The Proceedings of the Old Bailey

 

620.   PAUL KOCZULA (24), and   SUSANNAH KOCZULA (24), were indicted for the wilful murder of   Sophia Frederica Matilda Rasch , and   GEORGE SCHMERFELD (31) was charged as an accessory before the fact. In other Counts SUSANNAH KOCZULA and SCHMERFELD were charged as accessories after the fact.

MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS, HORACE AVORY, and BANCROFT Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON, with MR. COHEN, appeared for Paul Koczula; MR. CANNOT for Susannah Koczula; and MR. DRAKE for Schmerfeld.

  CARL RASCH (Interpreted). I keep a restaurant at 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, and lived there with my wife and four children, three boys and a girl—there is a door leading into the restaurant from the street; also a side door leading to the staircase and upstairs—there are two bedrooms on the first floor and two on the second floor, and two on the top floor—I and my wife occupied the bedroom on the first floor front—the two prisoners, Paul and Susannah Koczula, were in my service for nine months as waiter and general servant—they are married—here is a photograph of my wife; she was a tall, healthy, strong woman—she was in the habit of keeping the key of the wardrobe in our bedroom in her dress pocket—in that wardrobe we were in the habit of keeping money and valuables—my wife kept the key on a ring with others—this (produced) is the ring,

with the key of the wardrobe on it—I have known Schmerfeld six or seven years—for three months he took his meals at our restaurant, from September till, I believe, Christmas last—he owed me £3 or £4, I can't exactly say—there was one box belonging to him on the premises—he brought it with him the week after he came to England, in September or October last—I knew him in Germany—he took the box away about a fortnight before the murder—he told me he was going to take it away because he was going into a place again, and he asked me whether I would let him have the box on payment of a pound—I said, "Yes"—he did not pay it; he came next morning and offered me 10s., and asked whether I would let him have the box—I said, "Yes, you had better take the box away at once"—he said, "Not now, I will fetch it to-morrow," and he did—it was a large wooden box—this is it (Produced)—it was then brown, it has been fresh coloured since—he did not tell me what he was taking in it; I did not actually see it go out of the house; my wife and I were still in bed when he took it away—Koczula helped him to take it out—the Koczulas had two baskets, with a lock, which they kept in the front kitchen below—I saw those baskets when they came to the house; they were full—prior to Friday, May 25th, I had no notice that the Koczulas were going to leave—on that Friday evening I was at home up to a little before eight—a customer named Fritz Klung and Schmerfeld were on the premises—I played cards with my friend Klung—he was in the habit of going to his club on Friday night; that was the reason he ceased playing—the club was in Dean Street, Soho, not far off—we had not many customers on a Friday night; Klung was generally the only one there—when Klung left Schmerfeld said, "Will you go with me for a walk to Hyde Park?"—I had been out with him for a walk of an evening before that, but not so far as Hyde Park, only in the neighbourhood—when we started my wife was in the bedroom asleep—she was in the habit of going to lie down of an evening, generally from about seven till about nine, and then my daughter Clara used to go and wake her up—I believe all the children were in the house when I left; nobody else, but the two Koczulas—we were out two hours and a half—I returned at half-past ten, a few minutes before or after—Schmerfeld returned with me—we were in two public-houses on the road, but not in one near my house, although he proposed to come into one which was near my house, at the corner of Frith Street and Shaftesbury Avenue—when we got home we went in at the restaurant door from the street; I cannot swear that the side door was open at that time, but I believe it was closed—I found the three eldest children in the shop—I asked them, "Where is mamma?" and in consequence of what they said I went upstairs—the bedroom door was quite open—I believe there were two lamps alight in the room, but I can't remember particularly—I can't say whether they were lighted before I went out, but the lamps did not belong to that room—one of them used to hang at the side of the wall in the passage, the other came from a room upstairs—the first thing I saw on entering the room was that all the drawers containing linen and other things were on the floor; the drawers of the wardrobe were also taken out—I first called for my wife—I did not know where she was; I received no answer—I went towards the place where the drawer was containing the money and jewellery, and I

saw it had gone—I then ran downstairs, crying out, "I have been robbed"—I saw Schmerfeld in the restaurant, and he went back with me upstairs, and I then found my wife's body on the floor—the feather bed was on the ground—I am not sure whether it was not Schmerfeld that said to me, "Here is something lying"—I immediately went towards it; I removed something, and then I saw my wife; she was dead—there were sheets, pillows and bolsters on the floor; they were on the body—the mattress alone remained on the bed—Schmerfeld was there at the time I saw the body of my wife; I can't say what he did—I did not see him again that night, not till next morning, when I went to Charlotte Street with the police—I ran out of the house, and cried "Murder!"—the police came into the house directly I ran out—I did not look to see whether either of the Koczulas were there—they slept in the first floor back, the room at the back of ours—I cannot remember whether their door was open or not—I saw nothing of them after I returned that night—Schmerfeld did not tell me at any time that the Koczulas were going to leave—I cannot say exactly how much money I missed; I believe about £50—also a diamond ring, four other rings, three gold watches, a silver watch, two silver brooches, a garnet brooch, and garnets, and a lady's silver chain, a cigarette case, a lady's locket, a gentleman's locket, another chain, a necklet and garnets—I have since seen a lady's watch, the cover of the silver cigarette case, and a gold watch—this (produced) is the upper part of the cigarette case; it has been broken at the back; it was in a perfect state—I noticed afterwards in examining the room a pair of diamond earrings on the floor underneath the wardrobe—they had been kept in the ward-robe—they must have rolled out when the paper and other things were taken out—I saw the cord which had been tied round my wife's legs, and also some cord that was lying on the floor in the room, a short distance from the bed—no such cord was in the bedroom when I left the house that night—there was some cord in the back cellar similar to that which was found on the floor—that is not the same cellar in which the Koczulas' baskets were kept; they were in the front cellar—I afterwards went with the police into the cellar where the cord had been, and saw that some rope had been newly cut which corresponded with that found on the floor of the bedroom—I was present when these keys were found by the police in the dustbin of my premises—I noticed a silk handkerchief that was round my wife's neck; she was in the habit of wearing it when lying down—I was present when the police made an examination of Koczula's baskets in the cellar; they were locked—the police cut them open, and found in them only a few old things of no value—I have recently known a woman with whom Schmerfeld had been living; her Christian name is Eleanor—I had seen her shortly before the Friday—I saw her in the house on the Thursday, the day before, she slept in the house, but the last time I saw her was when we were on the way home from our walk on the Friday night; we met her—on the Friday morning my wife came to my bed and showed me a £10 note, and I saw her take some money to give change for it, and she put the note into the drawer which usually contained the jewellery and money—that note was gone on the Friday night—I did not see Helena at the house on the Friday morning, nor Schmerfeld—I don't believe I saw Schmerfeld at all on the Friday till

the evening; I can't remember positively, but I don't believe I did—I have not found any of the property, except these two things.

