARET PALMER . I am unmarried, and live at 86, Lordship Park—on the afternoon of 25th September I was coming through the passage by Stoke Newington Church—as I came to the Church Street end of the passage I saw four men sitting just outside the gate in Church Street, two on each side—the prisoner was one of the men on the right hand—there is no gate—there is an arch with an upright bar in the middle, from the ground to the top—all the men made a move as though they were going to stop me, and they hesitated, and sat down again—then a fair man said to the prisoner, "Now," and gave him a nudge with the elbow—the prisoner looked me up and down quickly and said, "There is no go there "I went to a shop in Church Street, and did my business there—when I came back I went towards the passage to come back the same way—the men had all gone except the prisoner and the fair man—I saw Miss Crowe coming along on the same side as the prisoner and the fair man—as I was crossing over the road towards the gateway, the prisoner got up from where he was sitting, pulled his hat well over his forehead, put his hands into his pockets, walked leisurely towards the end of the kerbstone, looked hastily up and down Church Street (I was going through the gate then), and walked back again to the fair man, who said, "Go on quick"—I stood to see what they were going to do—while I was hesitating, afraid to go through, the prisoner crossed by the gateway and went up to Miss Crowe—as his back was towards me I did not see what he did—he was only apparently speaking to her—he came back, but before he could get through the gate Miss Crowe had called "Stop thief!"—I was standing just inside the churchyard—the prisoner ran by me, I ran after him through the churchyard; the fair man came after me with his fists up in this way, and got me up in a corner in a threatening attitude—the prisoner got through into the mews at the other end—on the Saturday I went to the Police-court, where I picked out the prisoner from a number of other men; he is the man—he was not dressed exactly as he is now—my watch-chain was not showing, it was in my jacket.

Cross-examined. The fair man did not hold me; he came to me in a threatening attitude, and at that moment six gentlemenly men came at the other end and surrounded me, and all laughed—they did not hurt me; it was no use my calling out—I had never seen the prisoner before the 25th; I identified him on the following Saturday, the 28th—Miss Crowe was not in the room at the same time—I went in first; there looked nine or ten men; some looked like poor and some were gentlemenly men—I did not take particular notice of their clothes; I looked at their faces—on the following Monday I saw the prisoner at the Police-court—he was dressed on the 25th precisely as he is now; he had a longish overcoat on, with pockets—I noticed the other men in the station; I did not notice if they had overcoats on—I went by their faces; I cannot remember if any of the men had similar faces—no other man was clean shaved with a moustache, like the prisoner—he is the man—I looked at all the men—they were men of every description—I did not say at once he was the man—I looked round the room before I identified the prisoner

—I had seen him three times that afternoon—as I went round the men they nearly all made faces; turning up their noses and staring—I was there five minutes.

ANNIE WRIGHT . I live at 8, Strower Terrace, Seven Sisters Road, Stamford Hill, where I manage Annie Welteck's oil and colour shop—on the 25th September, about 11 a. m., the prisoner came in and purchased a tablet of Pears' soap—I noticed a kind of stutter or impediment in his speech—I have not the slightest doubt he is the man.

Cross-examined. The 25th was Wednesday—we have a great many customers in a week who make small purchases. Re-examined. I have a special reason for remembering that day.

HENRY SMALL (Detective L). I took the prisoner into custody on this charge—Gray told him in my presence that he would take him on suspicion of having stolen this watch and chain—he said nothing in answer—he was taken to Kennington Road Station first—when being conveyed from there to Stoke Newington, he said in the cab to me, "I shall prove I was in Manchester at the time"—the offence was committed on the 25th, and on the 26th the description of the prisoner was circulated—when I took him to the cells he wished me to write a telegram to Mrs. Broadbent, 64, Brook Street, Chorlton-on-Medlock, Manchester—I did so, but he said he would not send it; he would write after he was remanded—I had written it at his dictation—I tore it up at his desire—it informed her that he was in custody in London, and wished her to come and prove that he only left Manchester at ten minutes past ten on the Wednesday morning that the offence was committed.

Cross-examined. Two or three other officers and another prisoner were in the cell passage—those officers are not here—it was as he was being taken to the cells—I did not think it my duty to keep the telegraph form—I was with the prisoner in a cab for an hour, and he was talking all the time on one subject and another—he was placed among men on whom we had made a raid, known to be thieves—they were in custody.

By the JURY. The previous witnesses gave information on the 25th, the day of the offence, and the description came out in our information on 26th—he was arrested on the afternoon of the 27th—the prisoner has a slight stuttering—I have had a conversation with Annie Wright—she made her statement about having seen the prisoner on the day of the robbery long before the case came into this Court.

