26th June 1893
Reference Numbert18930626-621
VerdictGuilty > with recommendation

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621. GEORGE SAMUEL COOKE , a police-constable (27), was indicted for the wilful murder of Maud Merton, also on the Coroner's Inquisition.


John Gough (Police Sergeant X), produced and proved a plan of the locality, with tracings of the same.

FANNY GREER . I am the wife of William Greer—in the beginning of 1892 I lived at 165, Quin Square, Waterloo Road, Lambeth—I knew a woman living at No. 168 who went by the name of Mrs. Croucher; that was in another set of rooms in the same building, above mine—she left some time last year; she was quite a young woman, about eighteen or nineteen, not more—I saw the prisoner at Quin Square only once; he was going down the stairs, and the woman said, "That is Cooke"—I don't know whether he heard it—I did not see his face, so I could not swear to him—I saw that same woman again last Christmas at 24, Stangate Street, Lambeth—I spent the evening there, and had supper with her; the prisoner was there, and had supper with me and my husband—the woman introduced him and said, "This is Sam Cooke"—she was going in the name of Cooke there; she lived there—when I came away I left the prisoner there in her company—I saw her again just before the Whitsun holidays; she came to my place—I did not see the body of the woman that was found on Wormwood Scrubbs.

Cross-examined. I could not swear it was the prisoner I saw at Quin Square; I only saw the back of him as he was going downstairs—I don't think I have said that I did not see the prisoner there—it was on Christ mas night that I saw him at Stangate Street; it was a Sunday night, I think.

Re-examined. I spoke to him then; he was pleasant and friendly—we did not stay late.

EMMA FELMORE . I am the wife of John Felmore—we formerly lived at 13, College Street, Lambeth—I remember a woman taking a furnished room there in the name of Mrs. Smith—she brought her husband to look at the room that same night; it was the prisoner; I saw him—she des cribed him as her hushand when he was in the passage—he looked at the room and said it suited him if it suited her—she paid some rent in advance; the prisoner gave it her in my presence—he was in plain clothes—I afterwards saw him in police uniform—she came in August and left in November—the prisoner was there nearly every day, just as if he was her husband—he lived with her as her husband—sometimes she said he was on night duty, and he used to come in in the morning, and stay in during the day—they had quarrels, and he used to knock her about; I heard it, and she used to complain to me about it—she always said it was his fault—I never saw him hit her, but I have heard him smack her face, and he would push her against the things when the things were broken—they were fighting several times, and while they were there a soldier came to see her; she said he was her brother.

Cross-examined. I heard the sound when the prisoner smacked her, I did not see it—the quarrels were very frequent and would last a considerable time, and there was loud talking—I could hear it all; I was in the next room—I did not hear both voices, she would not answer—he used to want her to answer him, and she would not—there would be a dreadful noise as if he was pushing her about the place—I am not living at the same place now, I left in June last—I took in other lodgers—two soldiers.

came to see her; they both said they were brothers—I did not believe it, and would not let them come—when she said the quarrels were always the prisoner's fault I did not believe her; I thought it was sometimes hers—I can swear that the prisoner has slept in the house—I could not say that both the soldiers did, I know one did—the prisoner had to be at the station at night—she said one soldier's name was Croucher; she gave no name to the other—I did not see any other persons come.

Re-examined. It was when the prisoner was on night duty that the soldiers came to see her—I gave her notice to go, in consequence of what was going on—I never spoke to the prisoner about the soldiers—I never heard anything take place between the prisoner and the woman about the soldiers coming there.

MART ANN WRIGHT . I live at 24, Stangate Street, Lambeth—in the beginning of November last a woman took a room in the house in the name of Mrs. Cooke, and the same evening a man came—he stayed the night, and during the time she was there, that was about two months, I used to see him coming in and out—I cannot recognise him—I have looked at the prisoner—he looks like the man, but I should not like to swear to him—they left at the end of December.

Cross-examined. I live in the kitchen—they lived above me, in the parlour—it appeared to me that the man was there every night for five or six weeks, but towards the end I don't think he was there every night—sometimes he stopped in all day and did not go out at all, and he went out late at night.

ELIZABETH DEANE . I live at 8, Tennison Street, Lambeth—a woman whom I knew as Maud Cooke rented one room in my house from about January to April last—the prisoner lived with her—I knew him by the name of George Samuel Cooke—he had a key of the room—she had to leave about five or six weeks ago in consequence of not paying her rent.

Cross-examined. My room was downstairs—theirs was two floors up—I did not see much of them—I know the man has spent the whole night there, I could not say how often, he had a key—I treated the woman as the tenant—when she left my parents kept her boxes for the rent—they lived on happy terms—there were no other visitors as far as I could say—she told me her age was 23—I think she looked as much as that.

HARRIET BAILEY . I am the wife of Henry Bailey, of 39, St. Gabriel Street, Lambeth—a woman lodged with me for three or four weeks prior to the 6th of June, who I knew by the name of Maud Merton—I last saw her alive about seven o'clock on Tuesday evening the 6th June—she was then dressed, going out—on the 8th June I saw her dead body at the Hammersmith Mortuary, dressed as she was when she went out—I have never seen the prisoner before.

Cross-examined. She gave the name of Maud Merton when she took the room—she would have been there a month on the following Friday—as far as I know she came home every night—she had a key and could let herself in.