  FRAND GEORGE WAYLETT (118 A). I have had experience in making plans—I have made a pian of the ground floor of 167, Shaftesbury Avenue—I produce it, and also a number of tracings from it (They were handed to the JURY)—they show the restaurant and kitchen and the back yard—there is a door leading from Shaftesbury Avenue into the iron gate of the restaurant—the iron gate was generally open, and the door into the restaurant would often be open—I did not know the inside of the premises before the 25th May; I knew the outside—on going into the restaurant there was a piano slightly to the right, a door leading to the kitchen, and a door from the kitchen into the passage—you can also get to the passage by the street door, and from the passage there are stairs leading up to the bedrooms—it is quite a small house—at the back is a small yard, with a wall 7 ft. 6 in high, with a cistern and dustbin on the left and a w.c. on the right—I have made a sketch plan of the front and back rooms on the first floor—it is made to scale, two feet to the inch—it shows the position of the furniture as I was told it was on the day of the murder—I was sent for on Saturday, the 26th, at 3.30—the bed stood across a door between the two rooms, which was fastened, and on the other side was hung a quantity of clothing—there were two chests of drawers; one set was used as a washing stand; the washing things were then on it—the bedstead was a heavy four-poster.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. The door leading into the street was fastened by a padlock and catch—the catch was not sound—there was no outside handle—there was no padlock on when I was there; anyone could get in by just pushing the door—there were no bolts—there was the usual staple and fastening for a padlock.

  CARL RASCH (continued). The washing-stand was combined with a chest of drawers—two of the drawers of the wardrobe were taken out, and also three of the drawers of the washstand, and the remainder from the chest, nine in all—the door between our room and the Koczulas' was usually locked, and the bed stood in front of it, so that nobody could enter—I don't know where the key of that door was kept, I did not see it; the door opened towards our room—the street door was generally shut, but if any lodgers were in the house my wife put a padlock to it in the evening—when there were no guests in the house it was simply shut, sometimes it was open—when it was shut it was latched, an ordinary latch, which shut with a spring—there was no handle on the outside.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. There is a door leading from the street upstairs, that does not communicate with the restaurant—people could come in at that door without being seen from the restaurant—they could not go upstairs without being observed, because the other doors were open—the passage has only a thin wooden partition—there is a full view of the staircase—the two doors were always open, for convenience sake—there is a window half up the stairs, looking into the yard—if anything was thrown out of that window it would not go into the dustbin, because there is a cover to it and a cistern above it, which was not in use—the dustbin is altogether covered by the cistern—I have been three years at 167—my house is conducted as respectably as the Hotel Metropole—I do not know the man Kewpf—the Koczulas have been in my

service nine months—they were recommended to me as respectable people—I always found them quite honest—they used to receive money and hand it over—they had all my confidence—people used the restaurant more or less, it depended on the business; at times the business was flourishing very well, and there were plenty of people there—the prisoners waited at the restaurant—there were not many tips in the restaurant—the man might have a week of 10s. possibly, and there might be weeks when he got nothing—the female prisoner attended to the bedrooms as well as he did—they were not thrifty people—whatever they got they bought things with for the woman's confinement, which cost him a considerable sum of money—she was confined on the 1st of January this year—their wages were 7s. 6d. a week—they had a holiday every fortnight, not to stop away, they came home at night—I have missed a considerable number of articles of jewellery, of the value of over £40—the prisoners had not spoken of their intention to leave my service before this—I heard it said so at the Police-court, but never before the murder—Mrs. Marks stated that the prisoner had told her the day before the affair that they were going to leave—I did not hear it—the prisoners generally got up at half-past seven, before me—whenever there was a breakfast required my wife used to get up early, not otherwise—she was always at work somehow or other, attending to the cooking, and to the children, and she took rest in the evening—the only missing articles that I have identified is a watch and part of a cigarette case; this is it, it is solid silver—I can't say whether it is an ordinary one or not; it is one to suit the pocket, not too bulky—I never heard that my wife wanted to sell the watch; it was never sold to the prisoners; she would never have done so without my consent—I don't known whether there was a lamp in the prisoners' room—there was a ladder at the back of the house—I heard it whispered that there had been a robbery at 177; I don't know anything about it; it may be that the thieves got away and escaped through my house, but I don't know it—the prisoners knew perfectly well where the things were kept in the house; whether they knew the very drawer I can't say; they knew they were kept in that room; they had the run of the place—I did not see at this time that one of the beds at the top of the house was turned down, as if it had been occupied—I went up to the bedrooms; I did not notice that one of the beds had been occupied; no bed was occupied, and had been used—the bed in the upper story had not been used—I had been last in my wife's bedroom, it might have been at eleven or half-past, in the morning—I never heard anything of the sale of a watch—an umbrella was sold to the prisoners—something was said about the sale of a watch, and I said, "If you pay me the money you can have it," but they could not pay for it, and therefore they could not have it; they could not even pay for the umbrella at once; they had a week to pay for it, and the price of it had to be deducted from their wages.

Cross-examined by MR. CANONT. I cannot exactly give the female prisoner the character of uniform kindness to the children; I did not see anything to the contrary; if I had I should have remonstrated with her—I was satisfied with her while in my employ—her duties were to take care of the children and to do the general work—with the exception of cooking I had no complaint to make about her—the eldest child and the baby were rather fond of her, not Clara—when we were not there she would

take charge of them—when we were there the mother took care of the baby more than she did—it is possible she might have to give them their tea as late as half-past eight—some of them were in the habit of going out in the evening to play, just outside the door, up and down—it was her duty to do out our bedroom; she had access to the room at any time—if the room had been locked my wife would have given her the key at any moment—it may be that she has brought my wife money—I don't know of any occasion when my wife has locked it up in her presence—she would put it in her pocket—if my wife wanted change she would go to her drawer to get it, or they would come to me—I have never seen the male prisoner go out and walk up and down of an evening; I have seen his wife do so—I don't know of a customer taking a bedroom in the house on the night of the murder—the female prisoner did not tell my daughter so in my presence—the watch they wanted me to sell was a lady's watch; it was mine; my wife never wore it; she had a better one—their wages were paid regularly every week by my wife; no book was kept as to the payments—my daughter Clara used to go up every night to wake her mother when she was lying down—during the time she was resting it was the female prisoner's duty to keep the children quiet, if they were noisy, but they were never noisy; they had their school work to do and their play work—I have sometimes lifted the baskets in the cellar—if they were in my way I moved them—it may have been a fortnight or three weeks before the murder that I last touched them—they were pretty big—I went out very little with my wife of an evening, except perhaps on Sundays.

By MR. WARBURTON. Up to the time my wife went upstairs to lie down, I was in her company, and if she had sold the watch she would undoubtedly have told me—I saw the watch that morning in the drawer—the female prisoner was often upstairs in my wife's room, doing needle-work with the machine—I never saw the cord round my wife's legs—the prisoners were left in charge of the house when my wife and I went out together, but they were not in possession of the keys, and my wife was then in the habit of putting the jewellery and money in her pocket, and taking it with her—the prisoners never had the keys in their hands.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. It may be 1887 when I was first a friend of Schmerfeld—that was in Holland—I knew him till I left to come to England—my wife knew him slightly—I saw him pretty frequently in Holland—I was not on intimate terms with him—I came to England in May, 1891—Schmerfeld first told me he had come direct from Holland, afterwards that he had come out of prison, where he had been a fortnight for smuggling cigars—I did not say so at the Police-court because I was not asked—I had a good deal to say that I was not asked—from the time he first came to me I saw him nearly every day—I went out with him two or three times a week—I was not out with him for a considerable time; I came home in the interval, and went out again—the time that was longer than usual was when I took my wife to the theatre—I may have been late at the club—I may have been out with him two or three hours at a time if you count the times I have returned to the house, but not without coming home—I have been one hour out with him without returning; never two hours, I cannot say to a minute—all four children were present when I played cards with Klung, but not at the commencement—I cannot say how

long I played, it may or may not have been four hours—Klung proposed to cease playing—I have said a hundred times Schmerfeld invited me to go out; the witnesses will prove it—I called Schmerfeld into the room when I discovered the state it was in—he came up—I was so excited myself I cannot say if he was excited—I did not hear him shout "Murder'—I think the children went upstairs with us—I did not see Schmerfeld after I made a report to the police—I was friendly with him up to that time—I told you on that Friday night no one was in the house but my wife, the four children, and the servants—on other Friday evenings there may have been people sleeping there or having a bedroom, although Friday was usually the worst day.

