24th July 1905
Reference Numbert19050724-618
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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618. ARTHUR DEVEREUX (34) , Indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's inquisition with, the wilful murder of Beatrice Ellen Maud Devereux.

MR. MATHEWS and MR. BODKIN Prosecuted; MR. ELLIOTT, MR. HUTTON and MR. FITCH Defended.

ELLEN GREGORY . I am the wife of Charles Gregory, and live at 5 Chippenham Gardens, Paddington—I had a daughter named Beatrice Ellen Maud, who would now be about thirty years old—about 1896 we were living at Hastings, where we met the prisoner—he was a chemist employed by Mr. Taylor, at St. Leonards-on-Sea—subsequently the acquaintance ripened, and he and my daughter became engaged, and they were married on November 2nd, 1898—this (Produced) is the certificate of the marriage—I was present at the time—the prisoner was always in the service of a chemist when he was in service at all—I remember his going into the service of Dr. Adams at Croydon, and it was there on August 24th, 1899, that the first child, Stanley, was born—some time afterwards we went to Stroud, where, on April 5th, 1903, the twins were born—I was present-after their birth the prisoner said his wife ought to have been satisfied with one—he was disappointed because there was more than one—he seemed to be very fond of Stanley, but he never took any notice of the twins—from Stroud we moved to London, and I continued to live with them—I remember the prisoner getting employment with Mr. Turner at Fernhead Road—I was living with the family at the time, but about that date I left them, but continued to live near them, so as to help my daughter with the babies—I continued to see her, and my affectionate relations with her were

entirety preserved—I did not see much of the prisoner after I left—I met my daughter in the prisoner's presence and also out—I remember them moving to 60, Milton Avenue, Harlesden, about the end of last year—they lived in the name of Egerton there—I did not see anything of the prisoner while they were there, but I went there every day—Stanley will be six next month—at that time he was a strong and healthy little boy—the twins were strong and healthy, only they had ricketts, so they could not walk by themselves or feed themselves—my daughter was very fond of them—she was a devoted mother, and all her time was taken up with the babies—on Saturday, January 28th, I saw my daughter—I was then living at 85, Minet Avenue—she came and paid me a visit and we went shopping together—we were together about an hour and a half—Minet Avenue is about ten minutes' walk from Milton Avenue—she bought two rabbits for the Sunday dinner and said it would be enough for Monday and Tuesday—she was in her usual good spirits—on the following Monday I was going away to a situation for a short time—I did not know then how long I should be away—I stayed a fortnight, but I might have stayed longer—I made arrangements to correspond with my daughter, but I never heard from her after that—I said good-night to her about 11 p.m. in the subway, about two minutes from Milton Avenue—she went in that direction and I never saw her again alive—I came back to London about the middle of February and went to Milton Avenue to make enquiries—I could not make anybody hear at No. 60, so I went next door to Mrs. Wells—I made further enquiries, and amongst other people I went to Mr. Banister's, but could get no information, and about the middle of March I communicated with the police—I remember this large tin trunk (Produced)—it was purchased at Stroud in 1903—it was brought to Milton Avenue—I remember the prisoner having a writing desk at Milton Avenue; it was always kept locked and the prisoner kept the key—my daughter would sometimes take a glass of stout with her supper—she had it in quart bottles—she was taking it in January—after April 13th I saw the tin box and identified the bodies in it—these clothes (Produced) belonged to my daughter, and these (Produced) to the children—this (Produced) is the prisoner's writing desk—my daughter was an accomplished pianist and had a great many certificates of proficiency, amongst them being these two (Produced)—these letters (Produced) are in the prisoner's handwriting (Exhibits 5 to 15, 18, 19, and 21)—these eyeglasses and this umbrella were my daughter's (Produced) I did not receive any communication from the prisoner after January 28th—this (Produced) is my daughter's photograph, with Stanley.

[Upon MR. ELLIOTT'S application the cross-examination of this witness was postponed.]

BENJAMIN SPENCER (144 X.) Produced and proved two plans of 60, Milton Avenue, Harlesden, and neighbourhood, showing that the wall between that house and No. 58 was 9 inches thick.

JAMES MALDOON . I live at 23, Malvern Road, West Kilburn, and am an oilman—in August, 1904, the prisoner, his wife and three children came to lodge at my house and remained there until December 31st—

during that time the prisoner was going in the name of Devereux, and when he left he told me he 'was going to Kensal Rise.

Cross-examined. During the time the prisoner was with me he was engaged at Mr. Turner's, a chemist—he was generally free on Sundays and Wednesdays—I did not see much of him with his wife and children, because I was in the shop and he was at the top of the house—they had to come through the shop to go out—when I saw them he appeared to be land and affectionate—I never saw anything out of the ordinary way—he was always pleasant—the twins could not walk, but they have been taken for a walk, he carrying one and his wife the other—he and his wife did not go out very often—while they were at my house they seemed to be on friendly terms—I heard no quarrels at all.

Re-examined. The prisoner had half-days on Wednesdays, and on Sundays he had to go to work in the evening sometimes—I never went into his rooms—when coming out of the house they had to come through a door into the shop, and through the shop door.

FREDERICK GEORGE TURNER . I am a chemist and druggist at Princess Road, Kilburn, and I have a branch business at 67, Fernhead Road, Kilburn—on May 10th, 1904, I was advertising for a manager for that branch and I received this letter, dated May 20th, by way of application—it enclosed certain testimonials which purported to be from two different people in whose employment the writer had been—I answered that application and finally received this letter (Produced), which has been proved to be in the prisoner's writing—as a result of that the prisoner entered upon his duties at my branch shop at Fernhead Road on May 28th, 1904—the terms were £2 a week—the shop was stocked as an ordinary chemist's shop is, and amongst other things poisons were kept—the prisoner was manager of that shop down to January 27th, 1905—on January 2nd I had to give the prisoner notice, the reason I gave him being that the sales had not been quite up to expectation—there was the usual month's notice, at the end of which he was to leave.

Cross-examined. I saw him about twice a day—I saw Stanley once or twice, and I believe I saw the twins once, outside the shop with the prisoner's wife, who was just going out—I do not remember ever noticing that the prisoner left his keys behind in the shop.

Re-examined. Stanley went into the shop in the afternoons with his father.

WILLIAM GARFATH . I live at 24, Shelley Road, Harlesden, and am agent to the landlord of some newly erected houses in Milton Avenue—No. 60 comprises two flats, one on the ground floor and one on the top floor, led to by a common door—the house had been occupied prior to December, 1904, but it was unoccupied in that month—shortly before Christmas, 1904, I remember the prisoner calling upon me in relation to taking a flat in Milton Avenue—at first he gave no name, but afterwards he gave me the name of Egerston or Egerbaston, I cannot remember which—I showed him over more than one of the flats, amongst them being No. 60—about Christmas Eve he came to see me just before mid-day and settled on the upper part of No. 60 and gave me a deposit—he said he

wanted it for about six weeks, as he had already taken a quarterly house with a friend, and he wanted to move out in February—he asked me to keep the lower floor empty for him, as he had got a little boy and did not want him to mix with other children—I agreed to that, as I thought it was reasonable—he moved into the flat about December 31st, his rent being 7s. 6d. a week, which then became payable—Mr. Perkins was agent for the rent—I was always a good deal in Milton Avenue looking after the property—I had seen Mrs. Devereux out with the twins and I had seen Stanley—I did not get any notice when the prisoner intended to leave the flat—I remember being in Milton Avenue on Tuesday, February 7th, about 11 a.m., and seeing a van standing outside No. 60 and some boxes being placed on it—I went across and asked the prisoner whether he was going to shift away—only five weeks were then up—he told me he was only shifting a few boxes into furnished apartments, but he did not intend to go away for a day or two—he did not say what was going to happen to the the boxes—no furniture was placed on that van—the same evening I was again in the Avenue, and outside No. 60 I saw another van and I went and asked the prisoner about the rent—the van was being loaded with chairs and tables and other furniture—I said to the prisoner, "I thought you said to me you were not going away for a day or two"—he said he had got a place and he thought he had better shift out at once—he meant that he had furnished apartments and he thought he had better move out at once as he had settled on a place—there was a week's rent owing at the time, and he told me that when he got his money for the furniture which was to be sold he would pay me out of it—I walked with him and his little boy in the direction of the Royal Oak—there was a lot of conversation about the expenses of the milk for the children—he said they cost a lot of money and he spent half a sovereign a week in milk, and also he said that he would not be pestered with his mother-in-law, and that he had threatened to blow her brains out with a revolver if she came on his doorstep again—he said he had been troubled with her a great deal, and he would clear out of the way so that she would not find him again—he said that I might be troubled in a day or two with his mother-in-law trying to ascertain where he had gone, but I was not to say anything—he did not tell me where he was going and I did not know where he had gone—I asked him about his letters and said if any letters were left under the door I would save them for him if he liked to call for them, but he said all his arrangements as to letters had been made and he did not suppose there would be anything important—there were one or two, probably a circular, which I gave to the postman—the prisoner and I went to the Royal Oak, where he paid me 7s. 6d., a week's rent—I had the key of the house—that same evening I had some communication from Mrs. Wells, who lives at 58, Milton Avenue, in consequence of which I went to the back yard of No. 60 in order to see if there were any traces of tire or any danger from fire—there were indications that there had been a fire, but I just trod on it and left it—it was just smouldering—next day I went all over No. 60—in the back bedroom I found some sealing wax and screws, and a piece of board was in the front room—I told my little boy to take the screws home as they might be

handy—the sealing wax was red—three or four weeks later I paid another visit to No. 60 with Mrs: Wells—I was going in to take a man to clean it down and Mrs. Wells followed me in—that was about the first week in March—I went into one of the rooms, I cannot remember which, and saw some bottles on the mantelpiece—they were labelled "Prussic Acid" and "Poison"—the poison label was a white one—I did not touch the bottle—there was something in it—we said to one another, "There is enough there to poison anybody"—I had not seen it the first time I went—I had taken Mrs. Gregory over the flat three days after the prisoner left—she would dot be satisfied until I took her over it—the house has now all been done up and is occupied—I have traced where the rubbish was put, but I cannot find the bottle.

Cross-examined. It was three or four days after I had my last interview with the prisoner that Mrs. Gregory came and would not be satisfied until she had seen over the house to see if there were any marks—she did not insist on going over the house, but she asked me if I would take her—I sent her away once—she came back three or four hours afterwards and said she would not be satisfied unless she looked over the place, I said, "Well, I do not mind if it is for your curiosity"—all Mrs. Gregory found was a little bottle labelled "Toothache tincture"—when she called I said there was nothing there except a dirty mess and rubbish, and the place was not fit for anybody to see—I did not try to choke her off going there, but I did not encourage her—both Mrs. Wells and Mrs. Gregory drew my attention to bottles—the bottle of prussic acid was pointed out to me after the toothache tincture—Mrs. Gregory took the toothache tincture and put it in her pocket—when Mrs. Gregory came to see me I knew she was the prisoner's mother-in-law and what he had said about her turned out to be true—Mrs. Gregory could not find anything in the place barring a bottle of toothache tincture—I am up and down the avenue all day—I think the prisoner made the remark that nobody could get away except that I was about to see it—I did not notice whether Mrs. Devereux used the downstairs fiat, because I never went into the place and the blinds were drawn so that I could not see—nothing was said about their using the bottom flat, because I should have objected—when I went into it afterwards I found rubbish there—it must have been the prisoner's rubbish, because the place was swept up before he went in—it must have been used by somebody during the tenancy, and I found several articles belonging to the Devereuxs there—there was some paper and a broom and other articles—the principal subject of conversation on February 7th was the prisoner's mother-in-law, and she seemed to be the person he seemed to have the greatest possible objection to—I know that other people speak in terms not complimentary about their mothers-in-law—when I spoke to the prisoner about his mother-in-law I was rather sympathetic and said, "They have no business to interfere with young married people; they ought to leave you alone; a mother ought to leave the daughter alone; they ought to know when they are comfortable and looked after"—the prisoner did not say anything against his wife—I understood the reason he was going away was to

get away from his mother-in-law—he gave me the impression that he had already had more than he wanted of his mother-in-law—he did not say that she had lived with them for a considerable time; he said she always followed them from one situation to another—he said he shifted from one situation and she came after them again—he said, "She won't find me for some time now, because I have threatened to blow her brains out on the doorstep"—he did not say when he had said that to her—I have seen Stanley playing about—the prisoner seemed very fond of him—I have seen him with Stanley, but not with the wife and other children—he always seemed to treat him with great kindness—before taking the flat he said he wanted to speak to his wife about it and would come again and let me know.

Re-examined. When Mrs. Gregory called on me she made enquiries with regard to the prisoner, but I could not give her any information—on February 7th, when I was walking towards the Royal Oak with the prisoner and Stanley, the prisoner said the children cost him 10s. a week for milk—the bottom flat had never been occupied except for rubbish—the blind was drawn down, so that I could not see.

JAMES PERKINS . I am an estate agent, of 40, Steele Road, Harlesden, and collect the rents for Milton Avenue—the prisoner was in occupation there when I called for the first week's rent on January 11th—I have an impression that it was paid by the prisoner himself, but being so long ago I would not like to swear—the name given me was Arthur Stanley Egerton—I called at the end of several successive weeks, and the rent was paid down to and including February 1st, on which date I knocked several times without obtaining an answer, and as I was in the act of leaving, the door was unbolted and the prisoner came out—he then paid me the rent up to that time—on February 8th I called again and learnt from Mrs. Wells that the Egertons had left—the last week's rent was paid to Garfath.

