<!-- © 2003-2008 Old Bailey Proceedings Online -->
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<interp inst="def1-230-18990306" type="age" value="44"/>
<interp inst="def1-230-18990306" type="surname" value="ROBERTSON"/>
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<hi rend="largeCaps">GEORGE ROBERTSON</hi> (44)</persName> was indicted
<rs id="t18990306-230-offence-1" type="offenceDescription">
<interp inst="t18990306-230-offence-1" type="offenceCategory" value="kill"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-230-offence-1" type="offenceSubcategory" value="murder"/> for, and charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the wilful murder of
<persName id="t18990306-name-116" type="victimName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-116" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-116" type="surname" value="KENEALY"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-116" type="given" value="MARY"/>
<join result="offenceVictim" targOrder="Y" targets="t18990306-230-offence-1 t18990306-name-116"/>Mary Kenealy</persName>.</rs> </p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS</hi>
<hi rend="italic">and</hi>
<hi rend="smallCaps">GUY STEPHENSON</hi>
<hi rend="italic">Prosecuted</hi>, and
<hi rend="smallCaps">MR. WARBURTON</hi>
<hi rend="italic">Defended at the request of the</hi>
<hi rend="smallCaps">COURT</hi>.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-117" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-117" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-117" type="surname" value="DAMERELL"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-117" type="given" value="JAMES"/>JAMES DAMERELL</persName> </hi> (440 E)
<hi rend="italic">produced and proved the plans of</hi> 9,
<hi rend="italic">Gold
<lb/>smith Street, Drury Lane.</hi> </p>
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<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-118" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-118" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-118" type="surname" value="KENEALY"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-118" type="given" value="MARY"/>MARY KENEALY</persName> </hi>. I am the wife of Maurice Kenealy, a painter, of 9, Goldsmith Street, Drury Lane—we live in the third floor front room—we had four children with us there—I had a little girl, Mary, aged four years and three months—on January 23rd Mrs. Caldon and her children were living on the second floor back—a staircase led down from our floor to Mrs. Caldon's, and then to the first floor—on January 23rd, about 1.20, I was at home looking out of the window, and I saw my little girl Mary playing with her. brother Patrick, who is 6 1/2 years old—I left the window and did not see her again that day—about an hour afterwards William Caldon came and spoke to me, and in consequence of what he said he and my little boy John ran downstairs—I followed them shortly and on the second floor landing I saw John with Mary in his arms; John is 14—I noticed dry blood on each side of her face and hair, and on her clothes—it looked as if it had been done a good while—I took her in my arms—I did not notice any sign of a wound upon her neck then—Mrs. Ashford came and took the child away from me and ran to the King's College Hospital with her—I think I heard the child moan twice, that was the only sign of life—I went to Mrs. Caldon's room on the second floor—I saw some spots of blood on the stairs leading to Mrs. Caldon's floor—I pushed the door open and saw the prisoner kneeling at the foot of the bed with a pail beside him, wiping up some smeared blood on the floor at the foot of the bed—he was the only person in the room at the time—there were some bits of carpet on the floor, but not where the 'blood was—I said, "What has my Mary done in here? she has been in here: has Mrs. Caldon fallen on her, or has she fell off of the chair?"—he said nothing, I said, "Tell me, so that I can tell the doctor when I go here"—he said, "She has not been here"—that was all that was said—I went up to my room and put on my shawl and went straight down to the street door—I was speaking to Mrs. Dngh when the prisoner came and stood at the side of the door staring at me—he came down the stairs—my attention was attracted to a big spot of blood on one of his boots—I said to him, "You villain! look at the blood on your boots, you must know something about it"—he said, "No, no" or "Nothing of the kind," something like that, then he walked a few steps up the street and then he ran—I did not notice what my son did—I went to the hospital where I learnt that my child was dead—this little tippet (