Re-examined. I last saw Schmerfeld after I saw my wife on the floor in my room, from whence he disappeared till the next morning when I went with the police to Charlotte Street—the Koczulas' umbrella was paid for on the Monday before the murder, although it ought to have been paid the Monday previous, but then they could not pay it.

  CLARA RASCH . I am eight years old—I used to live with my father and mother at 167, Shaftesbury Avenue—I have a brother Carl about ten, a brother Otto about five, and a baby named Ernie about three years old—Paul and Susannah Koczula were the servants—I remember the night my mother died my father going out with Schmerfeld—I do not know the time—I went out with my baby brother Ernie for a walk after my father had left—I saw my mother—she went upstairs to sleep before I went out—Carl and Otto met me, and we came back to the house together—I then saw Paul and Susannah Koczula standing at the door of the restaurant—Woolf Marks was playing with Carl near No. 153, and he went back with us—I said to Susannah, "I want to go up to wake mummy," and she said "No, papa says you are not to go up to wake mummy"—I generally go up to wake her—then I went through the restaurant into the kitchen to get my tea—Susannah gave me some bread and butter and tea, and then she went upstairs to put baby to bed—then she came down and said, "You can play a little while on the piano and eat your bread and butter, and take your tea after"—Ernie slept in the first floor back, the next room to my mother; the same room as the Koczulas slept—I could not say how long Susannah was upstairs—Paul was in the kitchen, and then he went outside—we did not know he went upstairs—I last saw him in the restaurant—my brothers and Marks were with me in the kitchen when Susannah came downstairs; she never came back into the kitchen—Susannah said to me, "Eat your bread and butter and drink your tea after playing the piano a little"—I went into the restaurant where the piano was to teach Otto his A B C—I played my notes—when I was playing Susannah banged on the piano, on the notes—she made much noise—I said to her, "I hear someone screaming"—she said, "That is next door"—I heard someone scream at that time—after that she went upstairs—when she came down she looked for the door—I did not see Paul Koczula then, I don't know where he was—Susannah then went away and we never saw her again—she went to the kitchen door to go upstairs; she came downstairs and looked through that door, then she went away and never came back—I saw her look in at the kitchen door—the stairs leading to my mother's room come to the kitchen door—I last saw her standing at the kitchen

door—she went out through the same door as she had come in—when I looked again at the kitchen door she was gone—I first saw Paul go out, and then Susannah took my little brother upstairs—when my father came back I was in the restaurant with my two brothers, the little one being in bed—Marks had left—my father came in with Schmerfeld—my father went upstairs and said something—I did not notice where Schmerfeld was then—I saw him last come into the shop with my father—I went upstairs after my father called—I had last seen mother when I went into the room when I went out with the baby, and I said to her, "Good-bye"—Paul Koczula, my brothers, Carl and Otto, and Marks were all I saw in the restaurant when I came home—Susannah gave the baby some tea in the kitchen—I saw no one else—a door from the kitchen led to the passage to the stairs—I could not see through that door—it is kept open—they shut it the night my mother died; I think when they put baby to bed—I am sure about it—I think Susannah shut the door—the door from the kitchen to the restaurant was always kept open except Saturday night, when it was shut—it was open on that Friday night.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I told the Magistrate about the screaming—the gentleman who sits under the Magistrate read it to me (MR. WARBURTON said it was not in the deposition)—the Koczulas very often were not kind—I was always friendly with them—I took Ernie out at various times; it was dark on this Friday when I came home—Susannah did not say I was not to go upstairs—she gave me no orders—I could have gone up, but she would not let me—she was upstairs—we were left in the kitchen—there was nothing to hinder my going upstairs—she said, "Papa said you have got to stop down; you are not to wake mother"—that was not when she put the little boy to bed; she never gave any notice to me then, no directions—I often take the baby out; I took him for a little walk after dinner—Paul Koczula often walked up and down in front of the restaurant in his pinafore, with his apron on, when he wanted a little rest—I never heard him go upstairs, nor anyone—mother used to lie down and go to sleep nearly every night after her hard work in the day—then the Koczulas told me to be careful not to make any noise or do anything to wake her up—we generally sat in the kitchen when we came from our walk—I took lessons on the piano—I took a note-book and looked at the book, and that is where I learned my notes—I do not play quickly—I have a teacher; not ray school teacher, she comes every week—Susannah did not occasionally tell me to play more quickly, only when mother died—they do say I shall play more quickly when I am older and my hands are stronger—I go to school and come home in the middle of the day to dinner—I come home at five or six in the evening—Paul did not use mother's room—Susannah sat there to do her needlework—I heard nobody go up or come away—Paul went up to elean it when mother was not in it—people might have gone up without my hearing them.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. It was Susannah told me not to make a noise—she said there was a gentleman and a lady upstairs in the hotel—I always go out for a walk with my little brother in the evening—Susannah has told me not to make a noise on other days—I said at the ✗ey Police-court "The Koczulas had told me not to make a noise, and generally said so"—that is correct—I do not know the time I had

tea; it was generally in the evening when I came in from my walk—Susannah used to put the baby to bed when I was having my tea—that was usual whenever father and mother were out together for a walk, or when mother was asleep—Susannah went generally alone—she was only away a short time—she could play "Daisy" a little, but she banged the piano the night mother died—she never tried to play a tune, she banged it—she could only play one tune, "Daisy"—she only played that on other nights—I never made a noise; I only played still, my notes—Susannah pretended to play other nights—she went up and down the keyboard.

Re-examined. Susannah told me there was a lady and gentleman upstairs, when she was standing at the door of the hotel, before I came in, and before she said papa said I was not to wake mother—I knew mother always went upstairs to lie down—other nights I used to wake her—I should have gone upstairs to wake her if Susannah had not told me not to.

  CARL RASCH . I am ten years old—I remember the evening mother died being out at play with my sister Clara—I came home with her—coming towards the restaurant we were joined by Woolf Marks—I saw Mr. Koczula and his wife standing outside between the restaurant door and the hotel door—we went in at the restaurant door—one of them, I think it was the man, said, "Do not go in, because you will wake your mother up"—we stayed outside playing with Marks about five minutes—Paul and Susannah walked down the street, I think—I did not see them go; they went away, I do not know where—after about five minutes we went in the restaurant, Marks, Clara, and my little brothers; then Paul and Susannah came in—Paul came in the kitchen, and then, I think, he went upstairs—he went through the door leading to the passage—I did not see him again—Susannah stayed in the kitchen making the tea for us—she only gave Clara and Ernie their tea; then she put baby to bed—I saw her go through the door leading from the kitchen into the passage, which leads to the staircase, to the room where my mother was lying down—she was away five or ten minutes—I cannot tell; I did not mind, a little time—that was after Paul had gone through that door from the kitchen into the passage—I cannot say how long after; some little time after she came down—she said to Clara, "Cannot you play a little bit quicker? I can," and she banged on the piano—Marks said, "You are trying to break the piano; don't go on like that"—she was thumping on the piano loudly, not playing a tune—Susannah said, "No, I won't"—shortly afterwards she left off—she went upstairs, going out through the kitchen door into the passage—that was the last I saw of her—the last I had seen of Paul was before Susannah took the little boy to bed—Marks remained a little time, and then went home—I was in the shop with Clara when father came home with Schmerfeld—I did not see anyone go into the restaurant while I was playing outside; I only saw Koczula and his wife—I stayed in the restaurant till my father came home—I did not see anyone else in the house than Paul and Susannah Koczula.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. When I came home from school it was about six o'clock—I was at home about an hour, then I went out; when I went out father was at home—the second time I was out about three quarters of an hour—I went out of my own accord; I was not told