Cross-examined. The last time I was paid was by the prisoner on February 1st—I did not notice anything about him then to arouse my suspicions—he seemed a quiet man.

SARAH WELLS . I am the wife of Edward Alfred Wells, of 58, Milton Avenue, which adjoins No. 60—I remember the prisoner coming to No. 60 with his family about Christmas, 1904—I should describe the household as an ordinary and quiet one—I saw the occupants outside from time to time—the twins had a perambulator and the prisoner and his wife went out with them—I only saw the twins once—I never had any conversation with the prisoner or his wife; I do not remember having one with Stanley—in the first week in February I heard sounds coming from No. 60 as if bedsteads were being taken to pieces—my front room on the second floor is next to the room in No. 60, where I heard the noises, which would be the front room of No. 60—the sounds were continual, as if furniture was being removed from the top floor to the bottom—I cannot fix the date for certain, but it was between February let and 4th—on Saturday, February 4th, I looked into the back yard of No. 60 and saw the prisoner and Stanley making bonfires—the prisoner

left the yard and went into the house, and I heard Stanley call out, "Daddy, are you going to cook the dinner?"—I heard no answer—I remember seeing Stanley on one occasion playing in the street; he went to the front door of No. 60 and rattled at the letter-box as though wishing to get into the house—somebody came to the door and he called out, "I want to come in"—the reply was, "You cannot" or "You can't," I am not sure which—I never saw anything of Mrs. Devereux or the twins after I heard the noises of moving furniture—I heard the the twins crying in the house several times, but after the noises commenced I did not hear them crying—I cannot say when I last heard cries or when I last saw them or when I last knew that they were alive—on Tuesday, February 7th, I saw a van at the front door with the name of Banister on it—it was loaded up with boxes and driven away, the prisoner and Stanley driving away with it—the same evening another van was at the front of the house which was loaded with furniture, and again the prisoner and the little boy went away with it—about a week or ten days afterwards I received a visit from Mrs. Gregory—it was about February 14th or 17th—she came to make certain enquiries—a short time after that I was in No. 60 when Mr. Garfath was there, and I saw a bottle on the mantelpiece with a red label with "Prussic Acid" on it—I left the bottle where it was—I did not pick it up, but Garfath did and replaced it—it was on the mantelpiece when Garfath and I left and I never saw it again—it was on that occasion when I saw this piece of Wood there (Produced)—it was in the front room, the same one adjoining to where I heard noises coming from—on Saturday, January 28th, I was at home between 10 and 11 p.m.—we occupy the whole of the house—the front room downstairs was our sitting-room and the bedroom was upstairs and adjoined the prisoner's room—I cannot say if I had gone to bed on that Saturday between 10 and 11, I heard no sounds of quarrelling coming from the next house that night—I should have heard any loud sounds—I never heard any sounds of quarrelling while the prisoner was my neighbour.

By the COURT. I do not think that Mrs. Devereux had a piano.

Cross-examined. As far as I could judge, the prisoner and his wife lived quietly and happily together—I never heard them quarrel, but I never speak to my neighbours unless they speak to me—if there was any quarrelling, I should have heard it—I saw very little of the prisoner—I only saw the twins once; I never spoke to Mrs. Devereux—she was very reserved—they seemed to be a quiet family—I cannot say who said, "I cannot" or "I can't"—something was given to the little boy—it was not a penny; it was a paper with something in it—it might have been sweets—after he had received it he ran away quite contented—it was pushed through the letter box—I did not see where he went to—I thought no more about it—during the latter part of the time, the Devereuxs occupied the bottom part of No. 60—I cannot say whether Mrs. Devereux used it or not; I could only tell it was used by the sounds—It was used before I heard the strange noises, because I heard the furniture being brought down to the lower part—Mrs. Gregory called on me about a

week or ten days after the prisoner had gone—she seemed very anxious to find out where he had gone to—I never had any conversation with the prisoner.

HORACE FURLONG . I am employed by a baker at 1, Park Parade, Harlesden, and in January I delivered bread at 60, Milton Avenue—it was a lady who came to the shop and gave the order to call, and I began my delivery on January 6th and after that called every day between 12 and 1—I did that until Saturday, January 28th—upon that day I can positively say that I left the bread with the prisoner's wife—up to the 28th all the deliveries had been to her—on Monday, January 30th, I called in the same way between 12 and 1—I got no answer and delivered no bread—on Tuesday, the 31st, I knocked, got no answer and delivered no bread—on February 1st I called again between 12 and 1, when Stanley took the bread in—on the 2nd I could get no answer and on the 3rd the same thing—on Saturday, the 4th, I got an answer and the bread was taken in by the prisoner—there was about 3s. owing for bread at that time, and I asked the prisoner if he would pay it, and he said he would call at the shop and do so—he did not call at the shop—on Monday, the 6th, I called again, but could get no answer—I next called on Wednesday, the 8th, and found the house empty—the last time I saw Mrs. Devereux was between 12 and 1 on Saturday, January 28th.

Cross-examined. I was first approached in relation to this case after the prisoner was arrested, which was sometime after the date of which I am now speaking—I had my book (Produced), but it has nothing in it beyond the actual sum charged for bread.

HARRY BRAZIER . I am a dairyman at 1, Shelley Road, Harlesden—early in January I remember a lady calling at my shop, and in consequence of what she said I delivered milk at 60, Milton Avenue—on January 23rd 5s. was paid—this book (Produced) records the payments—it was paid by Mrs. Devereux, but I did not know her name then—I had no name given me at all, but she was the same lady who had told me to deliver milk—I do not remember seeing her on the 23rd—as far as I can remember, the little boy Stanley took in the milk from January 23rd to 28th—on Monday, January 30th, I delivered milk in the morning and left it on the doorstep—I did not see anybody then, but about 5 p.m. I called again and saw the prisoner—about 7s. was owing for milk, and I said to him, "The lady said you are going to pay me to-day"—I do not think I told him how much was owing—he said, "She is not in now; she has gone up the road with the baby. She will either call round at the shop or else pay you to-morrow"—next morning, January 31st, I called and left some milk and saw the prisoner in the afternoon when he took the milk in—he said, "Don't leave any more; the Missus has gone away for a time"—he did not say if anybody had gone with her—I believe he said the babies had gone with her, but I am not sure—after that date I did not leave any more milk, and although I called, I was never able to get an answer from the house.

Cross-examined. There is no record in my book of these conversations; it only shows what I left at the home—two different ladies took milk in; I am quite sure of that—one I know now as Mrs. Devereux; the other

lady was older—I did not know Mrs. Devereux's name then, but I have seen her photograph since, which I can recognise—I have not recognised the other lady—i cannot recognise Mrs. Gregory as the other lady; I know the other lady took the milk in one Saturday, but I cannot say which—I know it was a Saturday, because I thought, "Hallao, they are not going to pay to-day; they hare sent somebody else to the door—it would be on January 21st or 28th—I saw the other lady three or four times; the first time may have been before January 31st—the first conversation I had with the prisoner was on the 30th—I had never seen him before to speak to—I am quite sure of the day.

AMY JACKSON . I live at 3, Manor Villas, Acton Lane—I have a sister named Georgina and an aunt named Miss Quail, who keeps a boys' school there—I remember one Saturday night in January the prisoner coming—my sister opened the door to him and had a conversation with him—on the Monday following he came again with a little boy, whom I afterwards knew to be Stanley Devereux—he was left at the school that morning until the dinner hour at 12 o'clock, when the prisoner came for him to take him home to dinner and brought him back afterwards—when school hours were up the prisoner came again for him and took him away—that routine was pursued for four to five days, when boy ceased to attend—our school commenced its ordinary tern on January 9th—as far as I can remember, it was at the end of January or beginning of February that the prisoner called and made the arrangements.

Cross-examined. He did not give me his address, but I knew he lived it Milton Avenue because a little girl lived in the same road—he said his name was Devereux—he did not rive his Christian name—our school begins At 9 a.m. and closed at 4 p.m—the boy was taken away each day to dinner by the prisoner, who seemed very fond of him—I did not notice anything about the prisoner—he seemed an ordinary person.

GEORGINA JACKSON . I am a sister of the last witness, and saw the prisoner when he came to Manor Villas one Saturday and made an arrangement that the little boy should come to the school on the Monday—on the Saturday I saw him about 7.45 p.m. and he said he would call on the Monday—I am quite unable to fix the date or say whether it was January or February—the school term began on January 9th—it was some time after; that the term had well begun.

Cross-examined. The prisoner did not give me his name.

TOM PERRY . I am a partner in the firm of Shallis and Co., furniture dealers, at 30, Manor Park Road, Harlesden—about 4 p.m. on Saturday, February 4th, the prisoner called with a perambulator, which he offered to sell—I did not accept the offer—he asked me if I purchased second hand furniture—I said, "Yes," and he asked me if I could come down and see some on the Monday—I agreed, and went on the Monday to 60, Milton Avenue, when he offered me some furniture—he asked me if I purchased wardrobes—I said, "No," and sent him round to Mrs. Flint, a wardrobe dealer—he said he had ladies' clothing to sell—that was on the Saturday; when I called on the Monday he showed me the furniture—I went all over the house with him and bought the furniture and made arrangements to remove it the following evening—the agreed price was £1 12s. 6d.—there

were corded boxes on the landing—on the Tuesday I went with my van and saw the prisoner and paid him the £1 12s. 6d.—he made out this receipt (Exhibit 19, produced): "Received of Mr. Shallis the sum of £1 12s, 6d, for goods sold, February 7th, 1905, A. C. Egerton"—among the things I purchased there were two framed certificates of Mrs. Devereux's proficiency as a pianist.

Cross-examined. He did not tell me his name when I first saw him; I first knew it when he signed the receipt—I did not ask him his name—that was the first time I had seen him or had any communication with him.

SUSAN FLINT . I am the wife of Lewis Flint, of 6, Park Parade, Harlesden, and deal in wardrobes or secondhand clothing—in the first week in February the prisoner called at my shop and brought some women's clothes—he said they belonged to his sister and that they were no use to his wife, and that he wanted to dispose of them to get his rent—I looked at them—they were women's things—he come once or twice and brought things to the shop, children's at well as ladies' clothes—some of them were baby's clothes, but I do not remember what he said about them—these (Produced) are some of the things he sold me—I think I paid him between two and three pounds.

Cross-examined. This was the first time I had seen him or had dealings with him—I did not five him a receipt—I had not asked him whose the things were; he told me they belonged to his sister—I think my husband was present, and may have joined in the conversation—I am sure the prisoner mentioned his sister—I was first asked about the conversation perhaps a month afterwards by the police—the prisoner did not mention his sister's name—he said the other things belonged to his twins—I did not ask him about the clothes.

EDWARD LEWIS GARDINER . I am a builder, of 18, Craven Road, Harlesden—at the end of January or beginning of February I had a visit from the prisoner, who asked me if I had a piece of zinc—he indicated roughly with hit hands the size, which was about 2 feet or 2 feet 6 inches—I asked him if he wished it old or new—he said it did not matter—I found a piece of old zinc, which he bought, I think, for 1s. 4d. or 1s. 6d—he took it away with him.

Cross-examined. I have no note in our books of the transaction, because we do not generally sell things in the yard.

HEDLEY EGBERT DWELLY . I am a chemist, of 41, Acton Lane, Harlesden—on Saturday, February 4th, I sold a 4-oz. bottle of carbolic acid to the prisoner—he took it away with him.