GEORGE WOOD (Inspector E). The prisoner was formerly attached to Bow Street Station, and was a constable of the E Division—he was a single man, as far as the authorities knew—on 28th April last a woman who gave the name of Maud Smith, alias Cooke, came to Bow Street

Station and saw me—she gave both names—in consequence of what she said I sent for the prisoner, and in his presence she made a statement which I wrote down—she signed it, and I countersigned it—this is it (Exhibit I)—after the statement was made the prisoner put some questions to her upon it—I took them down, and likewise her answers—this is it (K)—that was signed by the prisoner, and the woman, the prisoner, and I signed it—on the same day the prisoner made a report referring to the matter (L), and he signed it. (These were put in and read as follows: "Bow Street, 28th April, 1893.—I, Maud Smith, alias Cooke, of No. 8, Tennison Street, York Road, Lambeth, have known Police-constable 130 E, Samuel George Cooke, for the last year and ten months. I first became acquainted with him when he was in Brewers Lane, Strand. I had been on the street then as a prostitute three or four weeks. He frequently came to see me when I resided at 168, Quin Square, Waterloo, and at 24, Stangate Street, Lambeth, where I passed as Mrs. Cooke, and in October last he has stayed at the latter address with me; I kept him. He was on annual leave, and passed off in the house as a waiter. He has often struck me, and one night he caught hold of me in South ampton Street and shook me by the throat. That would be about last Christmas. Since then he came to my lodging, 13, College Street, and beat me, but for what I don't know. I left that lodging shortly after because I was ashamed to stay there through him. Last Thursday, the 20th, he came to my lodging and took away all my letters from my box, and my key. I met him in the Strand yesterday afternoon and asked him for it; he refused to give it me. I then came to Bow Street and com plained of his conduct, but I refused to give his name or number. He knows I am a prostitute walking the Strand for my living. "By George Cooke:"What name were you living in at 168, Quin Square?" "Croucher." "Did I ever go and take the room with you?" "Yes; at 13, College Street; we took that room, and paid one week's rent, six shillings, and you stayed with me the first night." "What was the reason I came to your room and hit you after six that morning?" "A policeman told you I was larking about in the Strand the evening before." "Why did I stay my long leave with you?" Because you said you had no money to go anywhere else."

Prisoner's report at Bow Street same date:"With reference to the complaint made against me by Maud Smith, alias Cooke, I beg to report I first knew her in June, 1891, and I went to see her at 168, Quin Square, Waterloo Road, and 13, College Street, and 24, Stangate Street. I always paid her what she asked me. As regards her taking a room at any time in my name, and saying we were man and wife, I was ignorant of it at the time. Last September she refused to let me keep company with a woman I was shortly getting married to, and I had to leave her, as she said Maud Smith was always waiting to see where I went, and it preyed on my mind; I could not stand it any longer. I admit going one morning to 13, College Street, and striking her, but as regards the long leave in September I had made arrangements to go home to my friends, but on going in the morning from Bow Street she was waiting for me, and persuaded me to go to her at 24, Stangate Street As regards a latchkey, I never had one.")

WITNESS. In consequence of that matter the prisoner was first of all suspended, and the case was inquired into by the Assistant Commissioner

—About a week afterwards, the prisoner was reinstated, and transferred to the X division.

Gross-examined. That was done to remove him well away from this woman—she was a well-known prostitute on the Strand—she was charged with being a disorderly person after this complaint had been made; that was after the prisoner had been transferred—I can't answer if she, was convicted, because I was not there—I was at the station when she was charged, and also at the Police-court; but what was done with her I don't know, I was not in Court at the hearing—with the exception of his connection with this woman the prisoner has borne a very good character indeed—the woman was told that the report against him would be likely to cause him to be dismissed the force.

Re-examined. That was at the time she made the complaint.

SAMUEL ROSEWARNE (127 X). I am attached to Notting Dale Police station—on 6th June, about eight in the evening, a woman came there, and made some inquiry of me; I answered her inquiry, and she went away in the direction of Silchester Road—the prisoner was living in Silchester Road at that time—that is about five or six minutes' walk from the North Pole Public-house—on the 8th of June I saw. the dead body of that same woman at the mortuary; I recognised it as the same woman.

Cross-examined. She asked for Cooke—she seemed desirous of finding what duty he was on—I gave her the information.

Re-examined. She was quiet and orderly in her manner.

JOSEPH HARRIS (422 X). On Tuesday, 6th June, I was on duty op posite the North Pole public-house, about ten minutes past ten—I knew the prisoner as a constable attached to the Notting Dale Police-station; I did not know him as Cooke—there are two constables who go on duty at night round the prison on Wormwood Scrubbs; they would pass me as they went on duty—a constable passed me going in that direction—soon after he had passed me a young woman spoke to me, and made some inquiry—in answer to her inquiry I pointed out the constable who had just before passed me, and she walked after him quickly, along North Pole Road, in the direction of the prison—from the pace she was going I should imagine she would have caught him up in Wood Lane; from there he would pass up Du Cane Road—I remember seeing Constable Kemp pass me later on, I should think about half-past eleven, going in the same direction—on the 8th June I saw the dead body of a woman at the mortuary, and I recognised her as the same woman who had spoken to me on that night.

Cross-examined. She went after him at a very quick pace—she asked me if I could tell her where Police-constable 365 was on duty—after she left me she walked away at a very quick pace.

THOMAS GRIMSHAW . I am a chemist employed at Wormwood Scrubbs Prison—I live in a cottage beside the prison, facing towards Du Cane Road, it is part of the prison itself—beside my cottage a pathway runs on to the Scrubbs—at the top of that pathway there is a wooden stile and three upright posts, and at the other corner there is a plank adjoining leading over the Scrubbs—on 6th June, about a quarter to eleven, I was coming home from Wood Lane up Du Cane Road—when I was within a few yards of my cottage I noticed two people standing in front of the cottage—there is a lamp a few yards further up on the opposite side—I could not see who the two people were until I got close to them; then