to go out—Mrs. Koczula was friendly with Mrs. Marks, and used often to meet and talk with her—I could have gone upstairs if I wanted—when mother has been asleep in the evening the Koczulas have sometimes told us not to disturb her or make a noise—we were not making much noise that evening—I have occasionally seen Paul walk up and down outside with his apron on—I bad heard them talk to mother about their going to Germany—I had not heard anybody say they were going away—I have heard Susannah try to play the piano—occasionally the door was shut between the kitchen and the restaurant—you cannot tell in the front of the restaurant whether anybody comes in the passage to go upstairs, except when you open the kitchen door—I cannot remember whether it was shut or open.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. Susannah had only just time to put the baby to bed before she came down—my little sister was then playing—I cannot remember her telling my sister to play faster on other occasions—I do not remember saying at the Police-court that Susannah interfered in my sisters playing—I am sure she never spoke to her about her playing—I gave evidence at the inquest—I do not remember saying so there—what I said was read over to me the same day—I heard no noise in the house while my sister was playing; my sister did—I was in the restaurant with her, and heard nothing—I have seen Susannah trying to play the piano several times—she could not play—she did not make much noise when she tried—on this Friday she made a noise; it did not last long—she ran up and down the keyboard with her fingers—my sister was sitting at the piano at the time.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. Clara was with me in the shop when father came home—I did not go up with him the first time—Schmerfeld did not—father called down; then Schmerfeld went up—father came down and said, "I am robbed"—then Schmerfeld went up—I was in the room when father saw mother lying down, and Schmerfeld—father shouted; I do not know that Schmerfeld did—I did not see where he went—I did not see him run out of the shop shouting—I have said my father and Schmerfeld often went out together, not every day.

Re-examined. Where I was in the restaurant I could not hear anyone who went upstairs—when near the window in the front shop I could hear anybody go into the passage—I heard Koczula go upstairs; no one else—Susannah was not trying to play a tune that night—I never heard her bang the piano like she did that night—neither Mr. nor Mrs. Koczula told me they were going to leave—they did not say "Good-bye" to me or anything.

  WOOLF MARKS . I am the son of Alfred Marks, living at 163, Shaftesbury Avenue, two doors from 167—I am ten years of age—little Carl Rasch is a friend of mine—on Friday, 25th May, I met Carl and his little brother Otto, and went with them towards 167—I don't know what the time was—I saw Mrs. Koczula outside the passage door, and Mr. Koczula walking up and down—I do not know whether he had an apron—Mrs. Koczula said to me, "You must not go in there; you will wake Mrs. Rasch up"—I waited outside five or ten minutes—I did not see what became of her—I did not see her any more—I then went in through the shop door; Clara, Paul, Otto, and his brother Ernest went in with me—whilst we were there Clara began

to play the piano, which was in the corner of the restaurant, to the right as you go in, near to the kitchen—I was standing by the side of the piano—both the doors were open; I could see into the passage—whilst Clara was playing Mr. Koczula came into the restaurant, spoke to Mrs. Koczula, and then went upstairs—she was downstairs in the shop; she came in there before him—he came through the passage and kitchen into the restaurant—I did not hear what he said to her; he spoke quietly, and then went upstairs; I saw him go—then Mrs. Koczula suddenly said to Clara, "Play the piano"—then she said, "Leave off playing now"—she did not—when she was playing she came with her two fists and began banging on the piano—I said, "If you bang so hard you will break the piano down"—she took no notice, but went on banging—then Clara said, "I heard somebody halloaing upstairs," and Susannah hanged harder with her fists, like that (describing), with both hands—she said, "There is no one halloaing upstairs," and five minutes afterwards she undressed the baby and took him up to bed, and she did not come down any more—that was the last I saw of her—during the whole of this time Mr. Koczula was upstairs; at least, I did not see him up there, I saw him going up, not right up—the stain begin just by the door—I could see the bottom of the stairs as I stood by the piano—I stopped in the restaurant about ten minutes after Susannah took the baby up, and I then left—I don't know what time it was when I left—I saw nothing more of the prisoners that night—with the exception of Paul and Susannah and the children I saw nobody on the premises that night—I was standing beside the piano when Clara began to play, and I remained there until after Susannah had taken the baby up.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. It was about eight when I saw young Carl Rasch—I cannot fix the time; that is my guess—we were outside at first, and we all went in together—I did not see the Koczulas till we were in the shop—I did not see them speaking to my mother that evening; they knew her—I knew that Mrs. Rasch often lay down of an evening—Mrs. Koczula did nothing to prevent our going in—the first time she would not let me go in, the second time she was not there—she did not do anything to prevent us—I have not gone upstairs many times—I have been out at the back once; it is very close to the other houses—neither I or Clara or Carl tried to go upstairs while we were in the shop—the door was open the whole time I was there—there is not much noise from the street; there is not much traffic in the night—there are cabs, but they don't make much noise—there is a noise opposite the hospital—there are schools, and a good many children about at eight o'clock—they play further down; not much there—sometimes they get excited and scream at each other.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I first saw Clara outside the bird shop next door, with her brother, standing playing—I had come from home—I was playing with Carl and Otto outside the restaurant for a good time—Clara did not join us before we went in—Susannah was at the door—she only mentioned once about Mrs. Rasch being asleep—she said, "Don't make a noise, because you will wake Mrs. Rasch up"—we did not go away from the door; we stood outside—we went next door to the tobacco shop, and back again at once, remained there two or three minutes, and then went in—we were there about five minutes before Susannah

came in, and as soon as she came in she said to Clara, "Play," and then Clara played—I did not see Susannah give any of the children their tea while I was there—she did not leave the room from the time Clara began to play till she left off—the baby was in the kitchen—Susannah banged on the piano before she put the baby to bed; I never saw her come back—Clara was playing slowly—I don't think Susannah was angry with her for that; she told her to leave off, before she banged the piano—I heard no halloaing.

Re-examined. When we came back from the tobacco shop I noticed the passage door; it was closed; that was the door at which Susannah had been standing.

  ALFRED MARKS . I am a furniture dealer at 163, Shaftesbury Avenue—I am the father of the last witness—I knew the two Koczulas as servants at the restaurant—on Friday night, 25th May, I saw them both from eight till a quarter to nine—Mr. Koczula stood outside by the restaurant window on the pavement, and Mrs. Koczula stood at the private door—she stood still, and he walked up and down—I had seen Mr. Rasch go out with Schmerfeld about eight—I left my premises about nine—Paul Koczula was then outside the window—I said to him, "You have got a clean shirt for Monday"—he said, "I am going to leave to-morrow"—I returned to my shop about half-past nine or a quarter to ten, and I saw the two Koczulas outside, moving up and down—Paul was in his shirt sleeves and a white apron—when I last saw Susannah, before nine, she had the baby with her; at half-past nine she had not—about half-past ten Mr. Rasch ran into my house; I went back with him to the premises, and then went for the doctor—I afterwards went with him to the basement, and there saw two baskets which he pointed out to me—I said, "I think they are empty"—we lifted them, and they were empty—about a fortnight before I had seen a box go away from the premises; Schmerfeld and Koczula took it out through the kitchen door, and lifted it on to a cab—that was in the morning about ten; I don't know exactly—it was heavy; the two had quite enough to do to lift it, and the cabman had to help lift it.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I had known the Koczulas during the whole time they were in Mr. Rasch's employment—I had always considered them kind and respectable persons—they have sometimes conversed with me and my wife as neighbours—I was in the habit of seeing them daily—I have seen them outside for a few minutes, but not so long as this—they only told me once that they were going to leave—they once said they were going to America; that was a long time before—I said before the Magistrate, "The Koczulas had several times before the 25th May said they were going to leave Mr. Rasch's; I mean Susannah had told me she was going to leave"—she said, "We are going to leave"—after her confinement she said they were going to leave, and go to America—she was confined in January, while in Mr. Rasch's employment—there was nothing particular to attract my attention in seeing them walking up and down outside the premises; they were as usual, it did not strike me; I went away directly—Mrs. Koczula had no conversation with me about a robbery that had taken place at 177—she never spoke to me about a robbery—a burglary did take place at 177—there was no burglary: there had been several robberies at 177—