<hi rend="italic">Produced</hi>) is what the school teacher gave Mary—when I saw her playing about in the street at 1.30 she was wearing that—she had not got it on when I found her in my son's arms.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> There are three floors in the house, and a basement—a great many people live upon each floor——I have been there twelve months—there were four families on the third floor and four on the second floor—a lot of people would be coming in and out—anybody committing a crime would be almost certain to be discovered—I had never spoken to the prisoner before—I do not know what he did for a living—when he spoke he spoke very sensibly.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-119" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-119" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-119" type="surname" value="CALDON"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-119" type="given" value="WILLIAM"/>WILLIAM CALDON</persName> </hi>. I am sixteen—I live with my mother at 9, Goldsmith Street on the second floor back, on the right-hand side coming up the stairs—I have known the prisoner since three days after Christmas; I have seen him at home in my mother's room—he used to come four or</p>
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<p>five times a week to call me—I have got a finger off—he came to black my boots and help me dress—I am employed at a printer's at St. Martin's Lane—on January 23rd, about 8.30 a.m., I went to work—when I left the prisoner, my mother and my little sister were in the room—I returned about 2 30 for my dinner—going up the stairs I saw a child lying on the stairs in a pool of blood, between the window on the stairs and the landing—the child's head was on the landing—she was just at the bend of the stairs—she was on her back, with her head pointing downstairs—her clothes were over her head and her legs were a mass of blood—I saw Mr. Lawrence standing at the window—he is the Prudential man—he was making a note apparently—he did not appear to notice the child—I placed the child in a sitting position in the comer, as I did not recognise it at first—she just gave one moan—I ran upstairs and knocked at Mrs. Carey's door on the floor above ours next to Mrs. Kenealy's—I got no answer there—then I opened Mrs. Kenealy's door, and walked in; I saw Mrs. Kenealy and her son John—I spoke to them, and John came down with me to the child—Mrs. Kenealy came down shortly afterwards—John then recognised the child as his sister Mary—then I recognised her—I went with Mrs. Ashford to King's College Hospital with the child—I had not seen the prisoner at all since the morning—I did not see him until I identified him—when I returned about one hour afterwards I went into my mother's room where I saw two knives (
<hi rend="italic"> One produced</hi>) on the table—I did not notice anything particular upon this one—it seemed as if it had been wiped—it is a knife I very often saw my mother use for shelling walnuts—the floor seemed as if it had been just wiped up with something—I saw a pail and a cloth in it which seemed as if it had been used for wip
<lb/>ing up some blood—the water in the pail seemed to have been coloured red—these boots (
<hi rend="italic">Produced</hi>) were mine once—I left them under the bed in our room—I last saw them here on January 20th—the boots the prisoner had were very much worn, and I said to him, "There are a pair of boots there, which are a little too small for me, and if they fit you, you can have them"—they are a pair of brown boots blacked over—when I saw the child lying on the stairs, the door of my mother's room was shut.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> The prisoner used to do odd jobs for my mother—he used to get some food and a few halfpence for doing them—I do not know that he was the laughing-stock of the neighbourhood—I used to speak to him—I do not know that he has lost a finger—he was always kind and nice in his manner towards me.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-120" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-120" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-120" type="surname" value="KENEALY"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-120" type="given" value="JOHN"/>JOHN KENEALY</persName> </hi>. I am fourteen—I live with my father and mother at 9, Groldsmith Street, in the front room on the third floor—I know the prisoner—I have seen him in the yard and on the stairs and in Mrs. Caldon's room—I knew him as "Georgie"—I have only spoken to him once—on January 23rd I saw the prisoner in the morning—he was in the yard—he had two pails—I did not notice anything about him then—I last saw my little sister Mary about 1.20, she was playing with her brother Patsy in the street opposite the school—I saw her out of the window—Patsy came up about two o'clock and spoke to my mother—about 2 30 William Caldon came up and spoke to my mother—he and I went downstairs and found my sister lying on the stairs—I saw Mr. Lawrence, the insurance agent, there, leaning on the window