JOHN TEBBOTH . I live with my wife at 92, Harrow Road—early in February I advertised a bed sitting-room to let—on Monday, February 6th, the prisoner called-at that time there was a single bed in the room which I was advertising at 5s. per week—he said in the event of his taking the room he should require a double bed, as he had a little boy of five years old, who was coming there to live with him—he said he might want the room for about a fortnight—he did not give me his name that evening—he said his wife was away in the country with their two twin boys—it was arranged that the double bed should be put into the room and he

should come into occupation next day—I was at home next day, when he arrived with a number of boxes in a van, some of which with a bath were taken out of the van and placed in my House—he then went away with the van—I do not think he gave mo his name that day; I think it was after he had been there a day or two—he came back that night—he said his name was Devereux—he remained as a lodger until February 20th, when he left to take up a situation at Coventry—on the 19th he asked if we would look after his little boy for a short time, when his wife would fetch him—we agreed to that—the terms were subsequently arranged by letter—while the prisoner was with us some of his boxes went away—when ho came on the 7th he was accompanied by the little boy—it was about 11 a.m., and until the 20th the little boy was upon the premises all day except when he went out with the prisoner—he was not attending any school during that time—the prisoner wrote from Coventry, first on February 21st—this is his letter (Exhibit 5): "Care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry. Tuesday. Dear Madam,—I arrived here safely yesterday afternoon and am engaged to stay, so I will write to Mrs. D. and arrange with her to call for Stanley and bring him on here as soon as she can. She is down at Plymouth mat now. I am much obliged to you for minding the boy, and hope be has not been any trouble to you, and trust you can put up with him till called for. Again thanking you, Yours truly, A Devereux"—we also got this one (Exhibit 6), dated February 24th: "Dear Madam,—I received your letter yesterday, for which I thank you. I am glad to hear that Stanley is happy with you. I have heard from his mother that she is rather poorly just now and not able to travel just at present, so shall be glad if you will look after the boy for a short time longer for us. I am prepared to pay you up to 10s. per week for his board and lodging, and dull be glad if you will let him have 2d. a day to spend in addition, bringing it up to 11s. 2d. per week. Kindly let me know if this will suit you. If his mother does not soon get better I will come and fetch him myself. I received my box on Tuesday, and shall be glad if you will send by parcel post to-night, if possible, my hat box. I enclose the key. Please lock box and return key by letter and oblige. Yours truly, Devereux"—also this one (Exhibit 7), dated February 27th: "Dear Madam,—I thank you for your letter. As I am to be paid monthly here it will not be convenient for me to forward the money weekly, so I think I had better arrange to let Stanley stay with you until the end of the first month, when I will pay you four times the 11s. 2d. (£2 4s. 8d.), and fetch him myself as Mrs. D. is not likely to be well enough to travel for some time, I hear. She is consumptive, unfortunately. I am glad to say that this is a very good place, with good pay too. You will see by the enclosed envelope that Mr. Bird is one of the Coventry Aldermen. He is very well to do. In haste to catch the post, and thanking you very much, I remain, Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. Hat box received Saturday"—also this one (Exhibit 8), dated March 5th: "Dear Madam,—I shall be glad to hear whether you received my letter in answer to yours of a week ago, as I have not heard from you since. I hope Stanley is doing well, and is not any trouble. My last letter suggested

leaving him with you for a month. I shall get my first payment of salary in a fortnight's time. I will then come and fetch him. Hoping this will suit you, I remain, Yours truly, A. Devereux"—also this one, March 18th (Exhibit 9): "Dear Madam,—I hope Stanley is quite well and has not been much trouble to you. I have been up to the railway station and arranged for the guard to take charge of him from Euston to Coventry as I shall not be able to come to London to fetch him. Kindly let me know if you can take him to Euston for me and hand him over to the guard of the 1.30 train on Wednesday. I will then forward P.O. for his expenses to date and railway fare, etc. In haste to catch the post Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. Will you please oblige me with a bill?"—I wrote this letter (Exhibit 10) on March 18th: "Dear Mr. D.,—Your letter of date duly received, and I herewith enclose bill of expenses as requested, and shall be glad if you will send P.O. for the amount by return; also the money for Stanley's fare, as I have been out of work since September last and have not the money to pay same. I learn that the fare for Stanley will be 3s. 10d. and on receipt for enclosed bill your request shall be attended to. I remain, Yours truly, Mr. S. Tebboth. P.S. How shall we send the boxes and bath that are here?"—I enclosed a bill showing he owed me £2 13s. 7d., which would include the fare to Coventry—I received this letter (Exhibit 11): "Dear Sir,—Thanks for account. I will send on £2 15s. in settlement directly I get paid (to-night or to-morrow); you may keep the change. Thanking you extremely for your kindness. Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. I will let you know about boxes and bath later"—on March 21st he wrote to my wife (Exhibit 12): "Dear Madam,—Enclosed please find cash for £2 15s. as promised. Please send Stanley by the 1.30 from Euston to-morrow (Wednesday) afternoon. Give him into the care of the guard, who will know all about it. I will send you some labels for the boxes and bath in a day or two and order them to be called for, I am sorry to hear that Mr. T. is still disengaged, I hope he will soon be at work again. Thanking you very much for your kindness in taking charge of Stanley for me, I remain, Yours truly, A. Devereux. P.S. Please make a parcel of all Stanley's clothes and let him bring them with him. Dress him in his velvet suit and best overcoat. I will meet him at Coventry Station. A.D. Send me a wire if you miss the train or anything else goes wrong"—on March 22nd my wife wrote (Exhibit 13): "Dear Sir,—Just a line to say that I received the remittance quite safe this morning and saw Stanley safe into the custody of the guard, who promised to take great care of him; we all hope that he arrived safely. We shall miss him very much, and should you on any future occasion be so placed we shall be very pleased to have him. Thanking you very much, I remain, Yours truly, A. Tebboth"—the money having been sent, the boy was despatched and put into the care of the guard of the train and I got thin letter (Exhibit 14), dated March 22nd: "Dear Mrs. Tebboth,—I am pleased to say that Stanley arrived quite safely this afternoon. Many thanks to you; will write again to-morrow. Yours truly, A. Devereux"—on the 23rd I got this letter (Exhibit 15) "Dear Mrs. T.,—Your letter received this morning. Enclosed you will

find two labels for the tin box, which I have ordered the railway men to all for. I will write you about the other box and the bath later. Please put stanley's things only in the tin box and oblige, Yours truly, A. Devereux. All the books and toys are Stanley's. Please look and cord the box and send him the key by post. I have put him to boarding school"—the boy was apparently at school until the prisoner's arrest.

Cross-examined. I lived at 92, Harrow Road, for three years and know the neighbourhood fairly well—before going to Harrow Road I had lived at Queen's Park, which is not far away, for four years—when the prisoner arrived at my house he had six or seven packages, boxes and a basket and a bath—I did not notice any former address on any of the packages, and I do not think they had the name of Devereux on them—I had very little conversation with him; we might have passed the time of day as he was going in and out—there was no conversation as to where he had come from, and I had not the curiosity to put such a question—I knew where he had gone when he left, and I know now he was writing from the address of the gentleman in whose service he was at Coventry, and he told us that that gentleman was an Alderman of the Corporation—I first learnt that he was going to Coventry on the day that he left—he first mentioned Stanley staying behind on the Sunday—he seemed very much attached to the boy—it was very noticeable; he seemed quite wrapped up in him—he behaved with" all propriety in our house, and I had no occasion to complain of him—he was satisfactory as regards payment, and I regarded him as a decent well-behaved man—when he wrote from Coventry the paper had Mr. Bird's printed heading—I did not notice the prisoner's linen; I never saw any of it.

ADA TEBBOTH . I live with my husband at 92, Harrow Road—I remember the prisoner coming with his little boy on February 7th—he said he wanted my room for a fortnight—he said his wife was away with the twins in the country—I do not remember putting a question to him with regard to Stanley or the twins.

Cross-examined. The prisoner asked me if I would do his washing and I did so—there was no mark at all on the linen—on the child's bibs there were some initials, but I cannot remember what they were—I only knew the prisoner as Arthur Devereux—he was extremely attached to the boy and very much wrapped up in him.

THOMAS BANISTER . I am a furniture remover and contractor at 591, Harrow Road, and I have a warehouse at Buller Road, just off the Harrow Road—early in February this year I had two men in my employment named Allingham and Willoughby—Allingham is dead; Willoughby is here—I received a communication from my clerk, in consequence of which I gave Allingham and Willoughby instructions to take a van to 60, Milton Avenue—after being away with the van for some time I remember them returning and one of them giving me 5s. for the hire of it—the van had then a large tin trunk on it, and in consequence of a message given to me by my employees I consented to warehouse it at Buller Road—I do not think it had any name or address on it at that time, and my men eventually gave me the address it came from—it was put in the

top loft at Buller Road and remained there until April 13th undisturbed—about a fortnight after I received it, a Mrs. Gregory called to make enquiries—I did not give her any information—she paid me more than one visit, and consequently I wrote a letter, which I gave to Allingham, from whom I afterwards received an address—I did not give that address to Mrs. Gregory when she afterwards called—I should think she paid me five or six visits, but was never able to get anything from me—it was on April 13th that Pollard and Cole came and went to my warehouse and were shown the tin trunk, which was opened—I was present and saw its contents, amongst other things being the corpses of a woman and two children—I was shown this letter by Willoughby as having been received by him—I first received it and gave it to him unopened; he opened it, read it, and gave it back to me and I read it.

Cross-examined. When I first had any business to do with the prisoner he was at 60, Milton Avenue, but I had no name—I made an entry in my books as to the receipt of the trunk—I did not enter any name, I simply put, "Box, 60, Milton Avenue"—I do not believe any receipt was given for the trunk; this one (Produced) is for the hire of the van—the name is left blank, the address only being given—I do not remember hearing from the prisoner in relation to the trunk—the only thing I had was the letter to Willoughby—until Mrs. Gregory called, I was warehousing the trunk without knowing the name of the person to whom it belonged—Mrs. Gregory told me the name—when she called she enquired where I moved her daughter and said the neighbours had told her my van had moved the goods—I did not ask my man where the goods were taken to; they accounted for the time and brought back the money, so it did not interest me—I had not seen the prisoner—he booked the job with the clerk in the office—when Mrs. Gregory asked me if I had moved her daughter, she told me where the van had loaded up, so I said I remembered doing a job at 60, Milton Avenue—I did not tell her that I had a trunk then—she seemed very anxious to know where her daughter was, and was not very easily put off—if I have been specially asked not to say where people have gone to, I do not do it—I had no request directly from the prisoner not to say where he had gone, only through the men—Mrs. Gregory never got anything out of me—I was not suspicious—the prisoner told my men that the trunk contained chemicals—I believe when Mrs. Gregory called she told me that the person whose goods had been removed from 60, Milton Avenue, went in the name of Egerton—I do not think we had moved the prisoner from his other address to Milton Avenue—I have no record of it—I heard of the address at 92, Harrow Road—after Mrs. Gregory had called about three times I told her I could not tell her the man's address as I had no record of it, but that I had got a tin trunk warehousing for him, and that he would probably come and see me, when I would ask him to let his mother-in-law know where her daughter lived—she was surprised when I mentioned about the trunk and said she thought her daughter was in it—I told her I thought she was a wicked sort of woman to think anything of such a thing, and that her mind was on the previous case of the kind in the neighbourhood, that of Grossman—that case occurred

about half a mile from my warehouse—the next time she called she said she had found that the man had sold some of He clothes—at the time I did not attach the slightest weight to what He said—when she said she thought her daughter was in the box I went and looked at it to see if I could detect any smell, but I could not—when she called and said she had found some clothing had been sold I was suspicious, and it was on the strength of that that I sent one of my men to the address where the boxes had been taken with a letter to Devereux—the man knew where he had been, but could not remember the address—I addressed the letter to Devereux; I got the name from Mrs. Gregory—I told the man to leave the letter and bring the address back to me—I had no answer to my letter—the prisoner had gone to Coventry, as I afterwards found out—I did not write to the prisoner at Coventry, because I knew the police had been spoken to, and I thought it would be handy for them—the letter addressed to Willoughby of April 5th had the prisoner's Coventry address upon it—this is the letter to Willoughby (Exhibit 18): "Dear Sir,—Respecting the tin trunk containing the books and chemicals that I left in your care about two months ago, I have found a customer for the above, but as he will not be coming up to London to study for some months yet awhile I shall want it warehoused a few months longer. Shall I leave it in your hands and settle up with you, or shall I write to Mr. Banister About it? Awaiting your reply, Yours truly, A. Devereux, care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry"—I did not answer that letter—it was eventually handed to the police.

Re-examined. My man told me they had been paid some money by the prisoner for refreshment—I believe it was 5s, with the request that his name and address should not be told—it was partly on that account that I did not tell Mrs. Gregory where her daughter was, and partly because I did not know the name at the time—there is nothing in my books to show where my men took the boxes to—I think Mrs. Gregory was kept at bay for three or four weeks—I did not tell her that I thought there had been foul play—it was not until about the third visit that I told her I had a box.

ALFRED WEBSTER . I am medical officer at Willesden infirmary—on May 21st Henry Allingham was admitted suffering from pneumonia—he died in the infirmary on May 25th—I was in attendance upon him the whole of the time and saw him after his death.

EDWIN POLLARD (Detective-Inspector X.) I am in charge of this case, and was present at Harlesden Police Court on May 13th, when Henry Allingham was called as a witness on the part of the Prosecution and when he signed his depositions—this is his signature (The deposition was then read): "65, Denmark Road, Kilburn, carman in the employ of Mr. Banister. On the 7th February I went with Willoughby and a van to No. 60 Milton Avenue. I assisted in loading up the van with the boxes and a tin trunk. I accompanied the van to 92, Harrow Road, and afterwards we went to the Warwick public-house. Prisoner was with us. The van was then paid for and 5s. was presented to Willoughby. Prisoner said he wanted the tin trunk warehoused at Mr. Banister's. My mate

wanted to know the name. Prisoner said, 'No name; I do not want you to let my mother-in-law know where the boxes were brought to.' We drove to the Flora public-house and had some drink and prisoner left us. We took the box to Mr. Banister's. A mark of a cross was put on the box in chalk in the yard. Two days afterwards, 9th February, I again saw prisoner. He spoke to me. He said, 'I want to know if I can see the box at any time, because I am going to sell it as soon as I can get a chemist to buy it.' I told him it was in the top warehouse. He gave me a shilling. The little boy was with him. H. Allingham."

FRANK FREDERICK HOLLANBY . I am a clerk in the Accountant General's Office in the General Post Office, and produce an original telegram handed in at Queen's Park Office, Harrow Road, at 11.4 a.m. on February 20th.

Thursday, July 27th, 1905.