that is five or six doors higher up—I did not hear that the thief escaped through Rasch's premises—the yard at the back is a very small one; there is a window on the half-landing—the dustbin is about three feet wide; it touches the wall—there is a space of two feet six between the dustbin and the house—on the top of the dustbin there is a cistern, the top of which is on a level with the wall that goes round the yard—a person standing on that cistern could not put his hand on the sill of the window; it is five and a half feet above the cistern, and no place to stand on—a person on the wall could walk along to the next house, and obtain access to three houses fronting Shaftesbury Avenue, and to three houses at the back.

Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. A lady and gentleman may come to the restaurant in the evening; how long they stop I cannot say—I did not say they stopped an hour or two.

Re-examined. I did not see anybody go into the house on 25th May, no lady or gentleman, or anybody else, all the time I was there—I know the back of the premises very well—no one could escape from the back yard without a ladder or steps—there has always been a ladder there, and after the murder I saw it in the yard, standing in a corner behind the closet door.

  BERTHA MARKS . I am the wife of Alfred Marks—I knew Mrs. Rasch; she was a big, strong woman—on the night of 25th May I was outside my shop from nine till ten—about nine I saw Mr. Koczula running up and down the street in his shirt sleeves—I called to him, "What is the matter with you, running up and down the street like this? Are you going mad?"—he said, "You will hear something to-morrow," and he went away again—he spoke in German—after that I saw him going up and down again, but I did not take much notice of him—I did not see him leave the premises.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. After he spoke to me he walked up and down—he was rather excited—when I spoke to him first he was not walking, he was between walking and running; not walking in the usual way—my husband was not with me then; he was some time in the evening—he went away, and came back near ten, I don't know the time exactly—I know it was ten when we shut up—I saw Mrs. Koczula that morning, and she told me she did not like the place, and did not like Mrs. Rasch, and she would not be there very long—she told me, I don't know how many times, that she did not like the place—I did not tell Mr. Rasch of it; it was not my business to make mischief between the people—I saw Mr. Rasch on the Friday afternoon about five, outside, speaking to someone—I never mentioned anything to him about it.

Re-examined. She did not say a word to me on that Friday about leaving that night; she only told me she would not be there long—I had seen Paul Koczula walk up and down before that night, but not like he did that night—I took notice of it because he walked up and down like that all the evening—I was at my door from nine till nearly ten—during all that time I did not notice anybody go into the premises.

  EMILY GAZE . I look after my father's bird shop at 165, Shaftesbury Avenue, next door to 167—on Friday evening, 25th May, I saw Paul Koczula walking up and down outside 167 all the evening, as far as I can recollect, from half-past seven till about half-past nine—I do not recollect ever

seeing him there so long on any other evening; he was pacing up and down rather hastily—later on, it must have been half-past ten, I had to fetch some fish from Monico's, in Charing Cross Road; that took me from ten minutes to a quarter of an hour, and as I came back I met Paul Koczula half way up Shaftesbury Avenue—he had one arm in his coat, and the other one he was just going to put in—he was walking sharp—I did not see which way he turned, he was pant Church Passage—I could not tell if he had his apron on; he had something round his waist, tied up—I went on home, and when I got home I saw Mr. Rasch coming out of his door—he made some complaint—I did not go up to 167, but I saw that the passage door was closed—no strange person passed through our shop that night.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I was not watching the premises the whole evening, only occasionally; I was looking at it; I was cleaning the windows in front of the house—I started that about seven—I had done the outside about half-past eight, then I went inside to clean them; that took me till about half-past nine—my attention was not given to what was going on next door all that time—it was about half-past eight, when I had just done the window, that I first noticed Paul Koczula—I had water fetched for me to clean the window—I was sitting sideways; I only cleaned the shop window—a robbery occurred at our house a few weeks before this; it took place on the first floor front—the thief has not been found—I have heard of several robberies taking place in adjoining houses.

Re-examined. All the bed clothes were taken from our room, and things off the chairs, mother's dress and father's coat, and several things—I don't know who took them.

  FRITZ KLUNG (Interpreted). I am a musician, and live at 149, Shaftesbury Avenue—I know Mr. Rasch—on Friday, 25th May, I was playing cards with him in his shop—Schmerfeld was there; we left off playing about eight, I was going to a club that I belong to—when I got up from play Schmerfeld asked whether Rasch would go out for a walk with him; it was a fine evening—I left before them.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I don't remember positively, but I think we began to play about four—Schmerfeld came in about an hour after we began—he did not play—the playing was a mutual understanding—it was I who said we must cease playing, because it was my evening at the club—Rasch did not say that he was tired, and should like some fresh air.

  JAMES PLOOWWRIGHT (594 C). I was on duty in Shaftesbury Avenue on the night of the 25th May, in the neighbourhood of 167—about half-past eight I saw Paul Koczula standing outside the shop, and walking up and down in front of it; sometimes going into the shop, otherwise walking up and down—the last time I saw him was twenty minutes past nine—I passed the house after that at a quarter to ten—I then saw both the Koczulas standing at the door—as I passed Paul bade me good evening—I returned the compliment, and passed along—he then had on his apron and was in his shirt sleeves, as though he was at work—I saw no more of him that evening—about half-past ten the same night I heard cries of "Murder" coming from the house—I went with Mr. Rasch into the house; Mr. Marks went also—I did not see Schmerfeld at that time—I went into the