I noticed it was a young female and a police constable in uniform, on duty—I passed them to go into my cottage—as I passed I said, "Good night" to the constable, and he turned round and said, "Good-night" as I passed him—when I was a few yards away from them I heard them talking loudly, in an angry tone—they appeared to be speaking to one another in an angry tone—I did not catch what was said—I went indoors, and first to my bedroom and then, in about a minute, went into the kitchen; that is a room outside which the two were standing at the time I entered—I still heard the voices, and I distinctly heard the man say, "I don't know where he," or she," lives"—I did not catch whether it was "he" or "she"—both the voices went on for some few minutes, still in the same tone, as if they were having an altercation; then they suddenly ceased—I went to the side door of the house, opened it, and went into the back garden and listened for about a minute—the garden abuts on the pathway of which I have spoken—I did not hear anything; all was quiet, and I returned to the house within a minute or so—I had some supper, and then took up a book and commenced reading—I read for about half an hour or more, I should say; the supper would have taken me about ten minutes—then I heard footsteps on the gravel path in Du Cane Road in front of the cottage, and then I heard a voice say, "Are you going off now?"—I do not think it was the same man's voice I had previously heard—as near as I can give it I think it was then about half-past eleven, or it might be later—I did not take particular notice of the time, I am not speaking by watch or clock—that was the last voice I heard that night outside the house—I read a little after that, and then went to bed—on the 10th June I went to the Hammersmith Mortuary, and there saw the dead body of a woman, and I identified it as that of the female I had seen talking to the constable—I afterwards gave to the police at Notting Dale Station a description of the constable I had seen that night—the constables on duty round the prison sometimes put their capes behind my front garden gate, and come for, them when they require them—I cant say that I had seen the constable I saw talking with the woman before—he was the only constable I saw; I noticed that particularly, because I have nearly always spoken to two of them at that time of night, but I noticed there was only that one that night.

Cross-examined. When he said good-night, it was in a calm respectful voice—the woman seemed to be very angry; she was muttering something as I passed—the altercation did not seem more on one side than the other—I could hear both voices; they appeared to be answering one another angrily, but not in an irritated tone—it was like a man speaking—I failed to identify the prisoner at the Police-court.

ALVAN KEMP (149 X). On June 6th I was on night duty at Worm wood Scrubbs—that is a double patrol, two police officers side by side—it was the prisoner's duty to patrol with me that night—he would parade for duty at 9. 45 at the Police-station, Notting Dale—he would leave the station at ten o'clock to go on duty—his road would lie past the North Pole Public-house, and along North Pole Road, down Wood Lane, and up the Du Cane Road—on that night, although it was his duty to go with me, he did not; I was detained about an hour to make a report, and having left the station, walked by the route I have described to the prison, which is nearly a mile and a half—I got there about 11. 20, or it

might be a little later—I did not see anyone in Du Cane Road to my recollection—there are no houses there till you get to Mr. Grimshaw's cottage—when I got to the cottage I saw the prisoner coming along by Mr. Grimshaw's garden wall from the Scrubbs—that is in the pathway—he was within half a dozen yards of Du Cane Road—he went and got his cape from behind Mr. Grimshaw's cottage, as it was just commencing to rain, and he put it on, and I put mine on as well—I had mine with me—I said, "Well, chum, did you think I was never coming?"—he made no reply till we got twenty or thirty yards, as far as the doctor's house, and then he said, "I have been round the prison once"—the rain continued two or three hours; I got wet through—it rained very heavily, especially about one o'clock—we went together round the prison till we reached the old quarters, when he said, "I am going to the w. c."—there are places where you can wash your hands round there, for the warders—I waited for him about twenty minutes, and then went round the prison with him—I said, "Well, chum, do you feel better now?"—he made no reply—we returned to the corner where McKenny's cottage is, and there met Sergeant Low of the X division, and reported to him "All right, sergeant"—he went down Du Cane Road, and the prisoner and I never separated again till 4 a. m. when I went off duty, leaving him behind—his duty kept him in the neighbourhood of the prison till 6 a. m.—during the time I was on duty that night I saw no woman; nothing occurred to attract my attention—we were jolly and jovial as we have been before when we have been on duty together; telling one another yarns, and so on.

Cross-examined. It was a very dark night, I think daylight was half an hour late—I had known the prisoner about five weeks—I have been on duty with him before, but not on double duty—there was nothing different in his manner that night—he was quite calm and collected.

ROBERT LOW (Police Sergeant 6 X). I was at the station on June 6th when the prisoner paraded for duty at Notting Dale Station at 9. 45—he left at 10 o'clock—it takes about thirteen minutes to walk from the Police-station to the North Pole Public-house—on this night I was in charge of the constables doing duty round Wormwood Scrubbs Station, and visited the prison or the neighbourhood of it about 12. 15 and 3. 30, and on both occasions I saw the prisoner and Kemp together, close to McKenny's cottage, and on each occasion they reported "All right"—rain commenced about 11. 30 and continued till about three a. m.; it was very heavy about twelve o'clock.

HARRY WILLIAM KIMBERLEY . I am a shepherd—on the night of June 6th I was in charge of some sheep on Wormwood Scrubbs, and about 5. 45 a. A. m. on June 7th I was crossing the Scrubbs and saw a body lying on the b. ground about here. (Marking the plan)—it was about 250 or 300 yards from a. the corner of the prison where the stile is—the face was covered with b. blood, and one side of it was smashed in—I touched the hand; it was cold, c. and I came to the conclusion that the woman was dead—she was lying d. on her back, her dress was not disarranged, her clothes were over her legs, her e. hat was off, and was four or five feet away—there was no dis f. turbance of the ground that I could see—an umbrella and pocket-handker g. chief were near the hat—I stayed there till a man named Luff came up, h. and sent him for a constable—the body remained in the same position till i. a constable and doctor came—I remember that it rained that night.

Cross-examined. The body was fifty or a hundred yards from any footpath.

