12th May 1845
Reference Numbert18450512-1051
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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1051. JOSEPH CONNOR was indicted for the wilful murder of Mary Brothers.

MESSRS. BODKIN, CHAMBERS, and HUDDLESTON conducted the Prosecution.

MARY PALMER . In March last I lived at No. 11, George-street, St. Giles's, as charwoman. On Monday night, the 31st of March, I recollect a man and woman coming there about a quarter to eleven o'clock, to the best of my opinion—I never saw the man before—the woman went by the name of Mrs. Tape—she asked for a threepenny room, and the man gave me the 3d. out of his hand—he was dressed in a cap and a velveteen jacket—I did not show them to a room—I gave the light to the woman—she found her own way, and the man went with her into the back parlour—after they had gone I stopped a bit in the front parlour—I then came out and sat down on the stairs for a few minutes—after they had been in the back parlour a short time, it might be a little better than five minutes, I heard the cries of murder—it was the cry of a woman—she repeated it three times after the first cry, "Murder! murder!" Justin one breath—I got up and knocked at the door of the back parlour—I knocked twice without receiving an answer—I then put my back to the door and forced it open—I then saw the woman sitting on the bedstead, and the man standing over her with his hand up over her neck—his hand was not stirring at all—I thought he was beating the woman—I said, "For God's sake do not beat the woman"—he turned round and faced me—there was a glimmering light in the room—there was not much candle—a little bit—he did not say a word—he came from the bed and came out at the door—I was close against the door—I caught him by the outside pocket of the coat as he was coming out at the door to run away—he forced his coat out of my hand, caught me round, and threw me up by the fire-place—in doing so he took hold of the front part of my shawl, and left marks of blood upon it—he succeeded in getting out—the woman got up off of the bedstead and walked to the fire-place, just as I was getting up—she had her hands up to her face so that I could not see any blood—she never spoke—she gave a bit of a stagger, and down she fell against the fire-place—I called out to the landlady of the house, "Mrs. Hall, stop that man"—he was out of the passage before I had time to get out of the room—I saw him in the passage at the street-door—Mrs. Hall had hold of him—he forced himself away from her, opened the door, and went away—I returned to the back parlour immediately along with Mrs. Hall—she brought a candle—I found the woman lying, making a great noise, but she could not speak—there was a knife sticking in the side of her neck—I then went for an officer, and found Allen down by the station, standing at the corner—he came immediately, and he pulled the knife out—I afterwards

saw the prisoner the morning after he was taken up on the Thursday—I cannot tell the day—it was three or four days afterwards, he was in the police office—he was then dressed in a cap and a short round jacket.

Q. Do you know who the man was who you saw with the woman that night? A. I did not take particular notice of him—I cannot swear the prisoner is the man—he very much resembles him.

Cross-examined by MR. BALLANTINE. Q. Was it not a quarter after eleven that the person came? A. No—I am certain it was a quarter to eleven, and have always been so—it was not eleven o'clock when Allen came, it was about eleven—the clock struck afterwards—I was examined at Bow-street, and before the Coroner—I am sure it was a quarter to eleven when the man came into the house, and not a quarter past—nobody has been talking to me about the time, since the prisoner's committal—I have given no statement to any one since—last Thursday or Friday I went down as far us Charing-cross to see a gentleman to give my evidence—I told him it was a quarter to eleven, if he asked me the hour, but I do not know whether he did or not—he asked me some questions, and I answered them accordingly—I believe he said, "What hour was it?" and I think I said, "A quarter to eleven"—I will swear it was a quarter to eleven—Allen was the first person that came in—I told him the man had on a velveteen jacket and a cap—I gave no further description—Allen said he saw a man run past him, but did not know he had committed the murder—Allen did not say who the man was—the first time I saw the prisoner after this occurrence was at Bow-street—I was taken there for the purpose of seeing him by an officer, I believe Pocock, but I cannot properly tell—it was not by Allen—Allen was there—I saw the prisoner there in the dock—I had never heard anything about Connor before that—no one had told me that he had uttered threats about the deceased—I never heard anybody speaking about him—I do not live in the place—I live not far from it—I did not hear the name of Connor before I saw the father up at the Coroner's—they said his name was Connor—I had not heard that Connor had been threatening Mrs. Tape—I had not known her long—I had seen her about—she was a tallish woman, and very good looking—her sister said she was forty-five years of age—she appeared to be about that age—there was not a spot of blood on the bed—there was some about the walls, where it splashed over, and down on the floor where she had held her head over—it was a little sprinkle like about the walls.