front room, and there saw the body of the deceased woman; it was shown to me by the husband; he took me upstairs to see it—I did not move the body at all before the doctor came—I went at once for Dr. Lloyd, the divisional surgeon—I noticed that her legs were tied with these two pieces of cord (Produced)—I afterwards took them off—one of the pieces was tied very tight, just above the ankle; the other was much looser, just below it—both were tied round the ankle—the two pieces appear to be the same cord; the upper one was the tight piece—I saw two other pieces of cord in the room; I produce them—they were near the woman's head, against the fire-place—the feather bed was on the floor—on the mattress I noticed two spots of blood, in the centre of the bed, by the side near the edge; they looked fresh—the room was in great disorder, drawers pulled out, and so on—that same night I went down into the cellar—I there found some cord lying on the floor, or tied up to a leaden pipe—I examined it; it appeared as though a piece had been recently cut off it, the edges were quite fresh—I afterwards compared those pieces with the cord that was round the deceased's feet, and found that they corresponded; it was the same cord—I also examined the dustbin that same night, and in it found this bunch of keys, identified by Mr. Rasch—I tried one of those keys and found it fitted the wardrobe—this waiters' apron I found in a sort of ash-hole, or small dustbin, in the passage leading to the back yard; it was dirty, but useable—that same night I examined the back of the premises, with the assistance of police lamps, with a view of ascertaining whether anybody had got in or out; I found no trace—I renewed the examination in the morning by daylight; I found no traces whatever, no footsteps or any marks.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. The yard is paved with large stones—there was no earth on which to find footmarks—I had been on this beat for some months, on and off—I knew the Koczulas well by sight; I never spoke to him before that night—I had seen him frequently walking up and down outside the restaurant; there was nothing to call my special attention; he was walking quietly up and down—when I went to the house I went up to the second floor immediately—I went into the second floor back room; there was a bed there, it had been used, not slept in; the clothes were turned down on one side; it did not appear to have been recently occupied—there have been some robberies at 177; more than one—it is now a boot shop—I can't say if there has been a robbery at 165—the police have not been employed in investigating the robberies at 177—the cord I found in the basement is not similar to that which was tied round the woman's legs—the cord found in the basement is the same as that found in the room—I examine it now carefully; I see no difference.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I was first attracted to this by loud cries of "Murder," and I rushed toward them—I first met Mr. Rasch, then Mr. Marks, and several others who I did not know—when I got there the place was excited; there was general confusion—there were about twenty people there when I got there.

  SAMUEL LLOYD . I am surgeon to the D Division of police—on 25th May I was called to 167, Shaftesbury Avenue—I arrived there about twenty minutes to eleven—I went to the front room on the first floor, and there saw the deceased woman—I made some notes at the time of what

I then saw—she was lying on the floor on her back by the side of the bed, about eighteen inches from it—her legs were semi-flexed; her ankles were tied together very tightly by one piece of cord somewhat more loosely by the other, the tight piece being above—there were extensive abrasions about the face; the right nostril was blackened; the whole nose was somewhat pushed over towards the left—the internal surface of the lips was bruised, slightly lacerated; the gums in front of the incisor teeth were also bruised—there was what appeared to be a thumb and finger mark on the neck, the thumb mark on the right and the finger mark on the other side, as though a hand had been held across the neck in front, and those little marks were curved like nail marks—the left hand had some small abrasions, not scratches; they were minute abrasions—the skin was cut very slightly; they were very minute, just above the knuckles—the body was still warm; death rigidity had not set in—I made the examination at twenty minutes to eleven—in my opinion she had been dead very probably about an hour or a little longer—the room was in great disorder at the time—the body was lying on the floor, the head towards the grate, about three inches away, in an opposite direction to the pillows—the head of the bed was towards the door—I formed the opinion that death had been caused by suffocation—I saw no bed clothing on the body when I went into the room—it had been taken away—I saw it afterwards—I was shown a bedgown, two pillow cases, one towel, one white silk handkerchief, and a pair of ladies' drawers; they were all blood stained; the white silk handkerchief was tied loosely round the throat—there was no blood from the ears; there was from the nostrils—that is usual in cases of suffocation—there was no more blood in this case than I should expect to find in a case of suffocation—I should expect only such as would enable the assailants to get away bloodless; there was no wound of any magnitude; the pressure over the mouth and nose would prevent the escape of any blood—my attention was afterwards directed to the mattress; I do not quite recollect whether it remained on the bed—I have no note of any fresh stains of blood upon it; I did not notice it—on Sunday, the 27th, I made a post-mortem examination, and I then saw all I have described on the body—there was an abrasion on the bridge of the nose—the left side of the heart was contracted and empty, the right side was full of dark fluid blood; that is an indication of death by suffocation—the heart itself was perfectly healthy—the vessels of the brain were congested with dark blood, another indication of death by suffocation—in my opinion death was caused by pressure of the hand on the mouth and nose—there was no bruising about the neck; no such injury to the larynx as would cause death—a deeper dissection did not show bruising of the larynx—the marks of the thumb and finger showed that the throat had been grasped and held—the abrasions about the face and hands indicated that there had been a tremendous struggle, and that she had made a forcible resistance; in order to overcome that resistance there must have been very considerable pressure—I should think it was quite consistent with the evidence that one person should have smothered her, whilst another tied her feet—to the best of my opinion the cord was tied round the ankles in the tight condition in which I found it during the woman's life; I made an incision beneath, and the extravasation was complete—on 29th May, about half-past seven in the morning, I saw

Schmerfeld, and made an examination of his left forearm; I found on it two wounds that had been dressed, one a little above the wrist, the other a little below the elbow, and between those two another wound—the three were about three-quarters of an inch in length and across the arm—I also examined the right forearm and found a wound across it—they were such wounds as would be inflicted by a razor, not likely to have been accidentally, but intentionally inflicted, and possibly self-inflicted.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. There was not much to guide one in forming an opinion whether one person alone could have murdered this woman—I think if the cord could have been tied without waking her, then one person might have murdered her—from the position of the body I think the struggle probably took place on the bed.

Re-examined. I say that judging from the position of the marks, the bed was against the wall—I should say it was a right hand that held the neck—there was nothing to prevent her getting off the bed unassisted as far as the legs were concerned; I can't see why she could not have got off the bed; she could not have walked.

By the COURT. I do not think what I saw was consistent with the pillow or bolster being used; they would be too soft to produce such extensive abrasion; it is clear that the hand must have been used to the neck; that was not the actual cause of suffocation; the skin was literally abraded all over the face; I don't think a pillow could have done that.

By the JURY. The commission of such an act would occupy a very few minutes—I think it would be possible to tie the legs without waking her or enabling her to make an alarm, if rapidly and skillfully done—there were great abrasions on the face; the skin was moved all over the face, and a great deal of skin was rubbed off, as if she was struggling against the force used against her—she was bruised just about the throat, but I am unable to say whether that discolouration was post-mortem or not; the tissue was evidently bruised—there was no indication of a gag; I saw nothing of the kind—the cord on the ankle was tied in the very best kind of knot, a reef knot.

  EMILY BIDDIS . I let apartments at 4, York Street, Commercial Road East—on Friday, 18th May last, Schmerfeld came there and said he wanted a furnished room for two friends, a man and his wife, Germans, who could not understand English, they had one baby, but it was dead—they wanted to come in that night between eleven and half-past—I asked what made them come in so late—he said they were going to the theatre with him in Shaftesbury Avenue—the room was to be 4s. 6d. a week—he paid me 1s. deposit and left—I waited up, but the Germans did not come—next day, the 19th, he came again with a cart and another man with him besides the carman, a tall man with a moustache. (Looking at a photograph said to be of Kempf)—that is very much like the man—they brought two boxes with them, which were put into the room which Schmerfeld had taken—I objected to take them in—he said his friends could not get there on the Friday; they would come on the Saturday—I made an objection to receiving the woman—he said he did not know what to do; would I let them stay there till the Monday, and he would take another room, and he would take my room himself if I wished for a single man—he then went away with his friend, leaving the two boxes—I asked him for the rest of the money for the room—he

said I had £50 worth of goods in the boxes—on the Saturday night no one came, nor on the Sunday, but on the Monday Schmerfeld came and said his friends objected to leave their apartments where they were for two nights, and he had succeeded in getting them another room—he paid me the balance, 3s. 6d., and said he would come and occupy the room, and would be there between eleven and half-past that night—I gave him a key of the street door; but he did not come, and I never saw him again—the two boxes remained in the room till the Sunday following, Sunday, the 21st, when the police came and took them away; they showed me the key of the street door which I had given to Schmerfeld—I asked Schmerfeld his name—he said, "George"—I said, "What George?" and he said, "George Grand," spelling it—he spoke English well—I don't think he said what he was; he said he was out of work—he did not tell me his friend's name.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I have been ill for a long time—I think I was in bed about two months before Schmerfeld came—my memory is all right if I am not upset—I was not upset on the Sunday when the policemen came—I asked them what authority they had—I don't think I was excited—they asked me if I had let a room, and wanted to know if I had two boxes, and I said, "Yes"—Schmerfeld when he came to take the room was dressed as he is now—I don't think he had my whiskers, only a moustache—I was anxious to let my room, it had been unoccupied four days—I am not mistaken in thinking he said the theatre they were going to was in Shaftesbury Avenue—I don't know if I have said before that he told me there was £50 worth in the boxes—I can't remember.