WILLIAM PARISH (27 X). On June 7th I relieved the prisoner at six a m.—it is the custom for the man on duty to remain till he is relieved, but on this morning I relieved the prisoner in Wood Lane, fifty yards from Du Cane Road—the beat is confined round the prison wall—I was a little late; it was 6. 15 when I met him, and the Bun was shining—we had some conversation, mostly about the weather, and he went his way and I mine—he went in the direction of Notting Hill—I met a man named Luff in Du Cane Road, and in con sequence of what he said I went to the Scrubbs along the path by the prison wall and over the stile, and at the back of the prison I saw a woman lying quite dead on the grass—I went at once for assistance, and brought Inspector Dillon, and within a short time Doctor Jackson came—next morning, the 8th, I went to relieve the prisoner about the same time, and met him about fifty yards down Du Cane Road—I said to him, "You left a pretty fine job behind you yesterday morning"—he said, "Yes; I heard it was a nasty job; you or your mate ought to have seen it from the corner of the prison wall, because it was light so early"—he said, "No, one would not be able to see it unless their attention was called to it, as the sheep were feeding about there"—I have not given this conversation before.

Cross-examined. When I met him on the 7th he was nearly half a mile from the prison—Du Cane Road is a long road—six o'cock was not the usual time for him to come off his beat; he came off when he was relieved, generally 6. 15—we met where we generally met—I was examined at the Police-court, but was mot asked anything about the 8th—the inspector said this morning that I had better put it down on paper—I said, "We have never been asked who relieved him on the 8th"—he said, "No; of course you will have to make a report out."

ROBERT ALEXANDER JACKSON . I am a divisional surgeon of police, of Portland Road, Notting Hill—I was called to Wormwood Scrubbs about seven a. m., and found the dead body of a woman lying on the ground on her back—there was blood on her forehead and head, and clotted blood under her head—there were two fractures of the skull, one over the right eye and the other over the right ear, and the right eyeball was smashed—those two fractures could not have been the result of one blow—the fracture of the skull over the right eye and smashing the right eyeball might have been done by one blow—the lower jaw was fractured in two places, which could not have been the result of one blow—there was blood on the palm of the right hand, which was under the body; the left hand was on the body, clenched—those in juries must have been the result of direct violence, and inflicted by some lard substance—the body was removed to the mortuary at Hammersmith—round the body the grass was wet, but under the body it was dry—I made a post-mortem examination next day at the mortuary and saw several bruises just by the jaw on the right side, and one on the right shoulder, about the size of the palm of a hand—I found laceration as well as exten sive hemorrhage of the brain, which was probably caused by the injuries I saw—the cause of death was fractured skull and hemorrhage—I think the injuries on the head might have been done with this truncheon, numbered

385 X, but not those on the jaw, where the skin was knocked up, corre sponding with the fracture of the jaw; it was probably done by a kick—the bruise on the right shoulder might have been the result of a blow from the fist or from the hand—the bruises on the face and neck could have been made with the heel of a boot—I believe these (produced) are the pair of boots sent me on June 10th by Inspector Gillham—I placed the heel of one of one of them over the marks on the face and neck, and they corresponded—the heel of the left boot is marked with blood, and so is the truncheon, 385 X, and the pair of uniform trousers, given me by Gillham—there is blood on the left leg of the trousers on one side, between the foot and the knee, and spots of blood on the trousers—Gillham showed me another truncheon; there was no blood on that—the injuries must have been inflicted with very great violence—there must, have been at least four blows, apart from the bruise on the shoulder—I cannot say which blow was dealt first, but assuming it was the blow behind the ear it would have stunned her, and she would have fallen and been incapable of defending herself in any way; and the same if the first blow was the one over the eye, and the effect of either of those blows would be sufficient to cause death.

Cross-examined. There is a space between the two frontal bones, front and back, and the fracture was of the outer one; the two portions do not touch each other—it would not take so much violence to break the outer one as to break both—the fracture over the right ear was over that part of the bone called the squamos portion of the temporal bone; that is a thick part—there are three portions of that bone; that is the part rising upwards, which is very thin, and that is the part that was smashed—it is covered with a muscle—I have seen a fracture by a direct blow of the jaw—I cannot conceive it possible that it was done by the fist—the heart was slightly fatty; there was no blood in the right cavity—she died of syncope, fainting—these trousers and boots do not appear to have been washed—I have been qualified about eighteen years.

Re-examined. There was no indication of injury in front of the chin; it was under the chin—the skin was broken, which would be consistent with a kick when she was lying on the ground—there was nothing to indi cate a direct blow with the fist in front.

By tilt COURT. This truncheon is a serious weapon to use on the head.

KATE ROBINSON . I am the wife of David Robinson, a police-constable, of 39, Silchester Road, Notting Hill—the prisoner lodged with us for five weeks prior to June 6th, during which time a woman called to see him three times—he said she was his young woman, Maud, and he had known her two years and a half—the last time she came to the house was Saturday night, June 3rd—he was not at home, but he got home after she had been there—she left a note for him; he had it when he came in, and I told him Maud had left it—later on the same evening he told me he had had words with her, and that she was a prostitute, and he should see if he could see her when he went out that evening—on Tuesday afternoon, June 6th, I saw him with a letter, which he said came from Maud—he read it to me—she wanted him to mention the exact time she could meet him if she booked to Wormwood Scrubbs Station—he burnt the letter—she accused him of having given his address to a soldier, that

he was underhanded in giving his address to Atkins; the letter said Atkins—he said he should write her a letter, and he did so—on the same evening, between eight and nine, a little girl came to the house, but I did not see her—I saw the prisoner again when he came in the evening—he left to go on duty about 9. 40, in his uniform—I saw him next about 6. 30 a. m. on Wednesday—he was very hot, and I said, "It is a killing morning"—he had a cup of tea, and I asked him to have something to eat—he said he did not feel to want anything—soon after that he went up to his bedroom, first taking off his boots, which he put by the fire in the kitchen—he was only upstairs a minute; he went straight into the back garden—I went for a jug of water, and saw him raking the earth, with his back towards me; he then went up to his bedroom again—I thought he had been planting something—I could not see any plant, and I moved the earth with my hand and found the handle of a truncheon and a policeman's whistle—I covered them up and spoke to my husband about them, and later on Inspector Hatcher came and took possession of them—later the same day I put his boots out in the sun to dry, and noticed that the flies settled on one of them—I looked at it and saw some marks which looked like blood—I handed the boots to Inspector Hatcher next day.