MARY HALL . I am the wife of John Hall, and live at No. 11, George-street, St. Giles's. On Monday night, the 31st of March, I was in my parlour, and heard Mrs. Palmer cry out—I think it was as near as possible a minute or two to eleven o'clock—it was nearly eleven—in consequence of hearing her cry out I went into the passage—I met a man there running as fast as he could—he pushed me on one side—he tried to knock me down—he was running towards the door, and coming from the room into which I afterwards went—I said, "Oh my God! what have you been doing to that poor woman?"—he made no answer, but ran out at the front door as quick as he could—there was no light for me to see him at that door—there was a light lower down—I could not see what dress he had on—I caught hold of the bottom part of his velveteen jacket—I could feel that it was velveteen—I could not see whether he had anything on his head—I directly went into the room, and there saw Mrs. Tape down on the floor—I do not know who the man was—I never saw him before—Mrs. Palmer

went for a policeman, who came as quick as possible, almost immediately—it is not far—no man or any one else left the house while Mrs. Palmer was away—there was no other man in the house I think.

Cross-examined. Q. Do you know whether there was any other man in the house? A. I do not believe there was one.

JOHN JAMES ALLEN (police-constable E 159.) I was on duty on Monday night, the 31st of March, at a little before eleven o'clock, standing at the corner of Clark's-mews and George-street—I know No. 11 very well—I was on the same side of the street as No. 11, and fifty-two feet from it—I have measured it—a little before eleven o'clock I observed a man come from No. 11 towards me—before he came up to me he crossed over the way, when he was from nineteen to twenty feet from me, and passed on on the other side of the street—he had on a dark coat, I believe a velveteen coat, and a cap—I believe there was a peak to the cap—I would not swear positively whether there was a peak or not—about five or six minutes after that man crossed over I was fetched to No. 11—I had remained all that time at the corner of the street—I did not observe any one else come out of No. 11 before Mrs. Palmer came to me—no one could well do so without my observation, because the door went on a creak, and I heard the door close when the man ran out—I heard the noise, and also when Mrs. Palmer came out—I heard no such noise in the interval—on hearing what Mrs. Palmer said I went directly to No. 11 with another constable—I found the deceased in the back room lying on her side, with a knife sticking in her neck behind the ear, with the handle upwards—she made a sort of smile, and moved her eyelids—there was some motion of her muscles as I drew out the knife—I produce the knife—she did not speak—I cannot say whether she died immediately, for directly I drew out the knife I ran for a surgeon—I was gone a very short time—when I returned she was dead—I have preserved the knife ever since—I afterwards saw Mr. Brothers at the inquest—he saw the body of the woman that I found in the back parlour—I have no doubt who the man that passed me was, but I would not swear positively—I have no doubt the prisoner is the man, but I would not swear it positively—I have a strong belief that he is the man—I knew him before, I should say for about three or four years—I am in the habit of seeing him frequently as I cross Seven-dials, and the neighbourhood—I did not know where he lived—I never spoke to him that I am aware of.

COURT. Q. Did you know what business he was? A. No—I always took him to be a porter, something of that sort—I have seen him in company on Seven-dials, resorting with thieves.

MR. BODKIN. Q. How long have you been on that beat lately? A. On and off, five years—Seven-dials is sot on that beat—I was never on the Seven-dials beat, except going that way—I knew him by sight, casually seeing him in the street in that direction.

Cross-examined. Q. The man you saw coming out of the house came out very hastily? A. Yes—he passed close to me—the street is about twenty-six feet wide—he was running very fast—I know of several persons being apprehended for this murder—I did not apprehend any myself—I gave a description of the person to Mr. Maude, the inspector on duty—I was the first person that reported the matter—a person of about forty or fifty years of age was taken up—I saw that person in custody on the charge—I said he was not the man.

COURT. Q. Before you described him to Maude, had you had any conversation with Mrs. Palmer? A. I went immediately to the house—I asked her to describe the man to me—she said he had on a velveteen coat—I described him to Mr. Maude that night, immediately I took the knife—I know Bridget Ronan and Elizabeth Hill by sight—I had no conversation with either of them before I gave the description to inspector Maude.