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<p>writing in his book—the child was below where he was, and he did not appear to notice her—my mother came down, and Mrs. Ashford came and took the child away from her—I noticed a big stain of blood on the stairs where the child's head had been lying, and stains going into Mrs. Caldon's room—mother went into the room, and I heard her say, "What have you done to my child, has Mrs. Caldon fallen on her, or has she fallen off the chair?"—I spoke to the prisoner on the stairs—I told him Mary had been in the room, and he said she had not—I noticed some blood on the prisoner's boots downstairs—my mother spoke to him, and said, "You villain, look at the blood on your boots!"—when she said that the prisoner turned round and walked up the street, and I ran after him; when he turned the corner he started running; I ran after him, but lost him in the crowd.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-121" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-121" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-121" type="surname" value="ASHFORD"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-121" type="given" value="ANNIE"/>ANNIE ASHFORD</persName> </hi>. I live in this house, and occupy a room on the first floor—I heard Mrs. Kenealy call out on January 23rd—T took the child to the hospital—I only noticed a slight bruise on its forehead when I took it from its mother—it was alive when I took it, but it died on the way in my arms.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-122" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-122" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-122" type="surname" value="CALDON"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-122" type="given" value="CATHERINE"/>CATHERINE CALDON</persName> </hi>. I live at 9, Goldsmith Street, with my son and daughter, in the second floor back room—I got to know the prisoner last summer at the Marble Arch; I sell flowers there on Sundays—he minded traps and cabs and did odd jobs—he first came to my room on Christmas morning—my boy had just come out of the hospital; he has got his finger off his right hand—I told the prisoner he might come about 7 a.m. and help my son on with his coat and polish his boots—he came three or four times a week—he would stay till I went to market, and I told him to lock the door and leave the key downstairs, which he did—I used to give him some food, and sometimes a little money—he said he was living in the Salvation Army Shelter, in Edgware Road—I remember him coming on Monday, January 23rd, at 7 a.m.—my son went out at 8 o'clock, my daughter went to school at 9 o'clock, and I left at 10 o'clock and went in-to Mrs. Sheedy's room next door, whose baby had been christened the day before; we had had a little drink the night before, and something that morning—when I left my room about 10 o'clock, the prisoner was stand
<lb/>ing by the fire, lighting his pipe—I said, "How long will you be here?"—he said, "I shall be going at dinner time"—I said, "Turn the key in the door"—I stayed in Mrs. Sheedy's room till 1 o'clock—no one was in my room except the prisoner—the floor was nice and olean, and all tidied up—this knife I used for shelling walnuts.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> I have always found the prisoner a quiet, well-behaved man—he always behaved well to my children—he did not speak much.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Re-examined.</hi> On the Sunday night the prisoner went out and sold me a few flowers—he and I were at Mrs. Sheedy's that evening—I had some drink—the prisoner had a little drop of lemonade with a little whisky in it.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-123" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-123" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-123" type="surname" value="DUGH"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-123" type="given" value="MARGARET"/>MARGARET DUGH</persName> </hi>. I am the wife of John Dugh, of 9, Goldsmith Street, on the third floor, next to Mrs. Kenealy—I know her children—I saw Patrick and Mary playing in the street on January 23rd—I saw both of them come in about 1.45—I did not see where they went—Mr. Lawrence called between 2.20 and 2.25, after which I heard an alarm.</p>
<xptr type="pageFacsimile" doc="189903060033"/>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-124" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-124" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-124" type="surname" value="CALDON"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-124" type="given" value="NELLIE"/>NELLIE CALDON</persName> </hi>. I am ten years old—I knew Mary Keneal—I live with my mother in Goldsmith Street—I remember the day Mary died—I went to school that day; I came back to dinner at 12.30, and went into my mother's room—" Georgie," the prisoner, was there—I got my dinner of boiled rice, and had got the spoon up to my mouth, when the prisoner said, "Kiss me before you begin to eat it"—I was standing up at the table—the prisoner was by the mantelpiece—I rushed out of the room, and he followed me to the door—he had never said that to me before—I did not have any dinner that day.