Cross-examined. I understood from the letter that Maud was to meet him the following day, but would not trouble him if he was on night duty—during, the whole time he lived in our house his conduct was good, very nice—I found him very well-behaved and good-tempered; I have not a word to find fault with him.

DAVID ROBINSON (224 X). I live at 39, Silchester Road, Notting Hill—the prisoner lodged with me for four or five weeks before June 6th—on Friday night, June 2nd, or early on the Saturday morning, I came off fixed point duty at 1. 30—I waited at Notting Dale Station, and was joined there by the prisoner—we went together as far as the baths in Lancaster Road—that was on my way home—just as we were coming up to them I saw a woman standing outside, and when we got close to her the prisoner said, "This is my young woman"—when we got up to the baths she crossed over to the other side of the road, and the prisoner called after her, "Maud!"—she walked in the opposite direction, away from him—he called after her again, "Maud, don't be a fool"—we then both went to where she was standing, and they spoke to each other in rather a low tone of voice—I said to the prisoner, "You will get on best by yourselves," and left them—on Saturday, June 3rd, about three p. m., the prisoner said that she had found a letter in his pocket, and they had had some words about it—he did not say why, except that it was from another young woman, and he had told her that the letter was from home, and she had said it was from another young woman, and that led to the words—he did not tell me whether the letter was from home or from a young woman—he used to receive letters at my house—I do not know who they were from—while he was with me he was keeping company with a young woman other than the deceased—he had told me that Maud was a prostitute, and that he had known her about two years, that he made her acquaintance in the Strand, and that she was coming into £300—I did not see her at my house again after that Friday morning—I had seen her there on three occasions, on the 2nd June, and I believe on the 3rd June, and on this occasion—it was on that

day that the prisoner gave me this history about tier, and I told him she had better not come to my place again—on the 6th June, about 6 p. m., I came off duty, and the prisoner was in the house; I think he was in bed—I did not see him go out; I saw him come in, in plain clothes, soon, after nine; that was Tuesday night—it was usual for him to be in plain clothes till he dressed to go on duty—I spoke to him and he left for duty soon after and in uniform—it is a constable's duty to go on duty with his boots cleaned; the men are inspected at the station to see that they are clean—that was the last I saw of him that night—I saw him next morning at 10. 30 or 10. 45—he seemed the same as usual—on that evening my wife showed me a pair of boots; I examined them, and on the heel of the left boot I saw some red hair and blood—after that my wife showed me a spot in the back garden—I uncovered the earth and found a whistle and a truncheon; I left them there and made a report at the same time.

Cross-examined. The marks are on the boot still, but they seem a little different.

ALFRED GILLHAM (Inspector X). The prisoner was a constable of the X Division, serving under me—he came to my division on the 5th May, 1893—on the 7th June, about 7. 15 a. m., I was at Notting Dale Station—I received information and sent for Dr. Jackson and an ambulance, and at the point mentioned found the body of this woman—the face was covered with blood, the mouth was open and filled with blood, and vomit had run out of it to the left side on to the ground—I found a pocket handkerchief by her side marked "Fanny Muster"—near the handker chief and near the head there was a black kid glove, and under one of the hands another kid glove—there was a common brass ring on the left hand—after the body was put on the ambulance the ground under it was dry—I made a further search at the mortuary and found a puree; there was no money in it; there was a latch-key and a small piece of paper—messages were sent to the station, and constables in the neighbourhood of the prison were called on to report, and the prisoner made a report—this is it: "Notting Dale, June 7, 1893.—With reference to report of a woman being found murdered on the 7th inst., I beg to report being on duty at H. M. Prison from 10 p. m. till 4 a. m. on night of 6th inst, in company with P. C. Kemp, and remained on alone from 4 a. m. till 6 a. m., and during the night I neither saw nor heard anything to excite my suspicions.—GEO. COOKE, P. C. 385 X."—early next morning, the 8th of June, Constable Robinson made a verbal report to me, in consequence of which I went with him and McDonald to the mortuary, and Robinson identified the body—I sent Inspector Hatcher to the prisoner's lodging, with special instructions, and on my return to the station I found the prisoner there in uniform—I asked him to change his clothes—he said, "What's up?"—I said, "I want you to change the whole of your clothing"—he did so, and I took possession of them—among them was this pair of trousers—I examined the left leg and found spots on it, red stains, or blood—in the clothing he handed to me I found a purse and these two pocket-books, on a leaf of one of which I found an entry of the night of the 6th and the morning of the 7th June—it is a loose leaf—this is it. (Read. Something that was on it was struck out, then followed: "With reference to report of a woman who was found murdered on the 7th instant, I beg to state that I went on duty at H. M.

Prison at 10 p. m., the 6th inst., till 6 a. m., the 7th, and I heard no noise or saw any woman during that time")—I took this copy of the Echo out of his pocket; it contained an account of the murder—I afterwards received from Inspector Hatcher, a pair of policeman's boots—I placed the whole of the things, including the boots, trousers, and truncheon, before Dr. Jackson—on the 8th the prisoner was called on to make a second report—I know his writing. (This was dated the 7th, but was the 8th: "With reference to a dead body found at Wormwood Scrubbs I went on duty at eleven p. m.; during that time I heard no noise, and saw no woman to arouse my suspicion.")