ELLEN NAPIER . Napier is my real name—I always went by the name of Scott—I knew Mrs. Tape—I recollect the night she was murdered—about a month before that I saw the prisoner—it was about seven weeks altogether that I first saw him—he was a stranger to me—the first time he asked me if I had seen a stout woman about forty—he did not mention her name—he said, "Have you seen that woman? she has given me the clap"—I said "I do not know you, you are a stranger to me, can't you mention the name of the person you wish to see?"—he said, no, he did not know the name—about a week, or it might be nine or ten days after, he came up to me, and asked if I had seen that woman—I said, "No, I don't know who you are alluding to"—this was just by the chapel in Charlotte-street, Bloomsbury, where we used to walk of a night—I saw him, perhaps it might be about another week afterwards, and he asked the same question again—I asked the name, and said, "There are three or four about our size that walk here," and I mentioned my own and all their names—I said, "Perhaps it is Mrs. Tape you mean?"—(she used to walk there in general with me)—he said, "Well, it must be her"—for I mentioned them all, and he did not know them, nor their names—I met him again in the course of perhaps another nine days afterwards—he said that he had got the clap, and he should never get rid of it (he had told me the first time that he was ill with it, and should never get rid of it)—he said if he could see her he would give her a stinker—on these occasions he was dresfttd in a velveteen coat and a hat—that was the fourth time I saw him dressed in that way—on the night of the murder I saw him by the chapel in Chariotte-street, Bloomsbury, about a few minutes before nine o'clock—he then had on a hat and a short jacket, it was not velveteen—I was walking up and down by myself—that was the usual hour when we were walking up and down—I said to him,"Now, if you wish to see Mrs. Tape, as you have asked me so many times, in a few minutes you will see her"—Mrs. Tape and Caroline Graham came up together—the prisoner said to Mrs. Tape, "Well there you are now; that is the person I wished to see"—he said directly, "You have given me the clap"—she said directly, "I do not know you"—he said, "But you ought to know me, you do know me, for I have bad you twice"—she said, "I don't know you at all, I never saw you in my life"—he said, "You ought to know me," and taking hold of his jacket, he said, "If I had on my velveteen coat you would know me better"—a policeman then came up and we were obliged to walk on—I left the prisoner and Mrs. Tape talking together by the chapel—she came on directly, she walked away from him, and came towards me—I saw him again and spoke to him a second time—I saw him speak to Bridget Ronan—he then came and spoke to me again—he said he would not do any thing to her, he would not hurt her—I crossed over the way, and left him talking with Biddy Ronan—I went somewhere, returned in about ten minutes, and found Mrs. Tape there again—Mrs. Tape, and I, and Carry, went and had something to drink—about-half past ten o'clock we were walking separate up and down, and I saw a man speak to Mrs. Tape just by the

chapel, at the corner of the New road, and soon after that I saw her and the man go into No. 11, George-street—I did not see that man's face, his back was turned to me—he was dressed in a velveteen coat and a cap—he was much about the same size as the prisoner.

Cross-examined. Q. Were you examined before the Magistrate? A. No—I was at the Coroner's, but was never asked any questions—I gave my statement before last Session—I did not know where the prisoner worked, where he lived, or his name—I told Mrs. Tape a strange man had been asking for her—I heard of the murder about a quarter after eleven o'clock—I did not go before the Coroner from curiosity—I went because I had heard of her being murdered—I had heard Connor's name mentioned—I mentioned about his asking for Mrs. Tape—I had no conversation with the policeman before I went to the inquest—I mentioned the conversation I had with Connor before I went before the Coroner—I did not mention it pretty generally—I did not know Connor's name at that time—I first heard his name when he was taken to Bow-street—(I saw him in Newgate)—I had not before that told any policeman what I have stated to-day—a policeman came for me to go to Bow-street—he must have known that I knew something about it—I had not told him nor any other policeman—I had mentioned that a young man had this conversation with me four or five times, before I went to Bow-street—I had mentioned it to the superintendent.

MR. CHAMBERS. Q. When you were taken to Newgate did you see Connor alone, or was he with other persons? A. With several other persons—he was walking up and down the yard—I picked him out, and knew him directly—after the murder, I and the other girls talked about having seen the young man—the superintendent asked me some questions about it, and I then went to Newgate.

CAROLINE GRAHAM . On the night of the murder I was in Charlotte-street, Bloomsbury, with Scott and Mrs. Tape—I saw Connor—the first time I saw him, he came up to the deceased, and said, "I have been looking for you for this last seven weeks; don't you recollect me—she said, "No, I do not"—he said, "Oh yes, you do; for the last time that I had you was seven weeks ago, and you gave me the clap"—she denied all knowledge of him—he said, "Oh yes, you do know me, but I was not dressed the same as I am now; I had on a velveteen coat and a cap"—he had on a jacket and a hat at this time—she denied all knowledge of him, and I said he must be mistaken in the person, for I knew she was clean—I saw a policeman coming up some time after, and I walked away with Scott, leaving Connor in company with the deceased—that was at nine o'clock—the last time I saw the deceased that night was about half-past ten—I saw her joined by a man, and go away to No. 11—I cannot swear that was the prisoner—by his appearance that distance off—he was about the height of the prisoner—he was dressed in a shooting-coat and a cap.

Cross-examined. Q. You were not either before the Magistrate or the Coroner, I believe? A. No, I was here last Session.