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-125" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-125" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-125" type="surname" value="KENEALY"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-125" type="given" value="MAURICE"/>MAURICE KENEALY</persName> </hi>. I am the father of the little girl who died—I picked up this tippet about 3.30 p.m. after I returned from Bow Street—it was lying about 6 in, under the bed—there were some spots of blood on it—this knife belonged to me once—I cut my initials on it.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> This is a sort of shoemaker's knife—I used to repair my children's boots with it—I last saw it about eighteen months ago.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-126" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-126" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-126" type="surname" value="SHEEDY"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-126" type="given" value="CATHERINE"/>CATHERINE SHEEDY</persName> </hi>. I live on the second floor at 9, Goldsmith Street, in the front room—Mrs. Caldon came into my room about 2 o'clock on January 23rd—she had been in before, about 10—my baby was christened on the day before—Mrs. Caldon had had a little drop—she had her senses—I did not hear anything that happened.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-127" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-127" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-127" type="surname" value="CHARGE"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-127" type="given" value="WILLIAM"/>WILLIAM CHARGE</persName> </hi>. I was a shoe black at one time—I have known the prisoner as a loafer for about three months—I called him "Little Tich" and lately "Georgie"—I saw him on January 23rd about 3.30 at the Marble Arch—I was talking to a man named Greenhalgh—I saw the prisoner coming from the direction of Oxford Street—I said, "Here comes our 'Little Tich'"—the prisoner said, "I must clear out of this; I have got a job at Bristol"—he then took Greenhalgh aside—I did not hear what he said—his boots looked as if they had been recently washed—I noticed that he was very white and trembling, as though he was drunk—he left and went towards the Bayswater Road—he kept turning round as if somebody was following him.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> It did not occur to me that he might have had a fit—I had often spoken to him before—he was not thought rather soft—he was not laughed at—I did not make fun of him—I did not hear other people doing so—as far as I know he was a quiet, well-conducted man.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-128" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-128" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-128" type="surname" value="GREENHALGH"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-128" type="given" value="ROBINSON"/>ROBINSON GREENHALGH</persName> </hi>. I am an engine fitter—I was with the last witness at the Marble Arch on January 23rd—about 3.30 the prisoner came up—the shoeblack spoke to him—he said, "Hulloa, Little Tich, what is the matter with you?"—he came up to me, and I said, "You look as if you have been having some beer"—he said, "I have had a drop"—he drew me about six yards away from the shoeblack, and said, "I have got my
<lb/>self into trouble; I have been fighting; with a big man, and I took up the poker and laid open his skull, and I believe I have killed him"—pointing to the wrist of his left coat sleeve, he sail, "Look here, blood," and like
<lb/>wise about opposite the second buttonhole on the coat—there was blood on his left wrist and on the inside of the knee of the left leg—his boots looked as if they had been wiped with a damp cloth—he said, "I must be off, I am going to Bristol"—he went down the Bayswater Road, and I never Saw him any more until I saw him at Bow Street—when I saw</p>
<xptr type="pageFacsimile" doc="189903060034"/>
<p>him he had three or four days' growth of hair on his face, and he always wore a moustache.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> He did not alter his moustache at all—I should not have noticed the blood on him unless he had called my attention to it—he did not seem ashamed of it.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-129" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-129" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-129" type="surname" value="GRAY"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-129" type="given" value="GEORGE"/>GEORGE GRAY</persName> </hi> (