Cross-examined. There were two rings on the woman's hand, and one was found on the grass—I was present at the inquest nearly the whole time—no complaints have ever been made against the prisoner.

Re-examined. We could not find out whether the ring which was picked up, belonged to the deceased.

EDWARD FRANCIS (147 X). I went with Inspector Hatcher on June 8th to 39, Silchester Road, and saw the prisoner, and told him Mr. Gillham wanted to see him at the station—he said, "What does he want me for?"—I said, "To make out a further report respecting the woman found murdered on Wormwood Scrubbs"—he went with me to the station and at the station door he said, "I know what they want me for; they want me to screen somebody, which I am not going to do, if I get the sack for it"—we both went into the station, and Sergeant Hearn ordered him to make out a second report—he went into the library to do so.

Cross-examined. I do not know what he meant by "screen."

WILLIAM HEARN (Police Sergeant). I was in charge of Notting Dale Station when the prisoner came there with Francis on June 8th—I ordered him to make out a second report with respect to the woman found murdered on Wormwood Scrubbs yesterday morning, and he made out the report dated June 7th—it was, in fact, made on the 8th, but I did not notice the date.

RICHARD MUNN (45 X R). At nine a. m. on June 7th I was on duty at Wormwood Scrubbs, near where the body had been found, and near where the seat of the body had been I discovered a brass ring, which I took to the station.

DANIEL MORGAN (Police Inspector). From early morning of June 7th, when the information reached me, I was placed in charge of the elucida tion of this inquiry—I saw the prisoner at Notting Dale Station on June 8th about two p. m., and had a conversation with him, I speaking and he answering—I took it down during the time the conversation was occurring, and then read it over to him—this is it: "June, 8th, 1893.—George Cooke said: 'I am P. C. 385, serving in X division, and reside at 39, Silchester Road, with P. C. 224 Robinson and 320 McDonald. I have been in X division about five weeks, and was before that in E division at Bow Street for nearly three years, and before that in A division for six months, and in L division for about six months before that. I joined the Metropolitan Police 25th June, 1888. I know a woman by the name of Maud Cooke; the last address I knew her at was 39, St. Gabriel Street, St. George's Road, Lambeth, and before that 8, Tennison Street, Lambeth. She has also passed by the name of Smith. I first became acquainted with her about two years ago in the Strand. She had only

been out a day or two as a prostitute. She told me her mother lived somewhere at Finchley or Holloway, and that she had been a barmaid at the Clarence Public-house, I believe, in the same neighbourhood. I have never seen any of her relatives. I have seen her about three or four times since I have been in this division, and I told Mrs. Robinson she was a prostitute. I got a note from her on Saturday night, and met her in Silchester Road. I had no quarrel with her. She was with a man named Atkins. I don't know what regiment. He had spurs on. I have not seen her since. About 9. 15 on Tuesday night I was at my lodgings, when Mrs. Frampton, a lodger, told me I was wanted. I went to the door, and saw a little girl, a stranger, and she said, "You are wanted up at the corner," and pointed towards the Prince of Wales's Feathers Public house. I went there, but saw no one. I knew I did not see the woman Maud that day or night. I came on duty at 9. 45 p. m., and was posted on the prison. I usually have another constable with me, but on this night I was alone until just after eleven p. m. when I was joined by Police constable Kemp. I was also alone from four a. m. to six am. on Wednes day. I heard nothing irregular and saw nothing irregular during Tuesday night, and the first I heard of the murder was at 10 a. m. yesterday, when I was called up to report. I had a letter from Maud on Tuesday last; I read it to Mrs. Robinson, and then burnt it. I began to write in reply, but did not finish the letter. Maud told me in the letter that if I was on night duty she would not come up. She asked me to write and tell her what time and place I could meet, her, that she would come to the Scrubbs station. She also referred to the man Atkins, and that I had given him my address. I went yesterday morning to the back garden at my lodgings, and buried a truncheon and whistle. I intended to do so before. I was afraid if the inspector came to visit my lodgings he might find them. I had heard the inspector sometimes visited the lodgings. I bought the truncheon for 6d. from Black Dick; he was dis missed over three years ago. I had the whistle from same man at the same time, and had them more than three years. The boots produced by Inspector Morgan are mine. I wore those boots on Tuesday night. I cannot account for what appears to be blood stains. I have not worn them since Wednesday morning. I cannot account for the stains on the leg of my trousers. I wore these trousers every night this week. I out my thumb on Monday; I was cutting some tobacco. I spoke to Mrs. Robinson about it. As to the £20 found in my possession, I have been saving it during the past two or three years. Police-constable Fred Knight, E, and Police-constable 210 E, have seen it in my possession. I don't know what the stain is on the towel found in my box; it has been on the towel over twelve months. I have had no quarrel or dis pute with Maud since I have been in this division, but we have differed once or twice through not keeping appointments. The last letter, on Saturday, was addressed from 39, St. Gabriel Street, signed "M." I swear positively that I have not seen the woman Maud since Saturday last, when she told me she was going to Boulogne. She did not ask me for any money. I cannot give any reason for suspicious circumstances mentioned by Inspector Morgan—viz., the woman Maud inquiring for me on Tuesday night, her body being found on the Scrubbs, and the sup posed blood stains on my boot and trousers, and why she was in this

neighbourhood. I never saw or spoke to any woman on Tuesday night I never spoke to a woman near the prison between ten and eleven p.m. when a gentleman passed. No gentleman spoke to me. I have seen the statement made by P. C. Harris. I do not dispute it; but I saw no woman. I passed a police constable at the North Pole Public house, and I went in the direction he states I did.—Signed, GEO. COOKE. "—that statement took some time to make—after he had signed it I left the station, and about six the same evening returned there and charged the prisoner with the murder of the woman—he made no reply—I made some measurements—it is 306 yards from the east or nearest corner of the prison to the place where the body was found—the length of the path between the posts is about 200 yards, rather more than less, from the stile to the Du Cane Road—from the body to the nearest footpath was sixty-three yards.