  THOMAS SMITH . I am a carman at 48, Little Albany Street, in the service of a van proprietor—on Saturday, 19th May, in consequence of orders I received, I went to 89, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, with a van, and fetched from there these two boxes (Produced)—I took them to 4, York Street, Commercial Road—a man named Kempf and Schmerfeld went with me—Schmerfeld paid me 3s.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. That was the last time I saw Kempf—I had seen him before; I knew him for about eighteen months working down a yard there in Cleveland Mews, where I work.

Re-examined. He lived at 89, Charlotte Street—I did not know that Schmerfeld lived there—I have never been to Kempf's room.

  THERESA HARTE (Interpreted). I live at 89, Charlotte Street, on the third floor—I have three rooms—up to the 25th of May this year a man named Kempf was living with me there—two or three months before 25th May, I let one of the rooms to Schmerfeld—he lived there with Helena Harman, in the next room to mine—early in May I remember Schmerfeld bringing this box there—it was coloured in this way when he brought it, white and black; this other box belonged to Kempf—I remember Schmerfeld and Kempf taking the two boxes away—the black box was almost empty when I last saw it—two or three days after that, on a Monday, Schmerfeld asked me, in Kempf's presence to take a lodging for Koczula, he did not say where—5s. was given me to pay for the lodging—I can't remember which of them gave me the money, I found it on the table—next day I went to 181, Hampstead Road, because I heard from a German lad, a servant, that a lodging was to be let there, and I went and took the room and paid the woman the 5s.; I don't know the

name—in the evening I saw Schmerfeld, and told him what I had done; I told him the name of the road, but not the number—I saw him on the Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday—he said nothing to me about the Koczulas coming to Charlotte Street—on the Friday evening, the 25th, Kempf was at home about nine—I went to bed first about nine, then the Koczulas came about ten, or a little after—they asked me to tell them where the lodging was, and I went with them to Hampstead Road in a cab—Mrs. Koczula was carrying an umbrella, and he carried a small handbag—I did not go into the house; I saw the landlady and left the Koczulas there, they paid for the cab—I then went back to Charlotte Street—I can't say whether it was ten or eleven when I got back; Kempf was there, in bed—he was not in bed when the Koczulas came to the house—I went to bed—I missed Kempf at an early hour in the morning—when I got up he was not there—I did not see Schmerfeld on the Friday night—I heard of the murder on the Saturday morning, the 26th; the police came to the house with Mr. Rasch before six—Kempf had then gone—I looked out of the front window because the bell rang, and I saw the police—Helene was not with me—Schmerfeld was taken away by the police—he returned the same afternoon—I saw him the next morning, Sunday, that was after he had attempted to commit suicide—he came in and showed me his arms; he said he could not die, he would go away; he did go away, about six in the morning—I was going to take the room at Hampstead Road for two persons; the landlady said it was very small, and I then said I would take the wife to my place—I did not tell Schmerfeld of that.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I have a little alarum clock, but that does not show the time to be relied on—if I said before the Magistrate the Koczulas came a little after nine, I meant that I did not know the exact time—I can not tell when I went to bed on the night of the 25th, I could not tell exactly; I was up a very short tine, and then went to bed again—I should like to find Kempf if possible, he has left me with two children to support—I have heard no trace of him; I had no idea he was going away; this was the first time for four years that he has been away from London—I don't know how much money he had when he left; we were very badly off; all the money I had in the world was 2 1/2d.—Kempf was in the house when the Koczulas came—I had heard the Koczulas say that they were going to leave this place—about a fortnight or so before the 25th of May I was out one evening with them, at a public-house—I did not on that occasion see Mr. Koczula's purse; I did not see a £10 note in his purse; I never looked into his purse at all on any occasion—I don't remember remarking what a lot of money he had about him—on the evening they came nothing was said about not wanting their address known—I noticed nothing unusual in their manner or appearance—I have been in a public-house with them, but not in Hyde Park; it was near Regent's Park—I do not remember seeing the inside of his purse and seeing a lot of gold, and remarking what a lot of money he had.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. When the Koczulas came on the night of the 25th they came up into the room; Kempf was there then; he was not in bed; when I returned he was—I had not known him in

Germany—I don't know whether he had previously been in trouble for robbery.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I had lived with Kempf all the time since he came to England—it was on the Monday that Schmerfeld asked me to take the lodging; Kempf was present—I believe it was Schmerfeld that asked me; I should be very much mistaken if it had not been him; I believe it was he—it was when we were sitting at the table—Kempf was speaking about them also—I have said before that I told Schmerfeld I had taken the room, and I told Kempf the same day—on the Saturday Schmerfeld, Helena, and I had a conversation together—it was on the Saturday that Schmerfeld asked, in Kempf's presence, if I had taken the lodging—at the same time he asked me for pen, ink, and paper—Helena gave him some—I then told him the number and the road in Hampstead Road—I did not mention the street to him, because he knew it—on the Saturday I mentioned the street and the number in Hammond's presence, in answer to a question of Schmerfeld's—I found the 5s. on the table; I don't know who put it there, it might be Kempf—the police produced a key to me when they came, and a black coat or overcoat, which I believe was Kempf's; they told me they had found it on the roof of our house—I could not get on to the roof from our room; there is no passage, or ladder, or anything of the kind; it is about four feet from our room to the roof; a man could do it—Schmerfeld slept in the front room—another man also occupied that room; they always left their door open at night; the adjoining room was occupied by a man and his wife; they usually kept their door locked.

Re-examined. Kempf was at work on the Friday; he had been in work up to that time; he earned £2 a week; he usually got his wages on the Saturday—when the police came on the Saturday I did not tell them where the Koczulas had gone to, because I had no idea of the address.

  WILHELMINA WESTON . I live at 181, Hampstead Road; I let apartments—on Tuesday, the 22nd of May, Miss Harte came and took a room, and paid 5s. for the week's rent; I gave her the key—on Friday night, 25th, the two Koczulas came between ten and eleven, accompanied by Miss Harte; she came downstairs for the lamp, and took it up with her—I did not see the Koczulas on the night of their arrival—the first I saw of them was next day, Saturday—the man came down for some food between one and two in the day—they slept in the house on the Saturday night, and were arrested on the Sunday.