ELLEN GREGORY (Cross-examined by Mr. ELLIOTT). I think I first made the prisoner's acquaintance in 1896—we were then living at Hastings; that was the year in which my daughter first met him—from that time down to the birth of Stanley I was on friendly terms with him—I think the engagement between the prisoner and my daughter lasted for two years—I believe she was very devoted to him during that time, and he appeared to be very attached to her—when they were married it seemed to be a love match—the marriage was on November 2nd, 1898—Stanley was born in August, 1899—I was then living at Stockwell—I went to live with them at Dr. Adams' at Croydon—he was the same doctor who attended my son Sidney for meningitis—I do not know Dr. Adams' writing—I should think this (Produced) is in his writing, but I do not recollect his writing—I do not know that Sidney was then suffering from brain troubles—he may have done so at the time the doctor attended him, but I did not know he was ill then—I have heard since that it was for meningitis—I do not think he had suffered from brain trouble before; he had suffered from over-work from his examinations—he was also a chemist and was a great favourite with the deceased—he afterwards went to Plymouth and married a Miss Florence Manning—he wrote to me whilst he was there—July 28th, 1903, was the last time that I heard of him—from that time down to the present moment I have not seen or heard of him—I know that his clothes were found on the foreshore at Plymouth Hoe—this (Produced) is his writing—he may have suffered a great deal from depression, but I do not know that, nor that he wrote or behaved in an extraordinary way. [MR. ELLIOTT proposed to read the letter from Sidney. MR. MATHEWS objected and the COURT ruled that it was inadmissible.]—before Sidney disappeared there had been family troubles about my husband—I had a little mental trouble at the time of the birth of my twins, but every married woman is liable to that at child-birth—it lasted for about six weeks—the deceased had occasional fits of depression—she was very much upset by the loss of Sidney—she did not take it so much to heart as I did—we were then living at Brixton—after we left Dr. Adams' at Croydon I went to Brighton with the prisoner and the deceased, and I remained more or less with them till June, 1904, at various addresses—the deceased did not like the prisoner

not showing the same amount of affection for the twins as he did for Stanley—she often complained bitterly about it—he was always taken up with Stanley—she was fond of all three—I never cared much about the prisoner—in June, 1904, I had a room of my own and did not live with the prisoner and the deceased—after that they moved to Paddington—we were at Tottenham before that, where I lived for a time with them, and then I took a room—the prisoner did not complain to me about following them about—when they lived at Shirland Road, Paddington he objected to my going to the house—I was living in Walton Road then—in consequence, I only visited the house when he was away at business—when they went to Harlesdon I went to Minet Avenue—my daughter asked me if I would leave my place and help her to pack up the china—the prisoner still objected to my going to the house at Harlesden, so I only went when he was at business—I went every morning and took the babies out in the afternoon—I knew that the prisoner objected to my going there and I told my daughter that I would rather not go, and she said, "Come just the same and help me"—I never met the prisoner at Milton Avenue, and to me he never threatened to blow my brains out, but he told my daughter he would—he said to her, "If you can get rid of your mother you will find me a different man"—my daughter was worried by the prisoner losing his situation at Mr. Turner's, and wondered what he was going to do, and was afraid he would not get another situation unless he made his own references—she last spoke to me in that strain about January 17th, when we both knew that he would be giving up his situation on the 22nd—she spoke to me about it once or twice—I have heard of a woman named Harries—she never knew the deceased—I am quite sure she never saw her or spoke to her—I knew a man named Cox at one time; he lived in the same house with me and the deceased as a lodger when we lived at Eastbourne Terrace, Paddington, sometime before the deceased's marriage—I once had an interview with Mrs. Harries about four years ago—she was on intimate terms with my husband and she lived with him for a considerable period—I did not know that they stayed together at St. Albans—I know it now by the papers, and have no reason to doubt it—the bottom flat at Milton Avenue was only used for boxes and the perambulator; it was not used except for storage purposes—when my daughter wanted anything out of the boxes she would go down and fetch it——the perambulator was used every day—there was some rubbish in the bottom flat, oilcloth, brooms and pails—I remember the tin trunk which had been bought at Stroud about two years before—it was used for old clothes—it was kept in the downstairs back room with other boxes.

Re-examined. The top flat was composed of a front room, two bed-rooms and a kitchen—all the family slept in the front room—there was a crib for Stanley, a swing cot for one of the babies, and a cradle for the other, and a bedstead for the prisoner and his wife—the room behind that was the living room, where they had their meals—the room behind that was Stanley's playroom—it had no furniture in it, only toys—they did not use it much—the cooking was done in the kitchen—the boxes were stored in the back room in the bottom flat, and the perambulator

in the front room—when I had puerperal fever it was a premature confinement, and I was delivered of twins—the fever lasted six or seven weeks—that was thirty-three years ago, and I have never had a return of it or of any ailment which affected my mind—Sidney disappeared in July, 1903, and has not been heard of since, but I believe that he is alive, and that I shall see him again—that has always been my belief—I take no notice of the bundle of clothes found on the shore—the prisoner was not concerned in the trouble in which Sidney was involved—when we were at Stroud there were many matters of disagreement between the prisoner and myself—it was after the birth of the twins—he wanted to borrow some money from me which I refused to lend him—he said, "If you don't I will shoot you," and I was going for the police but he stopped me—the deceased was not present; she had been confined three weeks before and was not yet up—the prisoner never repeated that threat to me—my daughter said to me, "You do not know what he might do to me"—I said, "I do not think he would do anything to you"—she said, "I would not trust him"—they were living at Milton Avenue when she last repeated such a statement to me—the deceased several times said that the prisoner, before he left Mr. Turner's would be obliged to make his own references—he said that a six months' reference would be no use to him for a manager's place, and he wanted four or five years—the deceased did not like the prisoner not taking notice of the twins, and said that he had said to her, "If I had not got all this b—d lot to keep I could get on better by myself"—she always confided in me—when Cox was lodging with us at Eastbourne Terrace, in 1898, my husband had left me—Cox remained as a lodger for six or seven weeks—he gave me no notice of his intention to leave—he went off after he had robbed me—he stole an Indian silk shawl, a heaver cape, some china, a reading lamp, and several other things, amounting to about £10—he did not pay for his board and lodging—he promised to pay me when he got a situation, but of course he never got one—he borrowed 5s. from me, which he did not repay.

GEORGE WILLOUGHBY . I live at 55, St. Margaret's Road, Kensal Rise, and am employed by Mr. Banister—I had a fellow workman named Allingham—he was working with me on February 7th—on that day I got some orders and went to 60, Milton Avenue, with Allingham and a horse and van—we got there about 10.30 or 11 a.m.—I saw the prisoner there and a little boy about six or seven years old with him—the prisoner wanted us to remove some boxes—I went into the house and saw the boxes—I think there were five or six and a hip bath—most of the boxes were downstairs and the rest upstairs—I think we dealt with the boxes downstairs first and put them on the van—I cannot say how many boxes there were upstairs—one of them was a large tin trunk, which was in the back room—I think the window of that room looks out over the back yard—I think if you looked out of the window you would look into the yard sideways—the tin trunk was very heavy indeed—willingham came up with me—the prisoner was upstairs also—I got the Cox up on my knees and found it was rather difficult—at the top of the

stairs I said to Allingham, "Harry, put it down; I will slide it down the stairs"—he could not hold it coming down after me—I complained about the weight, and the prisoner said it contained chemicals—I slid it down to the bottom of the stairs and he said, "Don't tip it up"—I said, "That will be all right, sir"—then I asked him to lend Allingham a hand, so that we could get it into the van, which he did—when we had got all the boxes into the van we all got up, I and Allingham, the prisoner and the little boy—our first stoppage was the Royal Oak at Harlesden—that was before any boxes were taken out of the van—the prisoner asked me if I would have something to drink—we got down and had something to drink, for which the prisoner paid—we then went to 92, Harrow Road, where all the boxes were taken off the van bar the large one—the prisoner then told me to pull over to the crossing where there is an hotel—he came over to us with the little boy and we all went in—the prisoner asked me if I would have something to drink—we had something—the prisoner paid—I had this bill for 5s. with me for the use of the van (Produced)—the prisoner paid it in the public-house—I think the name of the house is the Warwick Castle—he had told me before that he wanted the tin trunk warehoused at Mr. Banister's, and said he would call up that evening and settle about it—he said he was going to sell it—in the Warwick Castle he gave me a 5s. piece for myself and Allingham—after leaving the Warwick Castle we were going home and the prisoner said he was going to Harlesden as well, so Allingham said, "You may as well ride up as far as we go," so we all got on the van again—we stopped at the Flora in Harrow Road—we went in and had some more drinks—the prisoner paid—he had drink at each of the public-houses, as we did—I and Allingham got on the van and drove home—the prisoner did not accompany us beyond the Flora—we bid him "Good-day"—we took the box to Mr. Banister's yard—I left it in the yard—I did not assist to place it in a warehouse or shed—I believe there was a label on it—there was a strap round it, but I did not take particular notice of it—I am not sure if the prisoner told me his name—I cannot say if the other boxes were labelled—the tin one was the most secure—on April 6th I got this letter (Produced)—the envelope is addressed, "Mr. G. Willoughby, van-man, care of Mr. Banister's yard, Buller's Lane, Harrow Road"—it should be Buller Road—enclosed with the letter was an envelope addressed, "A. Devereux, care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry," and 1s. postal order—I used the money—that is the tin box (Produced)—I think the leather strap which was round it had sealing wax on it.

Cross-examined. I do not know if it was our firm who moved the prisoner into Milton Avenue; I have heard that we did—I do not know if I was the person who did it—there are other carmen in the employment—I knew by the parcels that I left at 92, Harrow Road that the prisoner had gone there—I took the parcels up to the third floor backroom there—it was a furnished room—I saw a lady there—I think it was the lady of the house—I did not notice if there were any labels on the packages—some of the boxes were tin—I think one was wood, and the prisoner carried a basket—I did not know his name then—I first knew the name of Devereux on

April 6th, in consequence of the letter that I received from him—I never had any conversation with Mrs. Tebboth about the name—I did not later on go to 92, Harrow Road, to discover the name; it was Allingham who went.

AUGUSTUS JOSEPH PEPPER , F.K.C.S. I practice at 13, Wimpole Street—on April 14th and 16th, with Dr. Robertson I made a post-mortem examination on the bodies of a woman and two children at Kilburn mortuary—they were lying in a tin trunk there in the position shown in this photograph—the woman's body was lying on the left side with head bent on the chest and the thighs and legs flexed—the clothing consisted of brown stockings half drawn down, the upper pail being turned over the lower, a black slik bodice, corsets which were fastened, white cotton drawers, pink vest, and white chemise with lace edging—there was no petticoat, and no outer skirt—the body was that of a woman between twenty and thirty and 5 feet 6 inches high—there were marks of a slight bruising received before death—I noticed no other marks of any kind—I found no foreign body in the mouth or air passages—I found no trace of disease—I think she had been dead from two to three months—the air had been practically excluded from the trunk—the lungs were congested and contained a considerable quantity of blood, as did the right side of the heart, and the latter had contained more—the left side of the heart was nearly empty—the heart was in a healthy condition, as well as the other organs of the body—I opened the skull and examined the brain—there was no injury to the skull—the brain was very much congested, but was in a healthy condition as far as I could tell—it had decomposed considerably—I had the stomach and intestines removed and tied for the purpose of subsequent examination—I concluded that the woman had died from asphyxia—there was no evidence as to the cause of death, only as to the mode of death—I examined the other two bodies—they were those of two male children, about two years of age—the body of one of them, said to be that of Lawrence, was lying face downwards between the thighs and legs of the woman—the legs were bent on the body to adapt it to the shape and size of the box—I found no mark of violence on Lawrence—the mouth and air passages were free from obstruction—there was no mark of constriction of the throat or anything of that kind—the only sign of disease which I found was that of ricketts, which is a disease affecting the system, and especially the bones of the body, due to improper nutrition and generally improper feeding—the bones are soft and unable to stand the weight of the body—I found the organs to be healthy—the lungs were conjested—there was blood on the right side of the heart, the left side being empty or nearly so—the brain was conjested, but it was very far advanced in decomposition—I formed the opinion that the mode of death was asphyxial—there was a child's striped flannelette nightdress on the body, a pink vest, and a napkin—the third body, that of Evelyn, was that of a male child—it was lying in the box huddled up in the same way—there were no external marks on the body, no sign of constriction or obstruction—the internal organs were healthy—the right side of the heart was congested; the left side nearly empty—it was dressed the same as the other child, except that there was a calico nightdress over the other things—I should say the children had been dead about

the same time as the mother—I removed the stomach and intestines of both children for future examination—Dr. Robertson took charge of the liver and kidneys—after death at certain intervals rigor mortis sets in—it is a stiffening of the muscles of the body—it generally commences about ten or twelve hours after death, but it is extremely variable—in cold weather it would be longer delayed—where the mode of death is asphyxial, vigor mortis would as a rule come later—there must have been a considerable amount of manipulation to fit the bodies into the box—they had been very carefully packed—it would be just possible to have done it if rigor mortis had set in—with great force the rigor mortis may have been overcome—I do not think that would hive left any marks on the body, but it would have been extremely difficult—I should certainly say that the bodies had been put in the trunk Wore rigor mortis set in, but I cannot say within what time.