Cross-examined. The defendant's beat extended round the prison for its protection—he was strictly confined to the prison, and was not to go away unless he was called—the statement took a long time—I did not put the questions down, simply the answers—I did not caution him—I was asked before the Coroner, "Was the accused cautioned?" and I said, "According to Sir Henry Hawkins it was not necessary"—I showed him the reports—I did not put him through a process of cross-examination—I asked him if he could explain certain statements which he had made in writing—I arrested him the same evening after six o'clock.

ROBERT MCDONALD (320 X). I lodged at Mr. Robinson's for five months—about a month before June 6th the prisoner had been lodging there—I saw Maud Cooke there three times; the last time was on the Sunday before June 6th—he told me he had been out with her that night, and had seen her away by the last train for Charing Cross—he said she had been a barmaid—he did not say what she was then—he never said anything about means or money—on June 5th I was on night duty, and left the house with the prisoner—on June 6th I had leave, and went to Brighton for the day, and came back at 11. 30 or 11. 40 p. m.—on June 8th I handed Inspector Hatcher a pair of boots belonging to the prisoner; they had no marks on them—I was in the garden when Inspector Hatcher dug up the things in the garden—I recollect the prisoner going away to the station—I went there later in the day—I was in the charge room with the prisoner from nine a. m. till six p. m., when he was charged—I was present when he made his state ment to Inspector Morgan, who then left; and about three p. m. the prisoner said very quietly, "I wish Police-constable Kemp was not detained at the station, and that would not have occurred; they have not got the instru ment with which it was done. It is a good job they did not catch me red handed"—later on in the day he said, "I must have been a fool to tell Mrs. Robinson about the letter I received. If I had gone home yesterday morning and told you, and mentioned Mrs. Robinson, if you had heard anything respecting the murder not to say a word about it, I would not be placed in this position to-day"—he said other things to me in the course of the day—an hour or two after he made the statement about not having the instrument with which it was done I reduced it to writing, and gave it to Inspector Morgan next day—this note was made in my pocket-book while the thing was fresh in my memory, at the request of one of my superior

officers, that I might make no mistake: "You said to me yesterday afternoon that you wished Police-constable 149 had not been detained at the Police-station, and it would not have occurred; they had not got the instrument with which it had been done; it is a good job they did not catch me red-handed."

Cross-examined. I was with him the whole day—he could not have left the room if he desired—I was put there to keep observation on him, that he did not go away—Inspector Morgan told me if he said anything of importance I was not to tell it to anybody but him—I must have made a mistake in writing, "You said to me yesterday afternoon"—I wrote it in the afternoon—this (another) was written about 6. 30 on Thursday evening—I wrote the paper which you have in your hand the following morning—I spoke to him in a very low tone; nobody five yards away could hear it—he was sitting in the charge room—I did not beckon him to come nearer, nor did he beckon to me—I was not whispering all day—I did not speak to him about the deceased, or say "How long have you known her?"—he and I were fellow lodgers—I am not aware that that was the reason I was put into the room with him—I do not remember whether Hatcher came in at all.

INSPECTOR MORGAN (Re-examined). The memorandum at the end of this document is in my writing.

FREDERICK HATCHER (Police Inspector X). I am stationed at Notting Dale Police-station—on 5th May, this year, the prisoner was transferred to the X division, and remained discharging his duties up to 8th June—on that morning I went to his lodgings after he had left them—I saw Mrs. Robinson, his landlady—she showed me and I took away this pair of policeman's boots—I noticed some red stains on the left one—I gave them to Dr. Jackson—I went with Mrs. Robinson into the back garden; she pointed out a spot to me, and I raked up the earth with my hand and found a policeman's truncheon, No. 857 A, and whistle 4,067—I took them to the station, together with some articles of the prisoner's uniform, which I found in the kitchen—among the articles was this second truncheon, No. 385 X, and his own whistle—this truncheon and whistle were issued to him when he came into the X division, and he would have them in ordinary use—the other two articles had not been issued to him so far as I know—I handed both articles to Dr. Jackson—the prisoner remained at the station the whole of the 8th, and was charged about half-past six in the afternoon with this crime—next day, Friday, 9th June, he was brought before the Magistrate—Dr. Jackson and Inspector Morgan were shortly examined, and a remand was ordered—that was about one o'clock—at that time an application was made by the prisoner's, solicitor to permit some of his friends to see him—that was acceded to, and in order that he might see his friends more conveniently I took him into the police waiting-room at the Police-court, and stayed there with him for about twenty minutes—during that time no one came into the room—it was before his friends came—directly I got into the waiting room the prisoner began to speak to me—being under remand I cautioned him, but after my caution he went on making a statement to me—as soon as he left me, within ten or fifteen minutes of his making the statement (because his friends came in then) I began to write, and I wrote out his tatement, as far as I could remember it, in my pocket-book—it was quite