<hi rend="italic">Detective K</hi>), On January 25th, about 8.15 p.m., I went to Leader's lodging-house in Crawford Street, Canning Town, where I saw a number of men, amongst them the prisoner—I called him outside and told him I was a police-officer—I asked fur his name, and he said, "George Robertson"—I asked him if he was known by the name of "Georgie" and "Little Tich," and he said, "No, I have never heard of them"—I asked him if he knew Goldsmith Street, Drury Lane, and he said, "No"—I asked him if ho knew Mary Kenealy, of 9, Goldsmith Street, and he said, "No"—I asked him where he slept on Monday night—he said, "At a lodging-house at the back of Leman Street Police-statioin"—I asked him when he arrived in Crawford Street, and he said between 3 and 4—I said I was not satisfied with his explanation, and should take him into custody on suspicion of the murder of Mary Kenealy on the 23rd—he said, "That is unfortunate for me"—I took him to the station and found on him 1s. and some bronze—he was cleanshaved then, except his moustache, which looked as if it had been recently trimmed.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-130" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-130" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-130" type="surname" value="LEACH"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-130" type="given" value="ALFRED"/>ALFRED LEACH</persName> </hi> (
<hi rend="italic">Detective Inspector E</hi>) On the 23rd I received infor
<lb/>mation of this murder, and on the 26th I found the prisoner at Bow Street—he was identified—he said he was a labourer and 46 years old—he said he had no fixed abode—he gave his name as George Robertson—I said I was a police officer and should charge him with the murder of Mary Kenealy with this knife, which I showed him—he made no reply—his clothes were handed to the doctor.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-131" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-131" type="gender" value="indeterminate"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-131" type="surname" value="LEVICK"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-131" type="given" value="PERCYT"/>PERCYT LEVICK</persName> </hi>. I was house surgeon at King's College Hospital on January 23rd—the little girl was brought there about 3.15—she was already dead when I saw her—death had taken place within a few minutes—there was blood on her face, hair, and clothing—next day I made a
<hi rend="italic">post-mortem</hi> examination—on the face there were three bruises—on the left side of the neck there was a cut two inches deep at its deepest part and running almost through the neck, severing the vertebral artery—this knife could inflict such a wound—that wound and the loss of blood was the cause of the child's death—there was also a bruise on the top of the scalp—I also found immediately inside the orifice of the anus a small slit about half an inch in length—higher up the rectum, about half an inch in, in the same line there was a scratch, which went through the mucous membrane—it was quite distinct from the first slit—I came to the conclusion that the anus
<lb/>must have been dilated to inflict those wounds—I think a man's finger-nail, described as strong, rounded, and pointed, could inflict those wounds, but I do not think it probable—I think it more probable they were in
<lb/>flicted by the knife (
<hi rend="italic">Produced</hi>)—I think this anus wasdilated by the finger and then the knife used for the purpose of creating the wounds—that would involve the introduction of the knife and the finger—I cannot imagine how it could have been done otherwise—there was no wound on the outside of the rectum—I think a man could have put his finger up</p>
<xptr type="pageFacsimile" doc="189903060035"/>
<p>and dilated the anus, and then put the knife up—there was a third wound in the rectum, which lay to the left, and which was more of the nature of a stab—it was much deeper—it was close to the orifice—it was about half an inch long and the bottom part was about half an inch from the orifice of the anus—a knife would have to be put up the anus to cut the third wound—I have not seen the nail in question, so I cannot give an opinion as to whether the wounds were caused by it or not.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-132" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-132" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-132" type="surname" value="HAMERTON"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-132" type="given" value="GEORGE ALBERT"/>GEORGE ALBERT HAMERTON</persName> </hi>, F.R.C.S. I am divisional surgeon of police—I went to Mrs. Caldon's room in Goldsmith Street—on the small landing midway between the first and second floors I saw stains of blood—there was a good deal of dirt over it—I followed the marks up to the second floor—I went into the room, and under the bed, near the foot, the floor had been recently washed, but there were stains still there—I took away portions of wood and afterwards examined them and found they were bloodstains—the tippet was on the bed—it had dry blood stains upon it—on the table I saw two knives—on the one produced I saw a smear as if it had been wiped, but not perfectly clean—on examination I found it had blood on it—there was a pail with a good deal of red fluid in it, which turned out to be blood mixed with water—there was also a piece of rag in the pail—I was present at the