Cross-examined. I have had great experience in examining bodies after death which have suffered violence in life—I should say there was no violence used in this case, the slight bruises on the woman may have been caused in packing the body into the trunk—they had been caused either just before death or immediately after—they were only skin deep—the first was on the inner side of the left knee—the second on the back of the left forearm, the third on the left side of the chin, and the fourth, on the left thigh—there was an entire absence of any external injury which might have been fatal to life—the sooner rigor mortis sets in, the sooner it diasppears, and vice-versa—I do not think there would be any sign left if the body were bent after rigor mortis had set in—by the position of the woman's body I could not tell in what stage the rigor mortis was.

Re-examined. I think the bruises were inflicted while the body was still warm.

GEORGE ROBERTSON . I am Doctor of Medicine, and practice at 1, Fernhead Road, Paddington, and am Divisional Surgeon—on April 13th I saw this box with the bodies in it, and on April 14th and 16th I took part with Dr. Pepper in the post-mortem examination—I agree with him in his description of the lungs, heart, and brain, the absence of any indication of disease, and that the organs generally of the three bodies were healthy—I also agree that in each of the three cases death was caused by some asphyxial gas—the liver and the kidneys of the three bodies were placed in separate jars, and given by me to the Coroner's officer, and later on I sent by him a further portion of the woman's body and of the children's.

THOMAS SIMS . I live at Western Buildings, Ladbroke Grove, and am yard foreman to Mr. Banister at his works in Buller Road—I was present when this trunk was received at the warehouse, and when an entry was made in this book of the receipt of the trunk [Read] "7th February, 60, Milton Avenue, one large box of books and chemicals at 3s. a month"—afterwards the entry was made, "Taken out by police, April 13th, 1905"—I was present on February 9th when the prisoner accompanied by his little boy, visited the warehouse yard—he asked me if Mr. Banister was in—I told him no, but that I represented him during his absence—he asked me what the cost of

warehousing the box would be, and I told him it would not be a great deal, as we removed his other things—he said could he see it at any time, and that he might want to see it in a couple of days' time to bring a gentleman to look at it, as it contained books and chemicals that he used in his examination, but as he had passed all those he was about to sell them, and this gentleman was going to purchase them—he told me that if Mrs. Gregory, his wife's mother, came and asked any questions I was to let her know nothing, as it was through her they were moving—he did not mention any name—he said his mother-in-law—he asked where the trunk was, and I pointed up to where it had been put in the warehouse—he wished us good-day and gave us a 1s. between me and Allingham—that was the same trunk that was removed by Pollard on April 13th.

Cross-examined. The impression I had was that he did not want his mother-in-law to find him out—I am sure he did not mention any name—I was to know she was his mother-in-law by her statement—it did not occur to me that I might have some difficulty in knowing his mother-in-law if she came.

HENRY CRAWFORD . I live at 2, Queen's Road, Stonebridge Park, and am a general dealer—about February 7th I remember the prisoner coming to my shop—he asked me if I would send round to his house at 60, Milton Avenue, for some old things he had there—I went there and saw some rings and women's and children's clothing, also some medicine bottles and jam jars, and things of that sort—I agreed to buy them for a trifle—I saw some furniture there—the prisoner said it was going to be sold to Mr. Shallis—he said he had sent the best of his furniture away with his wife and children to the country—I went there between 10 and 11 a.m.

CHARLES ROGERS . I am manager to George Smith, pawnbroker, at 131, Harrow Road—I recognise the prisoner—he has pawned things at our establishment in February this year—I produce two tickets dated February 14th and 15th, for a pair of eyeglasses and an umbrella in the name of Devereux, of 92, Harrow Road, and four other tickets in February for sheets, curtains, blankets, and knives and forks, pledged in the same name and address—I got this letter of March 25th, 1905, "Please send sheets (for which I enclose P.O. 4s. 6d.), per Pickford, carriage forward. In the event of my mother-in-law (or any of our relatives) calling upon you, please do not give any information whatever This will much oblige, Yours truly, A. Devereux, c/o Mr. Bird, chemist, Spon Street, Coventry, Warwickshire"—I sent the parcel away as requested.

JAMES MILLER . I am a dealer in secondhand books at 479, Harrow Road—I recognise the prisoner—I remember his coming to my shop in the early part of February and asking me if I would buy some books of him—I said I was full up—then he asked me if I took in letters—I said I was not in the habit of doing so, but I would oblige him—he gave the name of "A. Taylor," but no address—some letters came addressed in that name, which the prisoner called for and took away—I did not notice the post-mark upon any of them—I fancy I saw one from Malvern, but I am not sure about it—I remember a telegram coming addressed in the name of Taylor—the prisoner had that—I afterwards got a letter (Ex. 25)

"If any letters come for me during the next few days, please forward in enclosed envelopes at once (don't put 'Taylor' on them), and oblige Yours truly, A. Taylor"—these are the two envelopes, each addressed: "A. Devereux, care of Mr. Bird, Chemist, Coventry"—no letters came, so I did not use either of the envelopes—I do not know what post-mark was on the envelopes which enclosed these two.

FREDERICK BIRD . I am a chemist at 156, Spon Street, Coventry—at the beginning of February this year I was in want of an assistant at that shop, and advertised in "The Chemist and Druggist"—I received this letter: 92, Harrow Road, February 17th, 1905. Dear Sir,—I note your advertisement in the "Chemist and Druggist," and beg to offer myself for the berth. I am thirty years of age, 5 feet 11 inches tall, and possess the minor qualifications. I am now disengaged and require £50 as salary I have been during the past five years with Mr. Taylor, of 479, Harrow Road, and was formerly with the late Mr. Marshall, of Sloane Square, and Streatham Hill, S.W. Any further particulars I shall be pleased to give you upon application. I have just left my last berth to make room for my employer's son. I am, Dear Sir, Yours truly, A. Devereux"—I replied to that by telegram and got this letter: "February 19th, 1905. Dear Sir,—I thank you for your telegrams and will come on to Coventry to-morrow (Monday) afternoon. I much regret not having been able to come yesterday, but as Mr. Taylor was called away suddenly owing to the serious illness of a relative I had to go back until Monday morning to oblige him. I sincerely hope and trust I shall get on well and remain with you as, indeed, I think I shall. Again thanking you and apologising for not having been able to come before, I remain, Dear Sir, Yours truly, Devereux"—in answer to that letter I telegraphed again and got this telegram, dated February 20th: "Bird, Chemist, Coventry. Devereux good man; suit your requirements, Taylor"—the prisoner came down to Coventry and took up the situation—he was engaged at a salary of £50 a year, living in the house, and remained in my service until April 13th, when the chief constable of Coventry took him into custody.

Cross-examined. He gave me every satisfaction—I considered him a clever chemist and a good business man—his little boy did not come there to my knowledge—I heard that he came to Kenilworth, where he went to school.

CHARLES CHRISTOPHER CHARSLEY . I am chief constable of Coventry, and in consequence of a telegram received from the Metropolitan police on. April 13th I went to Mr. Bird's and saw the prisoner—I said to him, "Your name is Devereux"—he said, "Oh yes,"—I said that I was chief constable of the city and had instructions to arrest him on suspicion of committing murder—he replied, "Oh, yes"—I asked him whether he wished to see the telegram on the strength of which I arrested him, and he said he did not want to see it—Mr. Bird came in and said, "Devereux, I am sorry to hear of this"—the prisoner said, "It is all right, Mr. Bird; I can clear myself"—Mr. Bird was about to put another question to him, which I stopped, and told the prisoner he had better not say anything until he had seen a solicitor—I found upon him a bunch of keys—there was a box at Mr. Bird's, and the prisoner

pointed out one key of the bunch which opened it—in the box I found this writing case (Produced)—I locked it with a key on the bunch—I found some papers in it, amongst them being these little books and a marriage certificate—I handed them all to the London police when they came the next day—Inspector Pollard and Sergeant Cole came down and the prisoner was handed over to them—after I had arrested him I took him to the police station, where I repeated the charge, and added that I could not give him details, as the London police were on the way, and when they came they would give them to him—he replied, "Oh, yes"—this receipt from Banister for 5s. was also among his papers.

Cross-examined. When I arrested him he did not seem anxious to make a statement, but he did afterwards when at the station—the London police arrived about an hour and a half after he was arrested, but I did not see them until the next day—the prisoner was detained in Coventry that night—it was the next day about 11.30 a.m. that he was first disposed to make a statement, before he was handed over to Pollard, but Pollard was present at the time—we advised him not to make a statement until he reached London—I arrested him about 8.0 p.m.

EDWARD POLLARD (Re-examined). I am stationed at Westbourne Park—on April 13th, in the afternoon, with other officers I went to Banister's at Buller Road and saw this tin trunk bound with a leather strap and padlocked—there was string through the loop of the lock and through the eyelet holes of the strap doubly sealed—I had heard statements that it was supposed to contain books and chemicals, but on shaking it there was no vibration, so I ordered it to be opened—from some keys which I had I found one which fitted the lock—on opening it I found a kind of inside wooden lid—the lock of the box was a cheap one; there is a rim round the box which acts as a ledge [The witness then reconstructed the inside lid of the box as found by him]—some piece of wood are now missing, as I took them to Sir Thomas Stevenson—when I found it the wooden lid covered the whole of the top of the box, and hermetically sealed it—it looked to me like another box formed of wood—it was air-tight and very completely done; in fact, the sixteenth of an inch thickness of glue which was over it bad hidden the joints, and formed an additional surface to the wood—the glue surface was against the aides of the box right round so as to conceal the contents—pieces of the wooden lid were screwed down to cross pieces with eighteen screws; the holes are there now—when I opened the box I could smell glue—I then unscrewed nine screws, and with a jemmy forced the others; there was no smell then—I saw a couple of table cloths and a quilt, which were glued together and covered over with a lot of glue—on gulling that away I put my hand down and felt a child's head—the quilt was tucked right into the sides of the box, and it had stuck there with the glue; there are some traces there now—directly I found the child's head I sent another officer to wire to Coventry and another to the Coroner—the bodies were not disturbed in the least, but were taken to the mortuary, where we had them photographed—that evening I went with Sergeant Cole to Coventry, and on the morning of the 14th I saw the prisoner at the police station at Coventry, and told him we were

police officers from London, and before he answered any question or said anything I should caution him, as I was going to take him back to London to Harlesden police station for causing the death of his wife and children by poisoning them;, that I had made enquiries about his wife and children, who had been missing from Milton Avenue since February, and that afternoon I had gone to Buller Road, where in the warehouse of Mr. Banister I found a trunk, which he had said contained chemicals and books, but which on opening I found contained the bodies of his wife and children—he simply said "Yes," and nodded his head—I told him that Dr. Robertson had seen the bodies and had certified them dead, but was unable to certify the cause of death, but suspected poison, and that I was going to take him to Harlesden and charge him with administering the poison—he replied, "Very well; I wish to make a statement, but will do so later on—I received from the chief constable what had been taken from the prisoner and a basket of other things, and brought them up to London with me—I told the prisoner I had found that he had sold his wife's clothes to a Mrs. Flint at Harlesden—Cole and myself came up to Willesden in a second-class compartment with the prisoner by ourselves—in the train he said, "I think I will make my statement now"—I handed my fountain pen to Sergeant Cole, but the ink save out, and the prisoner declined to make his statement—I said, "At the station I will give you paper and ink"—I heard Cole before the Magistrate give an account of what took place, which was correct—in the train the prisoner asked me my name again and said, "Did you open the trunk?"—I said, "Yes, with this officer and others"—he said, "On opening it you did not smell anything"—I said, "No"—he said, "No, you would not, because I prepared the glue with boric acid to prevent the fungi growing, otherwise they would have decomposed and smelt I had for four days been trying to solder a sheet of zinc in the box as a covering, but I failed in that, and I almost began to despair when I thought of the wood, and that took me three days to do. I had in my mind at the time a recent case, but the cement in that case was bound to give way, but I thought of a better plan"—he then asked who was going to hold the post-mortem and we told him Professor Pepper and Dr. Robertson—I felt rather sick then and want to the other side of the carriage and left Cole to continue the conversation—he was very cheerful in the train—I got a luncheon basket for him—he enjoyed himself—I gave him a cigar and he was laughing and chatting—he was taken to Harlesden Police Court, and before he was charged I said, "You have time to make your statement," and I provided him with ink and a pen, and he sat in the room and did it—I and Sergeant Cole were in the room—this is it (Read): "Metropolitan Police, Harlesden Station, April 14th, 1905. I, Arthur Devereux, hereby declare that one evening towards the end of January or beginning of February last, after having been out for a few hours with my child Stanley, I returned to find my wife and twins lying dead in their beds, evidently, to my mind, Wing died from poison taken or administered. Rather than face an inquest I decided (with a recent trial fresh in my mind) to conceal, the bodies in a trunk which I had had in my possession for about two years. This I proceeded to do at once. I missed some poisons (chloroform and

morphia) which I always kept in my writing desk after leaving my last situation, in the event of my wishing to end my own life rather than face starvation. The room smelled strongly of chloroform, so I concluded that my wife had administered it to herself and children, probably also the morphia. I had had a violent quarrel with her previously to going out; also many times quite recently and during the past twelve months. I make this statement quite voluntarily, without any threats having been made or promises held out to me. I wished to make it when first detained at Coventry, but was advised not to do so. Arthur Devereux. Witness, George Cole, P.S. 14th April, 1905."—I saw the prisoner write that; he wrote it slowly without any hesitation—I found no correction; he punctuated it as he went along—I took possession of it and he was shortly afterwards brought before the Justices, after having been charged with causing the death on or about February 1st—he made no answer to the charge—the justices were then sitting and I gave a portion of my evidence and a remand was ordered—on the 14th and 16th Mr. Pepper and Dr. Robertson held a port mortem examination on the bodies—the prisoner was remanded from time to time—the first detailed hearing before the Magistrates was on May 12th—the Coroner held an inquest and an adjourned inquest, the prisoner being present on each occasion—I was also present—the second occasion was on May 17th, when Brazier gave evidence in the prisoner's hearing—that same day the prisoner said, "Brazier is a fool: there is no other woman at 60, Milton Avenue, only my wife and her mother, Mrs. Gregory. I can now recollect the day I went out with my son Stanley for a walk and returned and found her and the children dead. It was on Tuesday, the 31st of January last. The milkman is not correct about the matter, but he cannot help it."