Witnesses for the Defence. MARTHA BROADBENT. I live at 9, Oldham Road, Manchester, and am the wife of Thomas Broadbent, who keeps the Commercial Hotel there—the prisoner is my son-in-law—on 25th September he was in Manchester—I saw him off to London on that day by the ten minutes past ten train at the Central Station—I got his ticket, and paid 15s. 5 1/2 d. for it—I am quite sure it was that day I saw him off.

Cross-examined. The prisoner was not living with me—he and my daughter managed my shop in Brook Street, and lived there—I had seen him every day up to this time—I live at the Commercial Hotel—we have eight bedrooms and eleven beds there—we have a fair number of customers—my daughter received a letter from him—the prisoner came up to his brother, but he did not find him; he had moved—I don't know where the prisoner went when he came to London—I remember he left on 25th, because the 25th is generally rentday

—I gave him 10s. to come away with, and said if he did not find his brother I would send him more, but I did not want to be short on rentday—I remember very well that rent-day was Wednesday, 25th—I don't know if quarter-day is different in Manchester and London—I saw the prisoner on the Sunday and Monday before the Wednesday, and on the Tuesday I went to the shop he manages, and helped to serve the dinners—when we are a hand short I always do that, except on Sundays—I saw him on Tuesday, he was not working, because he and his wife were out, I think—on the Monday he was walking about, getting a drink here and there, not working—he did not work after they had a quarrel on Sunday night—he went away because of the bother—I thought it as well he should go away, and on Wednesday morning, about eight o'clock, I went upstairs and asked him what he was going to do, whether he would begin to work, and when his wife came down she would not five him any money to go with, and I said I would come to the station and pay his fare—we went up the street to the station from our house; we were only just in time to get the ticket—the prisoner stammers a little when he speaks—he speaks a bit short-tongued, we call it, when he has had a drop of drink.

CHARLES EAST . I live at 36, Brook Street, Chorlton-on-Medlock, Manchester, and am a hairdresser—on 25th September I shaved the prisoner at Manchester at a quarter to nine—after I shaved him I had about two minutes' conversation with him—he said he had had a bit of a bother with his wife and was going to London for a fortnight or three weeks till it blew over—I said, "It would do you more good if you put the fare (15s. 5 1/2 d.) on Cataract for the Great Eastern Handicap"—I backed it, it won, and I was paid.

Cross-examined. I shave the prisoner regularly on Wednesdays and Sundays—he might come in on Tuesday sometimes, if he was going down the town; but as a rule it was Wednesday and Sunday—I do a good bit of business; it keeps me—he was the first customer I had on the Wednesday morning—I cannot say who my first customer on Tuesday was—on Monday my first customer was Sutcliff, a butcher—I cannot say who my first customer was on Wednesday, a week ago—I remember 25th, because it was the morning of the Great Eastern Handicap—I only had about five in that morning; it was a quiet morning—we generally talk of racing matters in our shop—I talked about this race two or three days before the Wednesday, but not to the prisoner—when I have a good tip I generally give it to my customers—I have known the prisoner well since the exhibition was opened—I know his mother—about eight days after the Wednesday, I should think, the prisoner's wife showed me a letter from the prisoner, and said, "What do you think about my husband in trouble?" and I said, "How can he have done it when I shaved him at quarter to nine on Wednesday, and he says this was done at four o'clock?"—when he left my shop after I shaved him he went down Brook Street, in the direction of the Central Station, at twenty minutes to ten—he went from my shop to his shop to get dressed to go to the station—his shop is half a minute's walk from mine—the Commercial Hotel is twenty minutes' walk off, I should think, and is in a different direction to the station—my shop is a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes' walk from the station—it would take an old lady twenty minutes to half an hour—I am prepared to swear it was not on Tuesday I saw the prisoner; it was the 25th September—I was

told nothing—they did not tell me it was important; I should say it was the 25th.

Re-examined. When the prisoner's wife showed me his letter I said at once, "How can this accusation be true, because I was shaving him on this morning?"

ANNIE WRIGHT (Re-examined by MR. HUTTON). I have given evidence in another case this Session—the person I said I believed I identified was acquitted.

ROBERT BARKER . I am a butcher, of 42, Cavendish Street, Manchester—I saw the prisoner on Tuesday, 24th September, in my shop a little before five—he wanted to borrow 5s. of me, and I could not lend it to him.

GUILTY .**— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.

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