<hi rend="italic">post mortem</hi>—in substance I agree with the evidence which has been given by Dr. Levick—I agree with him as to the cause of death—I think the wounds in the rectum were caused by the nail, but I have not seen it.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-133" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-133" type="gender" value="indeterminate"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-133" type="surname" value="MAUDSLEY"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-133" type="given" value="HY"/>HY. MAUDSLEY</persName> </hi>, M.D., F.R.C.P.—I have great experience in all ques
<lb/>tions affecting diseases of the mind—on February 28th I visited the prisoner at Holloway Gaol, and, in conjunction with Dr. Scott, I made a medical examination of him—I talked with him for upwards of an hour—he talked with me very freely and quietly—he gave me what purported to be some of the incidents of his life—he siad that in 1883 he went to the United States with a slater, for whom he worked in New Brooklyn; he was getting wages of five or six dollars a day; he returned lo England in 1888: he stayed in London till 1889, and then went to hit sister in Liverpool, and was sent by her back to the United States, working his own passage out as assistant in the cook's galley: he went back to his former employer in Brooklyn: he returned to England in 1894, working his own passage back in a cattle ship, assisting to look after the cattle; he led a vagrant life in this country after 1894, getting odd jobs attending to cabs, selling matches, and doing any little work he could get, but no regular employment—he said that for weeks together he was unable to pay for a bed, and sometimes he even went without food: he said he went first to Mrs. Caldon's room on Christmas Eve, 1898; that he had been selling flowers for her on that day, and bad sold 14s. worth; that considerable drinking took place that evening at Mrs. Caldon's; after that he went there four or five times a week to assist her son, and polish his boots, and stayed there generally till one or two o'clock; there had been a christening at Mrs. Sheedy's on January 22nd, and there had been some drinking; that he slept that night at the Salvation Army shelter in the Edgware Road, and that on January 23rd he returned to Mrs. Caldon's to assist as usual, and was in Mrs. Sheedy's room till 11.30 in consequence of the</p>
<xptr type="pageFacsimile" doc="189903060036"/>
<p>christening; he said he had some whisky and beer; that he returned to Mrs. Caldon's room about 11.30 a.m., and remained some time; then he laid down to sleep, and was awoke by Mrs. kenealy coming to the door soon after two to inquire about her child—he denied Nellie Caldon ever being in that room, or anybody else; he denied that the deceased girl had ever been in the room, and that there was ever any blood on his clothes, that he ran away, or attempted to run away, or ever spoke to the shoeblack or to Greenhalgh—he could give no explanation of the blood being found on the floor by Mrs. Caldon—I formed an opinion as to his mental condition—I think he is capable of appreciating the difference be
<lb/>tween right and wrong—I could not certify him as legally insane, although I think him a person of low mental organisation, very defective in a moral sense, and with the cunning of that kind of intellect—in giving that opinion as to his moral sense I am influenced by the deposition of his mother as to what happened to him in his younger days—I am sure he knows when he is doing wrong, but I do not know about his feeling it—he knows that doing wrong would bring him into danger of punishment—I examined the index finger of his right hand, the nail is very strong, rather long, and cut round almost to a point—I think the wounds in the rectum were done by the nail—I think if the knife had been used the injuries would have been greater.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> T know of masked epilepsy—it may develop suddenly and might disappear suddenly, but it would probably be recurrent—under those fits a man might commit some fearful act and know nothing of it afterwards—whatever he did would probably be done suddenly and with great violence—the prisoner must have been a troublesome boy—I know his mother says he pit his fingers into a machine and had them crushed and seemed not to mind, but he denies that—he said it was an accident—he was not taken to an asylum—he was taken to St. Mary's Hospital and the doctor said he was not insane enough to be sent to an asylum—the miserable life he has been leading would tend towards the greater pro
<lb/>bability of bringing on an attack of the mind, but I do not see the least evidence of it—I do not think he had a fit on this day, I cannot say for certain; I see no traces of it—lunatics often show great cunning.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Re-examined.</hi> Epilepsy might show itself in great violence—there might be no indications—I find no evidence of epilepsy in this case—he remembered the visit to St. Mary's Hospital.</p>
<hi rend="italic">By the</hi>