BRIDGET RONAN . I am sometimes called Biddy, I get my living by walking the streets in the neighbourhood of St. Giles's; I know the prisoner. On the Saturday before the murder I saw him at seven o'clock in the evening, in George-street—he had before that told me he was labouring under the had disorder, and that the old b----Mother Tape gave it to him—he did not say much to me that Saturday—I did not stop many

minutes talking to him—he told me he had got a little better—that was all that passed—I saw him again on the Monday night, about half-past line o'clock, in Bloomsbury-street, near the chapel—he was by himself—he crossed to me—I did not see whether he left any one—I asked him low he was—he said, "Much the same"—he asked me how I was—I said, "I am very well"—he said, "I have just been blowing the old b----up, and she denies all; if I come up to her in these clothes, the will know me; I will go home and change my clothes, and then she won't know me"—he had on then a fustian jacket and a hat—I am sure he said she would not know him—he said, "I shall put on my black coat and my cap"—he then left me—I saw him again about ten minutes after, as near as I can judge, when he came back to me—he then had on his black I velveteen coat, and a cap with a peak—became and looked straight in my 'face, and said, "Do you think she would know me now?"—I said, "Yes why should not the woman know you?"—that was all that passed—he said he had something at home to pepper her—that was before he went to change his clothes—he has frequently said, when I used to meet him, that he would pay her out, serve her out—he did not say it that night—after this second conversation, I went in another direction—I was gone about three quarters of an hour—when I returned, I found a mob of people about No. 11, and heard that a murder had been committed.

Cross-examined. Q. I believe when he put his face close to you, and said, "Do you think she will know me?" you told him she certainly, would? A. I said, "She certainly would, why should not the woman know you?"—when I heard this murder had been committed I at once told the conversation I had had with the prisoner—I did not know his name at that time, or where he lived or worked—I believe the person I first told of this was the person at No. 10, George-street, where I ran in, and they told the policeman—I did not tell the policeman—I ran directly and told somebody at No. 10 that very instant—I described the person of Connor as well as I possibly could, but I did not know his name—I had known him about a twelvemonth.

ELIZABETH HILL . On the night Mrs. Tape was murdered I saw the prisoner, a little after nine o'clock, by the chapel, in Charlotte-street—he passed by me, but did not speak—I saw him go up and speak to Mrs. Tape—Graham, Scotland she, were together—I do not know what he said, but I heard Mrs. Tape say, "I did not"—he had a hat on at that time—about a quarter of an hour after I saw him at the corner of Pine-street—he patted me on the shoulder, and said, "How are you, old girl?"—I said, "Very well, thank you; how are you?"—he said this Mrs. Tape, the old woman, had given him the clap—I said I was very thirsty, would he give me half a pint of beer—he said, "Yes, two, if you like"—he said, "I had a hat on when I saw you before, but I have been home and put my cap on"—he afterwards asked me to go and examine him, and. offered me a fourpenny-piece for it—he was standing at the corner of the street, and he said, "I know you have a room of your own; if you will, take me home, and see what is the matter with me?"—he had only a four-penny bit, which he gave me—I had an opportunity of seeing how he was dressed when he went to my room—he had a cap and a velveteen coat on—my room is a very little way from No. 11, George-street.

Cross-examined. Q. I believe, as far as the result of your examiuation went, you had no reason to suppose he had. any disease upon him? A.

No, and that I told him—he had nothing the matter with him, to my knowledge—I informed him so—it was after ten o'clock when I examined him—I know Mr. Oldham's, the cutler's shop—the place where I examined him is not near to Oldham's, but nearer to where the murder was done—Oldham's is about five minutes' walk from it—he did not take off his coat while he was there.

MR. CHAMBERS. Q. When you had examined him did you tell him what you thought about it? A. I said I could not see anything—he said he had been under the doctor, but he was getting better.

HENRY OLDHAM . I am a cutler, residing in High-street, St. Giles. My shop is about 300 yards from No. 11, George-street, or hardly so much, in one direction—I know Endle-street—that is about the same distance from my shop—on the night of the 31st of March I waa in my shop, and sold the knife produced—I know the person to whom I sold it—it was the prisoner—he came into my shop about ten minutes to ten o'clock, as near as I can judge—when he came into the shop he said, "What is the cheapest small carving-knife you have?"—I said, "I will show you some directly, I believe I have some secondhand ones"—after I had finished what I was about, which was in the space of half a minute, I went round to the other side of the counter, and took three carving-knives out of a drawer—I was on one side of the counter, and he on the other—there was a very good light in the shop, three gas burners—he spoke to me across the counter—the counter runs in two directions—I went round to another part, still keeping inside the counter—he accompanied me round on the outside, and stood opposite me there the same as before—I took the three carving-knives out of the drawer, and placed them on the counter before him—I said, "These are a shilling each"—he examined them—he took all three together into his hand, and examined each of them—no observation whatever passed from him—he put down a shilling, and was about to take one of the knives which he had selected away—he kept one in his hand, and put the other two down, and was about to leave the shop—I said, "I will wrap it up for you"—he came back, and gave the knife back into my hand—I went round the counter, and set the edge of it on a stone that we have for the purpose, then wrapped it up in paper, and gave it to him—nothing more passed—he then left the shop—I did not notice his dress particularly—he had a hat on, I am certain, and a dark coat, but what kind I do not know—I had no recollection of having seen him before—he was quite a stranger to me—I saw him again on the following Friday, I think—he was then in custody.