Cross-examined. I think the milkman has made a mistake—as far as I know, except Mrs. Gregory and Mrs. Devereux, no woman has been seen at the flat—I do not suggest that the prisoner was bringing any strange woman there—when I saw Mr. Charsley he said he had advised the prisoner not to make a statement—I made inquiries as to where Stanley was, and about 12 o'clock that day I found him at Kenilworth—I wanted to catch the 12 o'clock train, and rather than stay at Coventry for the prisoner to make his statement, I said he could make it in the train—he did not wish not to make a statement, he wanted to do it in the train, but when the fountain pen gave out he would not do it—he appeared to treat the matter very lightly, with apparent unconcern—he was unusually cool, considering the gravity of the charge—he explained about the other trunk tragedy—I was concerned in that matter—he discussed it in a calm sort of way, and when I said no smell came from this tin box he smiled and said, "I knew you would not find any smell," and then be laughed—in the train he enjoyed himself—he did not write anything in the railway carriage, when the ink in the pen gave out—Cole was going to take the statement in pencil, but the prisoner would not do it—he seemed to be discussing the matter the whole time with perfect freedom—I did not want to enter into the conversation—the thing he was most anxious about was the smell from the trunk, and who was going to make the post-mortem

examination—I received him from the Coventry police at 12 o'clock that day and he was sent to Brixton prison at 5 o'clock that night—he went before the justices at 4.30—after he was charged his demeanour changed, and he seemed to realise the gravity of the situation—when he was first remanded he made no reply—tie was not represented on his first appearance, but he was on the following Thursday—in consequence of a communication from the Treasury I have made enquiries into his family history—I have been to the Stone Asylum at Aylesbury and saw Dr. Humphrey—I was permitted to search the records of the asylum with him and found that the prisoner's uncle, Caleb Francis Devereux, was admitted on April 18th, 1895, and discharged on March 27th, 1896—he suffered from mental depression and suicidal tendencies; he was dangerous to himself, but harmless to others—I learnt that he was discharged from the asylum absolutely cured, and is now in the best of health—he now resides at 1, Sidney Terrace, High Wycombe—I also searched in the asylum records for the case of Miss Susan Devereux, but I could not find one—I went to Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire, and saw the prisoner's uncle Louis Devereux—I found him very reluctant to give any information, and in consequence I went with Inspector Marks and interviewed Mr. Morford, a Justice of the Peace in the district, and other people. [The COURT ruled that statements made to the witness by others in regard to the prisoner's family were not admissible.] I have seen the record of a conviction of the prisoner's father, Arthur James Devereux, for attempted suicide at Amersham Petty Sessions on November 9th, 1891, when he was bound over in £20 to keep the peace for six months—it was alleged that he took rat poison—I have seen a conviction for assault against Louis Devereux who was fined 10s.—I have no other asylum records, as the medical gentlemen are dead—the prisoner's aunt lived under the protection of a gentleman and threw herself out of a window twenty-two yean ago, and a verdict of suicide was returned. [The COURT ruled that this evidence was not admissible, as the circumstances of the case were unknown.]—I have made enquiries about the prisoner and have traced him from his youth—I cannot trace that at an early period he was sent to a farm on account of his strange behaviour—the one of Crossman, to which the prisoner referred, was a case where a man murdered a woman; we do not know the cause of death, but on March 24th, 1904, we opened a tin box and found that it was hermetically sealed with cement, that a body had been put in, and theft sealed all round and after being there for fourteen months a smell came out which caused the person in the house to complain, and as the box was being removed the murderer, who was also a bigamist (he had had seven wives), ran away and cut his throat when he saw the police approaching—me and Sergeant Cole were the officers in that case.

Re-examined. An injury had been done to the woman's head in that case, the base of the skull having gone—the body had been placed in a trunk half the size of this one—the woman was murdered the same day that she was married—I have found nothing as to the prisoner's mental history except that he was of sound mind and understanding—every person that I have asked said he was perfectly sane, and all his employers

said that he was the best chemist they ever had—the prisoner's father after his appearance before the Magistrate, took an important post as a chemist in Gloucestershire—he left there owing to senile decay, and is now living in Buckinghamshire.

GEORGE COLE (Sergeant X.) With Inspector Pollard I went to Banister's on April 13th and saw this box opened, and also the false wooden lid inside, and the glue covering the quilt and the counterpane underneath—the rivets in the front of the box go right through the metal, and the inside points of the rivets are soldered round, which makes it airtight, and the same underneath the hasp—I also noticed one or two places where apparently something had been attempted to be soldered at the side of the box, and some solder has dropped on to the floor of the box—I went with Pollard to Coventry and received the prisoner from the Coventry police on April 14th, and then we all three got into a railway carriage to come up from Coventry by the 12 o'clock train—shortly after leaving Coventry the prisoner was told, as he had expressed a desire to make a statement, that he could then make it—he was cautioned that it would be taken down and might be used in evidence against him—he said, "There is plenty of time before we get to London; I want to think first, as I am not sure of dates"—shortly afterwards he said, "My conscience is perfectly clear as to their deaths, but I was wrong in concealing the bodies"—he afterwards said to me, "Did you find any smell when you opened the lid?"—he was told "No"—he said, "You never would; the glue was treated with boric acid, which prevented fungi from growing, which would have allowed the smell to come through"—he then asked who would make the post-mortem—I told him Dr. Robertson, the police surgeon, and possibly Professor Pepper—he said, "He will have no difficulty in finding the cause of death; there is no doubt about that, but that does not say that I have administered it"—a little later on he said he would make his statement—he was again cautioned that it would be taken down, but the fountain pen gave out, and I began to write in pencil and ho said he would rather make it in ink—I had not taken anything down; I had simply begun to make the preface—he said, "I would rather have it made in ink, and I will wait until we get to London"—he was brought to Harlesden Police Court and supplied with pen, ink and paper, at his request, and before he was charged—he then made this statement (Produced)—he was brought into Court and remanded—amongst his property which we received at Coventry and brought to London was this basket, with some papers inside it, and some little books, a letter written by Mr. Tebboth, some certificates as to the prisoner's qualifications as a chemist, some pawn tickets, referring to articles pawned at Mr. Smith's, and a number of photographs, including the one of himself, and of his wife and child—I was present at the Court on April 20th before the Justices—the prisoner spoke to me before going into Court and, referring to the photographs, said, "There are some of myself, wife, and twins; they were taken one day on Hampstead Health. You will find them in an envelope; I shall want them for my defence"—I said I would look for them—I produced them before the Magistrates—the prisoner said, "About that receipt of Willoughby's, I have fixed the date it happened; it was the night before the milk was left for the last time

Stanley drank that; it was on a Tuesday, just a week before we moved"—on May 17th I was present at the adjourned inquest, which was the final one, when the prisoner said that his reason for wanting the photographs was to show what a good family man he was, and he went on to say, "Brazier has made a mistake; there was no other woman there, and I think he is wrong in his dates. It was on a Tuesday, the week, before we moved."

Cross-examined. He was anxious to make a statement—I did not take—this statement down from his dictation; I made my note after I reached. Harlesden—he explained the action of the boracic acid; that it would, prevent the glue from perishing—he discussed it as a man who had some knowledge of it—from the time I first saw him at Harlesden till he was before the Justices at Harlesden he seemed to treat the matter rather lightly—he was cool and collected the whole time, and smoked a cigar in the train, but he seemed to realise his position when in the train—I do not say he was merry and chatty—he was talking nearly the whole way, sad in rather a light-hearted way, but I should hardly say with unconcern as to the consequences to himself—he stopped talking at times, and seemed to be in thought—I was present when he wrote his statement at Harlesden—he wrote it off fairly freely—it had no corrections, except one slight scratch—he showed no reluctance in discussing the whole question, but rather forced himself upon us—Pollard got rather sick of it, and went to the other side of the carriage.

FREDERICK BAKER (20 X.R.) I act as Coroner's officer, and took charge of this box from Buller Road at the mortuary—I was present at the postmortem and received from Mr. Pepper and Dr. Robertson twelve jars, a table doth, and a pocket handkerchief, all of which I gave to Sir Thomas Stevenson at Guy's Hospital—on April 18th I took three other jars to him which had been given to me by Dr. Robertson, and also a sheet and a duster—I gave one lot to Mr. Wilcox, Sir Thomas's assistant—I also took a portion of the glue out of the box to Six Thomas.

EDWIN POLLARD (Re-examined). I agree with Mrs. Gregory that it was on March 14th that she first communicated with the police at Harlesden police station, and I saw Banister on the 20th—he seemed to treat the matter very lightly, and said he did not believe there was anything in the trunk—I obtained the address where the prisoner had gone, and on the 21st asked the chief constable at Coventry to make enquiries, and he had the papers for nearly a fortnight making enquiries unbeknown to the prisoner, and in that way the delay was caused—I received the papers back from Coventry on April 5th—the enquiry at Coventry had to be made very discreetly.

SIR THOMAS STEVENSON , M.D. I am official analyst to the Home Office—from Baker on April 17th and 18th received twelve jars, separately labelled and sealed, the first four containing portions of the body of a woman, marked with t he name Ellen Beatrice Maud Devereux—four contained the duodenum, the liver, the lower bowel and the kidneys of the woman.—the other eight related, four in each case, to the organs of the two children—on April 18th I received some additional jars, containing some portions of the flesh taken from the three bodies, and also a packet containing glue,

two handkerchiefs, a table cloth, portions of a sheet, and a coloured duster—I examined the glue, and found that it had been treated with boric acid—boric acid, or boracic acid, is an antisepic, and would prevent the invasion of the glue by fungi that would arise from the decomposition of a corpse, or from the air—if the glue were poured over the wooden surface it would render the substance air-tight—the table cloth had glue and boric acid marks upon it—the handkerchief and the smaller things which I examined I attributed no importance to—the handkerchiefs were stained with bloodstains, and mucous and epithelia cells, apparently from the mouth—they might have been used for wiping the mouth either before or after death, and there was a small stain of blood upon the coloured glass cloth, or duster—I could not say what age that stain was, but I should say some weeks; it might be months—the organs of the woman's body were decomposed, but not so much but that I could see that there were no signs of disease upon them—I made an exhaustive analysis of the different organs, and found in the stomach, the abdomen, the liver and the kidneys, morphine, or morphia which is a vegetable poison; it is the game thing, the official name being morphia—in the stomach and abdomen there was 14 of a grain, in the kidneys 16 of a grain, and in the liver 82 of a grain, making a total of 112, or 1 1/8th of a grain-morphia is extracted from opium, and is almost insoluble in water—there are several common forms—it is combined with an acid and a salt, and those are the forms in which it is used in medicine, that is as an alkaloid—the ordinary use of the silt in medicine is for injection in 1 per cent solution, and it is given internally in 5 per cent.—it is used for injecting under the skin hypodermically—this form of morphia is not ordinarily found in a chemist's shop—it is used in chemists' shops for testing, but not for being sold—the morphine in the body had probably been used in a salt, but in what form it had been administered I cannot say—the alkaloid would remove the acid, and leave morphine in the body—the 1 1/8 grains which I obtained was morphia itself, which would form 1 1/2 grains of a salt of morphine—many chemists keep the alkaloid of morphia, but it is only used in the process of testing substances—it is not in our pharmacopoeia, and I believe it is never used, or extremely rarely given in medicine, but always in a salt, became it is soluble—the employment of it is almost invariably in salt of morphine—the alkaloid is kept by some chemists, and the salt in its different forms by all—stout would be a liquid in which the salt would be readily soluble, but of which the taste would be easily concealed from the person who took it—the slight bitterness of the morphine would be covered by the stout—morphine would spoil the flavour of milk, rendering it slightly bitter, and the same with water—in my experience I have known of several cases of a grain of salt of morphine being fatal to an adult—the 1 1/8th grain found in the three organs of the body, in my opinion, does not represent the whole amountll of poison taken—I estimate from my experience that there were four grains at least in the body-the effect of four grains probably would be that there would be a slight transitory excitement—a pleasant feeling, quickly followed by a tendency to sleep—the time at which sleepiness would appear would depend on the condition