<hi rend="smallCaps">COURT</hi>. I do not think a person who had just had an epileptic fit, would be wiping up stains from the floor, or would run up the street—if a person has had an epileptic fit he would probably be in a confused state for some time—he would not be composed.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-134" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-134" type="gender" value="female"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-134" type="surname" value="SMYE"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-134" type="given" value="MARY ANN"/>MARY ANN SMYE</persName> </hi>. I am the wife of John Smye, and live at St. Ann's Road, Notting Hill—the prisoner is my son.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Cross-examined.</hi> He went to school very young and made very little progress—during his childhood I was very anxious about him—once he filled his sister's mouth and nose full of dead flies till she was very nearly suffocated—I took him to St. Mary's Hospital, when he was about four
<lb/>teen, to be examined as to the state of his mind—I did not think he was right—the doctor told me he was not bad enough to be put away—on one occasion he put his fingers into a machine, and they were crushed, but he</p>
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<p>did not seem to have any feeling—before he left school he ran away ten times from home, and we used to be about the streets night and day looking for him—when we found him he was almost a skeleton for want of food—if he had come home he would have had food and lodging—he would stay out for weeks together—we once found him, when he was about twelve, on the top of Notting Hill Gate railway station—he ia forty-four now—we did not see much of him after he grew up—he went to my sister's at Birmingham, and then to America—he had fits when a baby, but not when he was six or seven—he had fits till he was four—he had a bad fall when he was with his grandmother and cut his head open—he was about six then—also I believe, at Birmingham, he fell from the roof of a house—he was twenty-two then—after he left us he used to come to dinner on Sundays for about four years, but since then I have not seen him—his sisters have seen him at the Marble Arch—my husband is alive still—if he had come to us he would have got help, he would not have had to sleep in the Park—all my children are doing well—he knew our address when we were at Norland Road, North, but if he did not know the present one, he could have got it—he could always find his father, because his father has been so many years at his employment.</p>
<hi rend="italic">Re-examined.</hi> He has been supporting himself since he left us—he struck his father who told him he must support himself.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-135" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-135" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-135" type="surname" value="SCOTT"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-135" type="given" value="JAMES"/>JAMES SCOTT</persName> </hi>. I am medical officer at Holloway Prison—since the pri
<lb/>soner has been there, I have had him under my observation—I was present when he was seen by Dr. Maudsley, and I agree with the evidence which has been given by him—I consider the prisoner of a low type of intellect, but I see nothing to lead me to believe that he was insane on January 23rd—I saw no evidence to make me think he could not distinguish be
<lb/>tween right and wrong—I think, if the evidence is true, that he was re
<lb/>sponsible for his actions—I think the injury to the child's rectum was indicted by the nail, and not by the knife.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<persName id="t18990306-name-136" type="witnessName">
<interp inst="t18990306-name-136" type="gender" value="male"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-136" type="surname" value="HAMERTON"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-name-136" type="given" value="GEORGE ALBERT"/>GEORGE ALBERT HAMERTON</persName> </hi> (
<hi rend="italic">Re-examined</hi>). In a person predisposed to insanity, a heavy bout of drinking would be an exciting cause—people of weak intellect are very often of miniture stature—dwarfs who are per
<lb/>fectly developed are often of weak intellect—I think a man like the pri
<lb/>soner is more subject to violent excitement than a man of ordinary stature—there is a greater percentage of insanity among people of this build than among people of ordinary proportions.</p>
<hi rend="italic">By the</hi>
<hi rend="smallCaps">COURT</hi>. I have not examined the prisoner as to his mental condition.</p>
<hi rend="smallCaps">
<rs id="t18990306-230-verdict-1" type="verdictDescription">
<interp inst="t18990306-230-verdict-1" type="verdictCategory" value="guilty"/>
<interp inst="t18990306-230-verdict-1" type="verdictSubcategory" value=""/>GUILTY</rs> </hi>.—
<hi rend="largeCaps">
<rs id="t18990306-230-punishment-18" type="punishmentDescription">
<interp inst="t18990306-230-punishment-18" type="punishmentCategory" value="death"/>
<join result="defendantPunishment" targOrder="Y" targets="def1-230-18990306 t18990306-230-punishment-18"/>DEATH</rs> </hi>.</p> </div1></div0>

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