Cross-examined. Q. When you use the term coat, you have no doubt it was a coat with tails to it? A. No doubt at all—I am sure it was—when I was first examined before the Magistrate I had a strong impression that the prisoner was the man—he asked me a question, and my impression was strengthened by hearing his voice—I had then heard of the murder—I did not give information respecting the purchase of the knife—I was called out of bed at seven o'clock the following morning by one of the inspectors of the E division of police, who showed me the knife—I then told him I had sold it the day before, and described the person—I did not tell him that although I recollected his dress I should know him better by a blotch on the side of his nose—I said nothing at that time about a blotch on the side of his nose—I mentioned a blotch, but not that I should know him by it—I told him that my daughter, a little girl ten years of age, had told me that she should

remember the man again who purchased the knife, and she thought he had a blotch by the side of his nose, not that she would know him by that particularly, but that she thought he had a blotch—I hare never told anybody that I should know him by a blotch by the side of his nose—I never said that I noticed a blotch by the side of his nose—I was not in constant communication with the police after I gave this information, once or twice I possibly, not more—I did not hear that a young man had been using threats towards the deceased—I did not know of it till after the prisoner was taken into custody—I did then hear that he was a person who had been using a threats against Mrs. Tape—not before I saw him—one of the police-officers from the Bow-street station came and fetched me and told me that Connor was taken into custody—I do not know the officer's name—I am not aware that he is here—he did not tell me that a young man was taken into custody who had used threats towards the deceased, nothing of the kind—he said that Mr. Pearce had just brought a man to the station-house, that they believed to be the man—that was all—I saw Pearce before I saw the prisoner—I had no conversation with him about the prisoner—he merely said that the man would be brought out—that was all the conversation we had till after I saw the man—he did not, after I had seen him, tell me a word respecting the threats, nor before I was examined—I never heard a word from Mr. Pearce about it before my examination—I had heard it rumoured, nothing more—I was present before the Magistrate—one of the women was examined first—I rather expect it was Bridget Ronan—I do not know whether Elizabeth Hill was examined second—I was not in the office—I did not hear them examined—we were placed in a room at the office and called in one after another—I had heard it rumoured about these threats.

Q. And at the time you were taken to see Connor you had no doubt he was the person that used those threats, had you? A. I had not thought on the subject at that time, I assure you—I saw him first at the station-house on Friday evening, and on Saturday he was before the Magistrate.

COURT. Q. On Friday evening before you saw him, you had not heard I that a man was in custody who had been threatening the deceased? A. No, nothing of the sort—my great certainty was not till after I had finished my one examination before the Magistrate—the chief reports that I heard were from I one and another of the witnesses in the waiting-room.

Q. Then you had heard there were reports of that sort before you were examined before the Magistrate? A. Precisely so, I had—the man was in I my shop altogether, I should say, two or three minutes—he had his hat on all the time—the only words he made use of while he was in my shop was asking me whether I had the knives—that was the first question he put to line—he said nothing after that—I was more sure of him when I heard him I put a question to me before the Magistrate—that was the second time I heard his voice—he did not speak in the station-house.

Q. What was there remarkable in his voice? A. I cannot describe precisely as to the tone of voice, but my impression was as to his age more than anything else, that he was from nineteen to twenty, that he was a man who had not reached manhood—it was not a set voice—it was from his voice that I judged more particularly as to his age, that it was the voice of a person in some degree changing its tone from boy to man.

Q. What opportunity had you of seeing his face during the time he was in the shop? A. He directly faced me when he came in at the door—the breadth of my counter is about thirty inches—he stood directly in front of

me when he came in, and when I went round to the other side he stood directly in front of me again—I saw his face—one gas light was directly over his head—that would throw the shadow of his hat over his face—the other gas lights were in the window, about two yards from where he was standing—they gave a very good light indeed in the shop.

EMILY ELIZABETH OLDHAM . I am ten years old. I was in my father's shop on Monday night, the 31st of March, when a man came in to purchase a carving-knife—I noticed the man—I was standing by my father's side when he came in—I did not continue standing there all the time the man was there—when he was looking at the carving-knives I was standing at the same place where I was when he came in—I could see his face well while he was looking at the carving-knives—my father went round the counter—I went out then to buy some biscuits, and left the man in the shop with my father—he was looking at the carving-knives when I went out—I think I should know him again—that is the man—(pointing to the prisoner.)

Cross-examined. Q. Do you notice any blotch on his nose now? A. No—I noticed a blotch on that night—it was not very large—it was sufficiently large to attract my attention—it appeared to be a large pimple—it was rather red—I went with my father to see the prisoner—I was told I was going to see the man who bad purchased the knife—I said I should know him with the blotch, and I should know him without—I was not above a minute in the shop with him—my father has plenty of customers coming in to buy knives.

COURT. Q. When you saw him was it before the Justice, or at the station? A. At the station—he had no blotch on his nose then—that was on the Friday evening, after he was at the shop—the blotch was on the left side of the nose.