of the person, and the form in which it was taken—an empty stomach it would probably affect quickly; in five minutes the person would be gradually getting sleepy, and in twenty minutes, or at least half-an-hour, he would be aroused with difficulty. Respiration would fail; there would be profuse sweats, a ghastly appearance of the body, and death would occur, after four grains, in from three to six hours, it may be much less—the person would be asleep before twenty minutes, but the sleep of death would come on in about that time—if the patient were to be aroused, you could do it within half-an-hour, but not afterwards, and death might supervene in from three to six hours, or life might be prolonged for eight or ten—the, post-mortem appearances usually show signs of asphyxia, congestion of the brain and lungs, and to the right tide of the heart and liver—I have heard the description given by Professor Pepper of the brain, heart, and lungs in this case; they are such as would be found in death after morphia—there were no indications in the organs which I examined of chloroform having been taken through the mouth—if it had been taken through the mouth the condition of the stomach would be different from that which I found—there was nothing to suggest or refute the fact that chloroform had been inhaled except that chloroform might show certain conditions which would be common to it and to morphia—I think it would be well nigh impossible for a person who bad herself taken such a dose of salt of morphine as I have described, to administer chloroform by inhalation to herself—certainly after the sleepiness had come on it would be impossible—if the chloroform had been administered by the dead person herself after taking morphine, that could not have caused death—if she had died quickly from the chloroform the morphine would not have been distributed in the quantity I found in the liver and other organs, it would have remained in great part in the stomach—the quantity" I found in the liver enables me to say that the morphia had been taken some time before death, because it would first of all have to be absorbed into the stomach and blood, and then passed to the liver, and be deposited there, and as I found about six times as much morphia in the liver as in the stomach, some time must have elapsed; it would not be the case of a few minutes—I cannot say how long, but I should not expect that condition within half an hour—when a person is about to be anaesthetised there is generally a resistance for the first few minutes. when you administer chloroform on a handkerchief or pad, for a few moments the patient will generally try to resist, and try to remove the cloth—chloroform is very volatile, and evaporates with great rapidity, and if its effects are to be of use it would require to be renewed from time to time in order that it should be kept effective, except occasionally, if the pad is placed over the mouth, and the person is asphyxiated at once; but for the purpose of keeping it up it must be renewed from time to time—I do not think it would be possible for a person who had taken such a dose of morphine as this to be able to renew this evaporating spirit except immediately after, and putting an excessive quantity, and being suffocated at once, but in that case the poison would not have been absorbed from the stomach in that time to that large extent—in this case there had been

a very great absorption into the liver, and if it had got into the circulation it must have produced its narcotic effects—I examined the viscera of both of the children, and satisfied myself that the same poison had got into their organs, but not in such a large quantity, but in sufficient quantity to destroy their lives in my opinion—it is my opinion also that the poison was the cause of the woman's death—I cannot say if the children would die sooner than the adult, but they would die from a very much smaller proportion, and even a smaller proportion relative to the body weight pound for pound, a smaller dose would kill—children are very susceptible to morphia—I think 1/8th to 1/10th of a grain might perhaps kill a child twenty-one months old—there would be no difficulty in getting a child to take a dose: put it in half a teaspoonful of water, put it at the back of the throat, and it is sure to go don.

Cross-examined. There was nothing inconsistent about the handkerchiefs and dusters with their having been used before death—the whole evidence which I have given with reference to the general effect of morphia applies equally whether self-administered or whether administered by another—it would take time, for morphia to reach the liver, but there was a larger proportion in the liver as compared with the portion in the stomach—the length of time for a dose of 4 grains of morphia to absorb would depend upon the state of the stomach as regards food—by what ever avenue it gets into the body when it gets into the skin some portion goes to the stomach and is excreted—if death took place within three hours, I should expect to find a considerable quantity distributed through the body—I do not think that if a small quantity of morphia was administered the distribution would be much slower—a large portion had been absorbed and still remained in the circulation, but the time would partly depend on the quantity originally adminstered—if you administered 4 grains as distinct from 1 grain, the condition of the stomach being the same, you would find a larger quantity in the circulation than if you administered 1 grain—I do not know that if there is more it is more rapidly circulated—there would have to be a larger absorption to produce death; I do not know about more rapid absorption—you must have a certain amount in the blood to produce a fatal effect—in this case there was five times as much in the liver as in the kidneys or stomach—if the quantity that had been administered had been less than it was, the proportion would probably have been different, a larger proportion in the circulation—if the total dose had been 1 grain instead of 4, I should have expected to find about a quarter of a grain in the liver—in my experience I find the proportion in the liver is about one third of the whole circulating in the body; that is in about an hour—where the dose which has been taken is known, that in the liver is multiplied by four and that in the stomatch added to it which gives you the whole amount, but after a long time the absorption decreases—I said I thought there were at least 4 grains, because I know if I take four times 82 you get practically 4 grains, I put that as a minimum—it may have been greater; I do not know how much had been excreted before death took place—if greater the operation of the poison would be surer, and probably it might have been a little quicker—my experience teaches me that if you add what is in the stomach and the

bowel to what is in the liver that gives you the whole dose—I have never had an adult die from 80—a case of my own died within thirty-five minutes—I have edited a good many editions of "Taylor's Jurisprudence," where a case is mentioned where a patient died in about half-an-hour—I do not know if there was any evidence of any subcutaneous injection in this case, as I never saw the body—there is a form of opium poisoning in which a considerable time elapses before death, and then there is the form in which death takes place with frightful rapidity—in "Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence" a case is quoted where death took place within half-an-hour, but that is not my edition of the book; it was one of my own cues—it was a case of administration in my own hospital by mistake; the nurse went for the house physician and I was subsequently sent for, I think, and the times are not very accurate—it was not discovered until a few minutes elapsed, when the woman was dangerously ill—I do not think 4 grains is an exceptional dose, as people who die from morphia poisoning generally take far more than sufficient to produce death—I do not dispute the possibility of a person, such as this woman, dying in less than three hours after a dose of 4 grains—I do not think I can give you the minimum time which would be possible under those circumstances—I think it is possible that it might be two hours, but I do not think it likely—it would be possible for a person who had self-administered morphia to saturate a pillow with chloroform and then lie down, and he would be likely to become subject to the influence of the chloroform slightly in advance of the effect of the morphia, but probably the chloroform would go off by the time the morphia effected, then the morphia would come into play and the person would die from morphia, not from chloroform, but pouring chloroform on the pillow it would soon evaporate and I do not think unconsciousness would be produced—it would evaporate even more quickly on a pillow than on a small surface—the more porous the substance the more quickly it would evaporate—if a person wore a cap or a soft hat with a handkerchief inside it, overlapping the face, saturated with chloroform, it might produce for the time being unconsciousness, but it would be a very ineffective way of doing it; the part over the face would not be sufficient, and to get insensibility you would have to put more on—if your object was to produce unconsciousness, which would endure only until the morphia, which you had previously taken, had begun to operate, it might have some influence, but a person taking a large dose of morphia would be almost immediately in a pleasurable condition and they would go off to sleep—if a person was bent on suicide they might try the two things—people do sometimes resort to alternate methods, in case one fails—there was no evidence in the case of the children or of that of the mother of chloroform being administered at all—if the chloroform had been merely inhaled I should not expect to find traces of it after that space of time—there was nothing to show me whether the children had the poison administered to them earlier than the mother or not—my position on that point is purely neutral—there were no bottles of chloroform or morphia brought to me—morphia is used largely in connection with what are called soothing syrups and with powders for sending children to sleep—I have known cases in which

the fatal dose has been administered to a child in those soothing powders by persons who had them in charge, and who did it by mistake—people who were devoted to them.

Re-examined. I know of about six instances in which 1 grain has been fatal two or three of them are my own cases—they were taken by the mouth—if the intention was to destroy life, 4 grains would be pretty certainly effective in the majority of cases; I am excluding, of course, persons who take morphia habitually,

E. POLLARD (Re-examined). Amongst the contents of the trunk I discovered a black silk skirt of similar material to the bodice which the deceased was wearing—it had been packed in the corner under the quilt and table cloth—that and the rest of the clothing which has been described had to be destroyed—on opening the trunk we could not tee anything until we took the covering off, and then the woman's face was underneath, one of the children's heads being placed close to and above it—both of the children's heads were visible.

The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he had dispensed median all his life; that he first met his wife, at Hastings in 1894, and that they were married on November 2nd, 1898, at Paddington; that Mrs. Gregory lived with them at various places; that when they were at Milton Avenue he came home on December 31st about 8.30 or 9 p.m., having been out for a walk with Stanley; that he gave Stanley some money to buy some cakes and entered the house alone, leaving the front door open; that he went upstairs into the front room, and, on opening the door, smelt a strong smell of chloroform; that his first impulse was to rush across the room and open the window; that he did so and pulled up the Venetian blind, and from the light of the street lamp opposite he saw his wife lying on the bed and the twins lying each in its own cradle; that he endeavoured to rouse his wife, but failed to do so, and found that she was dead; that she was lying lengthways on the bed and was dressed exactly as she was afterwards found in the trunk except that she had a skirt on, which came off when he was moving her; that the twins was also dead and dressed in their night clothes; that he then heard Stanley coming up the stairs so covered the bodies over; that he put Stanley to bed in the same room, and told him his mother was asleep and he was not to make a noise; that he concluded that his wife had poisoned the twins and then herself with chloroform, which was the poison he referred to and not morphine; that all that day the had been grumbling about having to do the washing herself without the aid of her mother, whose absence was owing to his (the prisoner) being at home, as he did not allow her to be in the house when he was there; that his wife had said nothing about taking her own life, but had said she would run away and take the children with her owing to the ill-feeling between himself and his mother-in-law; that after he had put Stanley to bed he went downstairs and got the tin trunk, which was full of clothes and which he emptied, and packed the bodies into it that night in the way stated and just as they were; that it was true that he caused the trunk to be removed to Banister's that he did so because he was so frightened when he discovered the bodies; that he knew he should have called in outside aid, but owing to the arguments he had had with his wife about his mother-in-law and the ill-feeling born towards him by her, he was afraid to adopt the paper course; that it was not true that he had ever administered any chloroform or morphia to his wife; in cross-examination

he said that he had brought the tin trunk upstairs within two hours of Stanley going to sleep; that he took it into the back room and carried the bodies from the front to the back room, put them into the box and locked it; that they were still warm, but his wife was warmer than the children; that he then went to bed and to sleep; that he afterwards took the bodies out of the trunk, but that they remained in practically the same position, as they were then stiff; that he told Stanley in the morning that his mother had been taken to the hospital, as she had been once before, and that the twins had been taken to a public nursery; that he took Stanley to school and then moved the trunk to the living room, moving the bodies and the trunk separately; that on the Thursday he tried to solder zinc over the top of the box to make it air-tight; that he failed in that, and on the Saturday began the wooden cover; that Stanley was with him when he cut (he wood up; that he placed the wooden cover in the box at night; that he finished it on the Monday; that he brought chloroform and morphine home from Mr. Turner's a day or two before he left; that he used the chloroform in his private dentistry; that he always kept morphine and morphia locked up in his desk, which was sometimes kept in the tin trunk; that he had one key of the desk and his wife another; that when he came into the bedroom and found his wife dead he missed the morphine; that the desk was lying open on the floor under the bed; that he had thrown his wife's key of the desk away with all the other things which he did not want; that there was about 30 grams of morphia in the desk and 4 oz. of chloroform; that he knew that hit mother-in-law was going away, but did not know that she was going to a situation; that he answered an advertisement in the "Chemist and Druggist" of January 7th for an assistant at Hull by telegram on January 13th, saying that he was a widower with one child; that he intended to leave his wife at Harlesden, as he had done before, as it was more difficult for a married man to get a situation; that he had not told Garfath that the twins cost him 10s. a week for milk; that he had said that if he had not got the b—lot to keep he could get on better by himself; and that when he went out on December 31st his wife had mid that when he returned he would find her and the children gone.

Evidence for the Defence.

JULIA MARIA DEVEREUX . I am the prisoner's aunt and live at Perm, in Buckinghamshire—my father lived at High Wycombe, where he had a public appointment of Supervisor of the Inland Revenue [MR. ELLIOTT stated that he was calling evidence to show insanity in the prisoner's family to support the contention that prisoner must have been mentally defective, though not insane, in not informing the police of his discovery of his wife's and children's dead bodies. MR. JUSTICE RIDLEY said that he would take the evidence, but that he could not see that it was of the slightest value], and I was living with him in 1862, when he endeavoured to commit suicide by hanging himself, but he did not succeed—my brother, Arthur James Devereux, the prisoner's father, was married in 1866 to Cicele Lewis, the daughter of John Lewis, who was Colonel; Lewis at the time, I believe—I know the whole Lewis family—my brother tried to commit suicide in 1891—I knew Lady Lewis, the mother-in-law, and knew that her mental condition was very weak—my sister-in-law's sister threw herself out of a window at Regent's Park, I think, in 1883—I do not know that she was

living under the protection of a man who was not her husband—I have heard that about nine or ten years ago the prisoner was on a farm in Gloucester.

LOUIS DEVEREUX . I am a watchmaker at Middle Lane, Hornsey—the prisoner is my brother—up till recently I have seen him from time to time—some time ago I had lodgings with him at Highbury, and during that time he caused me a lot of anxiety—I cannot say exactly in what way—he used to wander about—for instance, he once stayed out in Finsbury Park for three nights, and when he arrived home he was in a very dilapidated condition, and I decided to call a doctor to him—I should say, in my opinion from what I saw of him, that he was not in an ordinary normal condition—I called a doctor in because he behaved in such a strange manner: he was mentally weak—in consequence of the doctor's orders he was sent away for a quiet rest—he is Dr. Sworn, of Highbury. [MR. ELLIOTT said that he did not propose to call Dr. Sworn, as he had no record in the matter, whereupon the COURT held that the evidence at to that was of no value.]