fresh in my memory—as near as my memory serves me this is what the prisoner told me at this time—this note represents my memory now on the subject—it is word for word as he uttered it—when I cautioned him I told him not to make a communication to me unless he wished me to use it in evidence against him. (The note was read as follows: He said, "I suppose it is no use trying to get out of it." I said, "I do not know." He said, "You have not got the right tool it was done with. It was not done with that truncheon at all." (He alluded to the one found in the garden). "It was done with the truncheon I was carrying, my ordinary truncheon. When I got round the prison that night I saw her. I said, 'What are you doing here?' She said, 'I am going to stop here until you go off duty. 'I said, 'There will be another policeman up here directly.' She said, 'I should like to see him, I would tell him something.' I said to her, 'You clear off.' She said,' I shall not. 'We stood arguing the point some time, and I went across the Scrubbs towards where she was found, thinking I should get out of her way; but she followed me. In going across I took my truncheon out of my pocket and put it up my sleeve. When near the spot where she was found I said to her, 'Are you going?' She said, 'No, I am going to stop and annoy you till Sunday, and then you can—yourself.' She then turned her head; I drew my truncheon and hit her on the side of the head. She fell down and never moved. I then hit her, I think, twice on the head, and once under the jaw. I then placed my foot on her neck, and kept it there for about five minutes. She never moved, but gave one gurgle. I then went back to the prison, and saw Police-constable Kemp, and told him I had been round the prison once, and we were very jolly all night afterwards. I thought nothing of killing her. I have been much happier since she has been dead than I was before. She was always annoying me, and I was in misery")—That was all said to me on the occasion referred to by the prisoner himself—nothing more was said in reference to the case—after he had made that statement I was still there when the young woman, the prisoner's friend, came, and they had an interview together—it was stated in the prisoner's hearing that they were sweethearts—while she was there Constable McDonald came in, and he had a conversation With the prisoner for about two minutes, I should think, and then left, leaving the young woman behind—she remained about ten minutes, and then left—I saw the prisoner put into a cell and left him, and then I commenced to make this note, which has been read—later that same day I took the note to Morgan, and I made a copy of it and sent it to the Commissioners of Police.

Cross-examined. I made the note in the waiting-room where the prisoner was—I did not read it over to him—he gave me the statement right away—it was all said within the twenty minutes—Mr. Haynes, the solicitor, came in just before the young woman came—he was not there a minute, I am sure—the young woman is highly respectable—no one else was with the prisoner; the assistant gaoler did not come in occasionally—at times a superior officer might come to a constable's lodgings to examine his kit and uniform, and if the constable was in possession of a truncheon not his own it would provoke inquiry—both of these are police truncheons—a man leaving a division is bound to give up his truncheon, and no constable

having a truncheon handed to him has any right to part with it to anybody, and the same with the whistle—I did not ask the prisoner in the room, "How did you sleep last night?"—I think in the van coming down he said he slept pretty well—I am not sure if I asked him; I believe I did not—nothing caused him to say it, except that he said there was a row outside the station—he saw a lump of wood in the van coming down—I believe I said, "I have still got this lump of wood"—I cannot recollect if he said, "So I see"—I did not make a note of that at the time—I said, "There are stains on it," and he examined it—I only showed it to him once—he did not say, "Yes, you showed me that yesterday morning, when I told you it was paint"—the word "paint" was mentioned by him or me on the Scrubbs on the morning of the 8th—we were talking of this piece of wood on the Scrubbs on the Thursday—I did not say, "I expect you were lonely at the prison by yourself"—when he told me he put his truncheon up his sleeve I did not say "And a good thing too"—I said nothing then—I never saw a constable put his truncheon up his sleeve—I did not say, "If you had not buried the A Division truncheon you would never have been suspected"—I believe I said, referring to the truncheon found in the garden, "There was nothing on that"—he said he had never carried it—I did not say, "There is nothing on your own," or anything about his own—we sat and talked together in the van coming down—I made no report of what was said then—I made no note of it, as I did not think it was necessary—I did not ask him if he had anyone to defend him, or tell him that a solicitor would do him no good, or ask him if he had seen Inspector Reed—before the remand in the room I said, "There is another police-constable on the Du Cane Road as well as you"—I knew nothing of the prisoner before he was in the X Division.

EDWARD ATKINS . I am a private in the 4th Dragoon Guards—in January, 1892, I made the acquaintance of the deceased—I knew her as Maud Merton and Croucher—on 3rd June last I saw her at 39, St. Gabriel Street—on that day she spoke to a constable at Notting Hill in my presence—he was in uniform—I could not swear to him—we all had drink together—she did not leave me before the policeman left—he gave me his name and address, which I wrote down on a piece of paper—I threw the paper away accidentally some time ago before I knew of this case; I wrote on it "Mr. Cooke, 39, Silchester Road"—he asked me to drop him a line.—Q. What about? A. Nothing at all—I saw the deceased again on 4th June, and that is the last time I saw her.

Cross-examined. I broke off my courtship with her about November last, and did not renew it—when I was with her at Notting Hill she left me in a public-house and returned with a constable, whom she introduced to me; it was getting dark—I accompanied her to her lodgings;—I did not stay with her all that night—she saw me off to Aldershot—I have visited her at other lodgings, not in Tennison Street—I slept with her at her lodgings once—I did not know her as a prostitute till after November last—I did not know she was married, or pretended to be married, to the prisoner.

Re-examined. I broke off keeping company with her in November when I discovered the life she was leading.

SYDNEY WYBORN (210 E). I have known the prisoner since January

this year—about a month before 6th June I saw him, and he said he thought he should get married—he showed me from £15 to £20 in gold.

HENRY POMEROY (34 A R). I was at one time 857 A—this truncheon, 857 A, was mine—I lost it about three years ago from my peg in the clothes room at Westminster Section House—the prisoner at that time lived in the same house and would have access to the clothes room—I made every inquiry after missing the truncheon, but never found it.

ALFRED GILHAM (Re-examined by MR. MOYSES.) Edward Honour and his wife, Ella, made reports to me last evening—they live facing Wormwood Scrubs, 700 or 800 yards from where the body was found. (MR. MOYSES was proceeding to ask what statements were contained in the reports. Mr. Justice Hawkins ruled that this question could not be asked; Mr. Moyses could, if he desired, call the persons who had made the statements.)

GEORGE WOOD (Re-examined by MR. MOYSES). During the time the prisoner slept at the Bow Street Section House, it would be his duty to be in at twelve, unless he had permission to be out later—I do not know if he had been a sailor or fisherman at Yarmouth.

GUILTY. Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY upon the ground of the provocation he received.


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