MR. CHAMBERS. Q. Did your father tell you why he took you to the station? A. To know whether that was the man—I was told I was going to see a man, and I was to say whether that was the man.

WILLIAM POCOCK (police-constable F 81.) In consequence of information I received on Friday evening, the 4th of April, I went to No. 15, Endle-street, Longacre, to the two pair front room—I there found this velveteen coat, which I produce—it was hanging on a peg behind the door, and two more coats hanging over it—I did not examine the cuffs of the coat then—it was candle light—I did the following morning, and found some blood on the right band cuff, and a little on the left—the marks are as visible now as they were then—there is also a stain, I believe of blood, in the lining inside the right hand pocket—I also produce a hat and cap, which I found in the same room—the cap was hanging behind the door, and the hat was in a hat-box—I also found six hospital tickets, some in a drawer, and I believe two in a box—I have one separate from the rest.

Cross-examined. Q. Was this at his father's house? A. Yes.

NICHOLAS PEARCE . I am a superintendent of police. About five o'clock in the afternoon of the 5th of April last I went to No. 4, Stonecutter's-alley, Gate-street, Lincoln's-inn-fields—I went to the door of the first floor front room—it was fastened inside—I knocked at the door—some one cried out, "Who's there?"—I made no answer, and in about a minute the door was opened by a female—I went in, and found the prisoner there, sitting down—I asked his surname and Christian name—he said, "Joseph Connor"—I then informed him I was an officer of police—I was not in my uniform at the time—he made no answer to that—I went to the window, and caused

a policeman to come and take the prisoner into custody—I then took him down into the yard, and said, "Connor, I have told you I am an officer, and I shall take you into custody for murdering a woman named Tape, in a house in St. Giles"—he said, "Yes, sir" or "Yes"—that was all he said.

Cross-examined. Q. I do not know whether you ascertained when the prisoner was working? A. Not before that afternoon—I found that he had been at work at Mr. Garratt's, the silversmith's, in Panton-street, Haymarket—he acted as porter, and turned a polishing-wheel for polishing silver.

ADOLPHUS LONSDALE (police-constable F 110.) I was in the cell with the prisoner before his examination at Bow-street on Friday night, the 4th of April, till the morning of Saturday—about four o'clock in tie morning the prisoner said to me he was sure to be tucked up if those two women came and gave evidence against him that saw him on Monday night between eight and nine o'clock, and he knew them both to be prostitutes.

CHAKLES WAUGH . I worked at Mr. Garratt's, the silversmith's in March last—the prisoner also worked there—about six or seven weeks before I heard of the murder he said he had the bad disorder from a woman, and he said he would serve her out—I said, "You had better not interfere with the woman at all; if you come to strike the woman she will very likely take out a warrant for you"—he said she was a young woman, fresh coloured, and fat—he said he should have got married to his cousin at Easter, had it not been for this complaint, but his intention was to be married at Whitsuntide—he did not tell me anything that his cousin had said to him—he merely said that they had got vent of it—I recollect the morning after the murder—the prisoner came to work as usual, a little after six o'clock, and breakfasted along with me—he ate two eggs for his breakfast, and made a hearty breakfast—he went away about half-past eleven o'clock—he never came to work again—I did not know where he lived—he used to come to work in a kind of velveteen shooting-jacket—he did not work in it—he pulled it off, and likewise his waistcoat, and put on another one, and when he went away he put oa his velveteen coat again—it was a coat very much resembling the one produced—he came to work in a hat.

Cross-examined. Q. Mr. Garratt, I believe, is a respectable goldsmith and silversmith? A. Yes—iba prisoner has been working for him about ten months, regularly employed—he was a very good workman, and a very nice young man, I thought, well conducted and civil in every respect, and good humoured and kind among his comrades—he was very honest, as far as I know—when he came to work of a morning he used to take off his velveteen coat and waistcoat and hang them up, and put on an old waistcoat whilst he was employed—I never saw him work in the shooting coat—we use rouge on the premises, but not in the part where he was—in the room underneath there was rouge—it attaches very much to the clothes at times, not to anything hanging up-stairs—it would if rubbed into the clothes—it is used for polishing plate—the prisoner had nothing to do with that—I have not been in the employ during the whole time he was there, but he was always employed in the same department—I was not examined before the Magistrate, or before the Coroner—on the Tuesday morning it was reported by one of our men that came in, about half-past six or seven o'clock, that a woman was murdered in St. Giles's,—go name

or description was given of the woman then—I never heard any name—the man did not mention the time the murder was committed—he said he had heard it was committed last night—the prisoner had not breakfasted at that time—he ate a very hearty breakfast—he had on that morning a velveteen jacket, a velveteen waistcoat, black small, cord trowsers, low shoes, a black hat, and black handkerchief—I am confident he had on his velveteen coat as usual.