HUMPHREY WHEELER . I am a medical practitioner, of Dial House, High Wycombe, and am the parish doctor—I attended Caleb Devereux, the prisoner's uncle, in 1895, and certified him as insane—I also attended his daughter, the prisoner's first cousin, for insanity—she was ill for about a month, but she recovered.

Cross-examined. Caleb is out now alive and well.

BENJAMIN JOHN SHORT KIRKBY . I am the Vicar of Penn—I have known the Devereux family for a considerable time and knew the prisoner as a boy—I saw him last, probably in 1891—during the two years that I knew him as living in Beaconsfield I always considered him wanting in many things—it is rather difficult to explain, but we always considered him a little bit of the top—he did ridiculous things and he was commonly known in the parish of Beaconsfield as wanting.

Cross-examined. In 1891 his father was churchwarden, and therefore I saw more of the prisoner than perhaps any of the other lads of the place—it would be some fourteen years since I last had any observation of him—I have known that for the last thirteen years he has gone through a number of situations practising with very considerable skill as a chemist's assistant, but I have also known that he has done extraordinary things such as passing as an American millionaire—I agree it is not always insanity which leads people to pretend that they are richer than they really are—I do not think I can give you an instance of the absurd thing he did; they were very numerous; but I remember one where he posed as a magician in a crowded hall to give an entertainment: there was no magic except the turning out of the whole audience in a very few minutes.

FORBES WINSLOW . I am a Batchelor of Medicine in the University of Cambridge, a Member of the Royal College of Physicians, a Doctor of Civil Laws in the University of Oxford, a Doctor of Civil Laws in the University of Cambridge, late Lecturer on Lunacy at the Charing Cross Hospital, late Physician of the West End Hospital for the diseases of the nervous system, late President of the International Medico-Legal congress

in the Lunacy Department of New York and author of a number of works on lunacy—I have been present during the whole of this trial and I have heard the facts which have been proved or accepted in evidence in relation to the history of the prisoner's, family—in consequence of instructions received from the prisoner's solicitor I made a personal examination of him. [MR. MATHEWS submitted that the plea of insanity not having been set up, Dr. Forbes Window's opinion as to the state of the prisoner's mind was not evidence in the case, and that it was for the Jury to decide on the facts as to what a pawn would do under certain conditions. MR. ELLIOTT pleaded for the admission of the evidence, contending that it would be most undesirable to exclude any evidence which might throw some light on the action of a man at a particular period of his life, and that the Jury could accept or reject it as they thought fit. MR. JUSTICE RIDLEY said that it was inadmissible and ought not to be accepted, but as a matter of indulgence he would accept it.]—I examined the prisoner at Brixton Gaol in the presence of Doctor Scott, Doctor McCarthy, and Doctor Armstrong, on the 17th and 21st July—I had previously been furnished with copies of Doctor Maudsley's report, and Doctor Scott also informed me as to the prisoner's conduct while in prison; that he had been uneasy, boisterous' and filthy in his habits and nonsensical in behaviour—I was surprised on entering the prison to find the prisoner my quiet—I questioned him as to his former nonsensical or foolish behaviour, if I may use the expression that Doctor Scott used, and he replied the reason was that the newspaper, which had been paid for, had not been delivered to him—I then said to him, "You have been reading the newspaper lately, can you tell me anything that has been going on in the world?"—he hesitated for a moment and said "The war"—I said "Anything else?" and he said "the appointment of Dr. Osler as the greatest professor of the University of Oxford"—having examined him subjectively I then tried various tests which we use in cases of mental diseases—this was more especially at my second visit—I had a strong battery and I tried to get some sense in his foot; I put his foot on a metallic slab and passed a very strong current of electricity while he held one end of the battery with one hand; he could not feel it in his foot—I then tried knee jerks, which are most important diagnostic symptoms in cases of incipient brain diseases—Dr. Scott told me they were absent when he first came, but they were increased at my first visit and diminished at my second—there was one symptom that occurred to me as very curious, which we very often get in cases of mental degeneration; it is called the lunatic's ear which is a swelling behind both ears: it was most marked and most conspicuous in his case—it is a symptom which is quite impossible to find developed from any conduct of the accused him self—his handwriting is peculiar and strange—these are some of the specimens which were handed to me (Produced)—I can give no opinion as to the prisoner's condition on January 31st—when I examined him he appeared to me to be a man of very weak intellect, suffering from what I should term partial mental disease as opposed to total insanity—he knew absolutely the difference between right and wrong and he would be responsible for any act committed by him: he was a mental degenerate—heredity would certainly bear upon his condition—I regard him as a man of most irresolute will.

Cross-examined. I have heard him examined here to-day, and I should certainly not certify him as a person of unsound mind in his present condition—I have had the opinion to Dr. Maudsley before me, the effect of which is that the prisoner is sane and has been sane during the time that he has been under his care—I know that Dr. Scott has come to the same conclusion—you can have a person with incipient insanity without his being of unsound mind according to the legal term—I do not think he was shamming when I saw him—this writing of the prisoner's, written before he came under my notice, has nothing much wrong with it—these examples of the prisoner's handwriting which I have handed to the Jury were given to me by the solicitor amongst other papers—I have not written to any newspaper with reference to my visits to Brixton gaol; people have spoken to me, but I have not given any information to put in the papers of any sort, neither am I responsible for it—as a result of my visit of the 17th or 21st, I gave the information, "The prisoners mind appears to be a complete blank from the early days of May last"—the prisoner told me so, and that was certainly quite sufficient for me—I am not responsible for what the Press put in—five or six people called upon me one day and in the course of the conversation I gave that information. [The COURT intimated to the witness that he should be more cautions in the matter of giving information on such occasions.]

JOHN ARMSTRONG . I am in the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons of Edinburgh, and live at Selby House, Powman Terrace, Kensington—I was present twice at Brixton gaol with Dr. Winslow, Dr. Scott and Dr. McCarthy, to see the prisoner—I have heard the evidence given by Dr. Winslow and I agree with it in the main.

Cross-examined. I have nothing to do with anything that appears in the papers—I think whoever was the cause of that article getting into the paper did not do so with my consent—I am not a specialist in lunacy, but to nervous diseases I have devoted a good deal of attention—I have a surgical home, and attend a lot of epileptics—I do not call the prisoner a lunatic.

Re-examined. I noticed objective symptons in relation to the prisoner's ear—it is very marked, and if I had met it in any ordinary patient who came to me I would have his mental condition examined into very carefully—it is given by most of the authorities as one of the principal signs of general paralysis of the insane—I have read an article by Dr. Maudsley, where he attaches importance to the insane ear.

EUGENE TALBOT MCCARTHY , L.R.C.P., L.R.C.S. Ireland. I live at 124, Grower Street—I was present with Dr. Armstrong, Dr. Winslow and Dr. Scott when the examination was made of the prisoner—I was present on three occasions when examinations were made, I agree with Dr. Armstrong's and Dr. Winslow's evidence in the main, and I also agree with what has been mentioned about the insane ear in Dr. Maudsley's book.

Cross-examined. I have had a great deal of experience in lunacy—I have a little general practice, but not very much—I agree that the prisoner is not of unsound mind, but I say in addition to Dr. Winslow and Dr. Armstrong that he is not capable of exercising the same reasoning powers that another man would.

Re-examined. I am satisfied that he has the insane ear.

MARY FRANCES GREGORY . I married Sidney Gregory, the brother of the deceased woman, in June, 1903—I noticed in the last week in May, 1903, he was quite well or as well as he had been since his illness—he went out one afternoon and came back looking very white—I asked him what was the matter and he told me it was the heat—I noticed from that time that he got worse and I asked my brother to watch him with me, as I was afraid—he got very bad headaches after that and seemed very depressed—I remember one night finding him out of bed and I thought he was walking in his sleep first of all, because he looked so strange; by the time I got up he was at the razor drawer—I got him back to bed—I told my brother about it the next day and he came to live with me from July 11th to the 25th—on July 25th my husband went into the dispensary in the morning, as usual, and when he came upstairs after the doctor had gone he said, "My head is very bid indead"—I tried to persuade him to lie down, but he would not at first, but after a great deal of persuasion he did—I got some menthol and bathed his head to make it better—while he was lying down the telephone went and the doctor wanted some instruments—I said to him, "You are much too ill to go out; let me tell the doctor"—he said, "No, I must go; it will be a critical case"—I think as far as recollect he was gone about an hour; he came back and had dinner—he seemed to be very bad in his head and I said, "Why not lie down again?" and he did—about 2.30 he had some letters to post for the doctor—and I said, "Do not go out alone if your head is so bad; I will go," but he said, "The weather is too rough for you to go out, but it will not hurt me"—he went out and after that I did not see him again—he had an old suit on, that he used down in the dispensary, when he went out—he took no money whatever with him, because he wanted some change and asked me if I had any, and I said, "No, you had better take a sovereign out of the drawer"—when he did not return I found 19s. 7d. on the mantelpiece—we had been a very united couple and the longest time he had ever left me, unless on business matters, was only twenty-five minutes—I had not the faintest idea that he was going away.

Cross-examined. I received a letter from him on the Monday—his clothes were found on the Saturday evening—the letter was enclosed in a letter to the doctor, who did not like to send it on to me before—I cannot say what the post-mark on the envelope was.

Re-examined. The doctor received the enclosure on the Sunday and posted it so that I got it on the Monday—I have never since heard what happened to him—I believe myself honestly that he is dead.

By the COURT. My mother-in-law does not agree with me; she believes she will see him again, but she has never seen or heard of him.

EDGAR MANNING . I am the brother of Mary Frances Gregory—I visited the Devereux family twice at Croydon—while on my visit there sidney Gregory was ill with meningitis and I assisted in nursing him and helped to hold him down—my sister called me in in May, 1903, when she was living in Plymouth—Sidney Gregory seemed to be very peculiar at times; that was a month before he disappeared—I slept there every night in consequence of the communication I had from my sister, who was

afraid—Sidney was passionately fond of her and they were very happy together—I remember the day he disappeared vividly.

By the COURT. I know that meningitis is a brain disease.

EVELYN ADAMS . I am a fully-qualified medical practitioner, and live at 119, North End, West Croydon—I remember attending Sidney Gregory in September—this is a certificate I made, given some months afterwards (Produced)—whilst under my care for the first few days I thought he might be in for an attack of meningitis, but it cleared up—I think I only attended him fifteen days at the outside.

Re-examined. There was no evidence of insanity as far as I could see—the prisoner was employed by me for some eighteen months as a dispenser, and during the whole of that time I could see nothing strange or unusual in his manner.

ANNIE ELIZAFETH HARRIES . Since I have been in London I have been living at 10, Elgin Avenue, Notting Hill—in 1891, I think it was, the deceased called upon me at Oakley Crescent, Camden Town—she had a little baby with her a few months old, Stanley—she asked me for her father and I said he was not at home—I asked her to come in—she came in—it was not at all a good day, so I know it was winter time; I have not at all a good memory for dates—we talked about babies first; I had my youngest boy there—she said she was in very great trouble about her mother—she said bad it not been for her mother she would not have been able to get through this baby, and all the trouble she had had since its birth—what she really came for, I gathered, was to try and get some money from her father for her mother—she said her mother was in great trouble—she wan very much depressed, and I was depressed too because I was in trouble abort that time—she said that her father had recently gone through the Bankruptcy Court and a terrible disclosure had been made about him living with a servant and having three children, and it had nearly killed her mother—she left her visiting card on the table—I had it for a long time afterwards—it said "Mrs. Arthur Devereux, Professor of the Pianoforte"—she said that nothing would make her do the same as I had done or a certain person, saying, "I would rather commit suicide and take my child away; I would never leave my child to the mercy of the world—she meant that she would rather commit suicide than commit adultery or immorality—that impressed itself on my mind terribly, because I had to give my little children up; I had one little boy then—she was very nice and quite charming, but she was morbid and depressed, and in great trouble, I thought.

Cross-examined. This would be in the year 1899, because Stanley was quite a small child in arms—I have looked for the card everywhere; I thought it might be amongst some of my old luggage, but I have not been able to find it—we were talking of immorality in connection with her father and her servant—I was not actually living with her father then; I was living in the same house—I was a married woman at the time—I eventually left the roof and went and lived elsewhere with her father—she came to see her father, not me—she talked with me for about an hour—I did not think much about it until I heard of this case, and then it came back to me—since that time I have been three or four times confined in an

asylum—I do not remember the last time; it might have been in May of this year—I do not scarcely remember when I came out—I remember being found wandering at Talbot Street, Strand, and taken to the Endell Street infirmary—I remember only too well being taken at Nottingham and having been certified as insane, remaining there for something like nine months, October 11th, 1902, to June 20th, 1903—I was in an asylum in York, and very likely remained there until February 6th of this year—again in May of this year I was found wandering and was confined in an asylum.

Re-examined. I expect it would be after I had paid a visit to Mr. Pierron (the solicitor for the Defence) I was in this further trouble; any upset or fright will make me lose my memory entirely, but it comes back again—I wrote to Mr. Pierron, telling him what I knew, and I called on him at his office.


The COURT commended the police for their discretion in the conduct of the case.

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