MR. CHAMBERS. Q. Did he ever tell you himself in what department he had been employed before you went to Mr. Garratt's? A. In the same department where I was—that had nothing at all to do with the rouge.

COURT. Q. For the last two months, at all events, he had nothing to do with it? A. No, and he never worked with that coat.

JOHN COCHRANE . I am a tailor, and live at No. 11, Crown-street, St. Giles's. I have been acquainted with the prisoner a good many years, I should say, five, six, or seven years—I have been on friendly terms with him, and continued so down to the time when the death of this woman happened—on the night of the 31st of March I saw Connor—I did not notice the time exactly—it was about seven o'clock—it might be just about dark—it was on the Seven Dials, near the Crown public-house—he was in the habit of going there, and I too, and it was there that I saw him—in the course of conversation he told me that he was suffering under a certain disease—I did not notice bow long he remained with me—he might have remained half an hour—I did not notice him going away, but he did go—I missed him—about eleven o'clock that night I was at the same spot, outside the door of the Crown, and Connor came up to me—I think be came up from Queen-street—I think it was in that direction—Queen-street leads from Broad-street towards St. Giles's—I know George-street—it would lead to George-street—it is only two or three streets from George-street, and almost in a direct line—I should say it would take a person five or eight minutes to walk or run from George-street to the Crown.

Q. In what state did be appear when he came up to you? A. He appeared as if he had been flurried, or quarrelling with somebody—he was agitated—I did not notice whether he was walking or running when he came up to me—when he came near the Crown I advanced to him—he was neither walking or running then—he was standing—he had stopped—I had not seen him before be stopped—as far as I observed, he was an inoffensive, quiet young man; extremely so—I thought him different that night when I first saw him—I thought him rather strange—I said to him, "Halloo, what is the matter with you?"—he said, "I have gave her something"—I did not know at all of whom he spoke—I said, "Who?"—he said, "That b—old wh—that gave me the p **"—I said to him, "Oh, I dare say you have not killed her"—I said that jokingly to him—he said, "I do not know; but I have been home, and taken off my things, so that they should not know me"—he did not continue in my company after that time—there was a row commenced in the Seven-dials, and I went to look at it—I then lost sight of Connor, and I saw no more of him.

COURT. Q. How was he dressed then? A. He had on a velveteen coat and a cap.

MR. BODKIN. Q. When did you hear of this murder first? A. On the following morning—I heard of Connor being taken into custody on the Friday night following—I did not mention this to anybody till his father had me summoned to come before the Coroner's Jury, and then I

told what I knew, the truth—that was at the last inquest—it was adjourned—it was after the prisoner was sent here—I think it was a fortnight last Wednesday—that was the first time I mentioned it—the prisoner's father sent the Coroner's servant to my place with a summons—I had seen the father on the subject on the previous night—I never mentioned it till Wednesday, a fortnight ago.

Q. Who was the person to whom you first told this confersation? A. The police-constable, Allen, on the Wednesday fortnight, the day the Coroner sat for the last time—it was before the Coroner had adjourned that I mentioned it—I was not examined before the Corouer, nor was any one examined that day.

Q. What was the reason that you did not mention this at an earlier day? A. I did not wish to have anything at all to do with it—I did not wish to do him any injury.

Cross-examined. Q. Had you known Allen before this time? A. No—I had never seen him—I have never seen him when I have been in company with the prisoner—I never spoke to him until that day—I spoke to him because he was at the inquest—that is where I met him—I did not speak to him in particular—I did tell Allen, but there was another police-man with him—I did not tell him alone—I do not know who the other policeman was.

Q. How came you to tell it to Allen and the other policeman, you having been summoned to attend there by the prisoner's father? A. Why, because I was not going to tell a lie—I spoke to Allen first, and to the other policeman.

COURT. Q. What was you summoned to do? A. To prove an alibi.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. Had you told the prisoner's father any portion of this story then? A. No, I had net—I did not tell him when he came to me that I knew his son had committed this murder, and therefore I would not come forward—I told him I should be there on the following morning, but I bad no intention of being so—I said so because I did not wish to have any further conversation with him—they came for me twice the following morning—Connor's father came, and then Connor's sister came—no policeman came—I did not see any policeman before I saw Allen—I did not see Pearce, the superintendent—I saw him afterwards—I had no conversation with Pearce before I gave my evidence—I live in Crown-street, and have lived there about seven months—I am a journeyman tailor—I have been charged with robbing my master—that is three years ago—I was tried, and had three months—I have never been taken up since—I have been taken for an assault, and fined 7s.—those were the only occasions of my being in custody—I have known the prisoner for some time—I have seen him in the day time, but I was not an associate of his—I cannot say that I had seen him pretty often in the day time during the last eight or nine months—I did not know where he lived or worked.

Q. Where was it that you saw Allen and the other policeman? A. In the inquest room—I was waiting—I did not leave the room with them, or go aside with them—I told them this in the crowd—Allen did not take it down—Pearce did, at the station-house, in his own room—I went there with Allen, not being examined at the inquest, and there Pearce wrote it down—he did not take me before any Magistrate—I had not seen the prisoner, or had any communication from him, between the time of the murder and my going to the inquest.

RICHARD PARTRIDGE . I am a surgeon, and am one of the surgeons of King's College Hospital. I see here some tickets for attendance at the hospital—there

are two of attendance at King's College; one of the 18th of March—the name of "Joseph Connor" is in the tickets, as the party having them—I can see from these tickets for what disorder he was attending the hospital—it was for clap—that was the disease for which he was treated—the latest date is the 18th of March—he was not then cured—it is impossible to say how long it would remain—I am only going by the memoranda on the paper—he had a good deal of inflammation, and probably would have been ill many weeks after the 18th.

Cross-examined. Q. Did you make this memoranda yourself? A. No, I did not—they are made at my direction by the dressers who are in attendance, at the moment—I have not myself the slightest recollection of his state except from these papers—I remember his person—these memoranda are made by the dressers by my direction and in my presence.

JAMES BROTHERS . I am a porter, and live at No. 8, George-street, Grosvenor-square. On Tuesday, the 1st of April, I went to No. 11, George-street, St. Giles's, and in a room there saw the dead body of a person—it was my wife—her Christian name was Mary.

MICHAEL CONNOR . I am the prisoner's father. My son was living with me at the time this affair occurred, at No. 15, Endle-street, Long Acre—the coat produced is the coat my son used to wear backwards and forwards to his work—this cap he never wore—it does not belong to him—it is an old one that was given to my wife for me, and it lay by, it was too big, I could not wear it—he had a hat of this sort when he used to work at dirty labouring work—I could not swear this was the hat—there was only one in the room where he lived.

Cross-examined. Q. You are married? A. Yes—I am living with my wife—the prisoner lives with me—on the night of the murder he came home at eleven o'clock to a minute, for the clock was in the room, and I know the clock was right—I looked at it, and I could not be deceived more than a minute in the clock—I noticed nothing in the least extraordinary about him when he came in—I was in bed before he came in—he slept in the same bed with me that night—my wife slept in another bed with my daughter, in the same room—he undressed immediately he came home in my presence—he laid his clothes on a chair, and then came to bed to me—I got up about six, or half-past, the following morning, and left the prisoner in bed—nothing occurred in the night to attract my attention, he was the same as every other night that he had slept—he did not appear in the least disturbed during the night—I have been very often disturbed of a night, not having been well during the last twelve months, and there was not the least in the world to attract my notice—I left him in bed when I went to work in the morning at six o'clock—I have worked for Mr. Garratt nineteen years—I did not know the witness Cochrane till this last week or two—I went to him to summon him as a witness to the Inquest, by my son's desire, to obtain him as a witness for my son—that was from what my son had told me he would say—I had no communication with him till I went on that occasion—the prisoner has been one of the best sons that was ever reared for a poor man, very kind to his mother and me, willing, civil, industrious, and very honest—he has worked for respectable men—I was not at home when the officer took away the coats—they had been hanging up publicly in the room—they had not been moved since the morning that he left them off.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Were you at home all the Monday evening this crime was committed? A. I was, from seven o'clock till I went to work in

the morning—I did not go out after seven that night—my ion came in at half-past nine, and staid I suppose about twenty minutes or half an hour.

Q. What did your son tell you Cochrane could prove? A. My son said he saw him late that night, a little before he came home, about seven o'clock, and the discourse between them was respecting a man of the name of Camplin, that was committed to this prison for rape—he desired me to tell Cochrane that, and request him to come and prove it—I remember the morning on which the Coroner sat for the last time—I was at the place where the inquest was held—I had nobody along with me when I first went there.

COURT. Q. Your son slept at your house on the Monday night? A. He did—he was at a friend's house on Tuesday night, and came home late at night, or rather in the morning part, and slept with me till nine o'clock—I did not see him on Wednesday night or Thursday night, and on Friday he was taken—I did not see him till I saw him at Bow-street—I cannot say at what time he came home on Tuesday night—it was in the morning part, and he remained till nine o'clock.

MICHAEL DILLON FITZGIBALD . I am a surgeon—I was called by Allen to see the body of the deceased at No. 11, George-street, on the night of the murder, about eleven o'clock—she was dead—I made a post mortem examination by order of the Coroner—I found altogether sixteen wounds—one passed through the chest, and penetrated the pulmonary artery at the roots—it entered the body between the first and second ribs—that would cause instant death.

(John William Webster, gold and silver caster, of Portland-street, Soho; George Robinson, carpenter, Denmark-street, Soho; and, John Barnett, carpenter, Great Sutton-street, Clerkenwell, gave the prisoner a good character.)

GUILTY . Aged 20.— DEATH ,

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