  HELENA HARMAN . I live at 89, Charlotte Street—I became acquainted with Schmerfeld between three and four months ago—I was not in the habit of visiting him at 89; I went to see Mrs. Kempf there, Theresa Harte—I stayed at 89 for six weeks with Schmerfeld—he was not earning any money or doing any business at that time—I lived on my own money which I had saved in my situation: I had previously been in service—I spent all the money I had saved, and then I put my jewellery in pawn—at the end of the six weeks I got a situation, leaving Schmerfeld at Charlotte Street—I stayed in my situation three weeks, and on the Saturday before the murder I returned to Charlotte Street; that would, be the 19th—Schmerfold was still living in Charlotte Street when I got back—I saw a large box there, like this white one—I did hot know it was his box—I asked him where he was going—he said, "To Dresden, to the

Grand Hotel"—I saw the other box there also, the black one—both the boxes were taken away by Schmerfeld and Kempf that same day, the 19th—Schmerfeld came back on the Saturday morning, and slept at the house that night—on Monday he said he was going to the station on Tuesday—during the Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday I was living there with him—he only slept there; he did not live there—I don't know who paid for my living; I did not pay—I did not have my meals there; I only slept in the room with Schmerfeld—Mr. Kempf was a friend of mine—I left on the Tuesday, and went to stay with a friend—on the Wednesday I went again to 89, Charlotte Street, to fetch a letter—I saw Schmerfeld there—on Thursday, the day before the murder, I met Schmerfeld in Regent Street with Mr. Rasch—Mr. Rasch said something to me; Schmerfeld was present—that night I slept at Mr. Rasch's house, 167. Shaftesbury Avenue—I went there in consequence of what Mr. Rasch had said to me—a gentleman went with me—next morning I saw that gentleman hand a £10 note to Mr. Rasch, and he gave him the change—that was in the passage—Mrs. Koczula was present when he handed the £10 note to Mrs. Rasch—I saw Schmerfeld that morning at Ranch's house about ten o'clock—the gentleman had left the house then—I did not know that Schmerfeld was coming there that morning—he knew I had been sleeping there that night, because he asked for me of Mr. Rasch directly after I had gone in with the gentleman—I bought Schmerfeld a pair of shoes on the Monday; I went with him to the shop, and paid for them—I don't remember giving him any money—I paid for the shoes because he asked me—I said nothing to him, or he to me about any money I had got the night before—on Saturday morning, 26th May, I went to 89, Charlotte Street—I had heard of the murder on the Friday night—Schmerfeld was not at the house when I got there—afterwards he came in—I asked him what was the matter, why the police locked him up—I heard he had been to the Police station—he said he was innocent; he had done nothing—he went to his own room—I stayed in the room with Mrs. Kempf—soon after he came into the room where I was, and asked for the razor—he picked up a razor which was there—I took it from him because I said he would kill himself, he looked so frightful, I would not let him have it—he went back to his room—he came again to mine and asked for the razor, and for whisky—I gave him the razor—he came again after that, and asked for pen, ink and paper, and he asked the address where Mr. and Mrs. Koczula lived—Mrs. Kempf said 181, Hampstead Road—I last saw him that night at ten o'clock—he came into my room, and bade me "Good-night"—he was very excited—he said he was going to kill himself because he could not bear the shame—next morning, Sunday, he came to the room where I had been sleeping with Mrs. Kempf that night, and said he could not starve, and he had cut himself—he showed me; it was on the right arm—he left the house that Sunday morning; he did not tell me where he was going—on the Saturday night he gave me this piece of paper, on which is written "Commercial Road, York Street, No. 4"—he said, "my photograph was there," and I went and fetched it—he said he had a room there, and there were his boxes, and that I would find my photograph—I had given him a photograph—I afterwards saw these

boxes opened by the police—the photograph was on the table in the room—I saw in one of the boxes things I recognised as belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Koczula—I don't know if the other things in the box belonged to Schmerfeld.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, is frequented by women with gentlemen—I have only been there once.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I went there in consequence of Mr. Rasch saying that if I did anything in that line he would like me to take the gentlemen there.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I have known Schmerfeld about five months; I had been staying at 89, Charlotte Street, with him—I left him on 25th April, a month before the murder—I returned to 89, Charlotte Street, on the Saturday prior to the murder—on 22nd, after I heard of the murder, I was in the room with Miss Harte and Schmerfeld, and I heard him ask her for the Koczulas' address, and she told him 181, Hampstead Road—he did not talk much about his arrest—it was about two on the Saturday—he did not talk about the police questioning him about the murder—he was very excited—he said, "I have been to the Police-station; I cannot stand the shame of being charged"—he said he felt great shame because he was arrested—he did not say on the Saturday, "I cannot die"—he said, "I cannot starve"—he said on the Sunday, "I cannot die"—he was in a very excited condition on the Saturday when he asked for the razor—I saw that box in Kempf's room the last week I stayed with him—I do not recognise the black box—I had determined to leave Schmerfeld on the Saturday, and stay with friends—I intended to take another situation—I came in on the Saturday morning, and at once told him I was going to look for another place.

By MR. DRAKE. I took rooms for myself—Schmerfeld said he was going for a situation.

  HENRY ALFRED HANHART . I live at 83, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square—the numbers run unevenly—Nos. 85 and 87 are between my house and 89—there is a skylight with a number of panes of glass at the top of the shop—on Saturday, the 26th May, about nine a.m., I found on going into the shop this half of a silver cigarette case (produced) lying upon the counter which stands in the middle of the shop—on looking up to the skylight I saw one of the panes of glass had been broken in such a position that this half case would fall where I found it—I know the back premises of No. 89—I have been up to them, but not lately—this could have been thrown from the back of No. 89—I handed it to the police.

  THOMAS GREET (Inspector C). Early on the morning of the 26th I had heard of the murder in Shaftesbury Avenue—about eight a.m. I was at Marl borough Street Police-station—Schmerfeld was there—I was there again about midday—Rasch had made a statement to the police, which had called for an investigation, which was made—about twelve o'clock in the day Superintendent Smith, in my presence, said to Schmerfeld, "There is no charge against you; I am going to put some questions to you; you need not answer unless you like, but what you do say may be used in evidence against you"—in answer to the questions put to him by Superintendent Smith, Schmerfeld said, "It was about eight o'clock when

I went out with Mr. Rasch last night; we went for a walk to Hyde Park; we returned about 10.30 p.m.; when we came into the shop the children were there. Mr. Rasch asked the children, 'Where is mamma?' The oldest boy said, 'Mamma is asleep.' Mr. Rasch went upstairs and had a look; he came down and said, 'Everything is upset, just come up and have a look.' I came up with Mr. Rasch; Mr. Rasch lifted up a cloth and said, 'There is my wife lying'; I had just a look at her face and Mr. Rasch screamed and went down; I ran down and holloaed out and ran for police towards Oxford Street; I turned to the left; I went to the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue, a clothing shop, and came back again. When I came back I saw a policeman there and a crowd of people. I did not see a policeman when I first went out. Afterwards I went towards Regent Street, telling people what had happened. I told some men and some women; I do not know their proper names. I walked about. I was beside myself. I did not like to hear Mr. Rasch and the children crying. I was in the Leicester from 12 to 12.30 a.m. I went home when I came out of the Leicester, to bed. I knew Mr. Rasch's servants as long as they were in the house. They said they came from Cologne. I have not seen any letters from their friends. I live at 89, Charlotte Street. I am living with a party named Kempf on the third floor. It is a woman. Both servants (Koczulas) visited me at Charlotte Street. I saw them last Wednesday dinner-time. They were sitting at the table eating. I have not seen them since. I had no idea where they have gone. I do not know if they have a box. I have seen no box belonging to them. I stopped with Mr. Rasch when he came here; I have been in Charlotte Street since February. In February when I left Mr. Rasch, the two servants were still there. I had a box of clothing, which I left with Mr. Rasch as I could not pay. I took it away about three weeks ago, and cook it to Charlotte Street. It is not there now; it does not belong to me now; I sold it. I sold the box to a seafaring man; I sold it in Charlotte Street two days after I took it away. I came to know that the seafaring man wanted a box, in a beerhouse in the neighbourhood. I am a waiter, but doing no business now. I have not heard the servants say they were going away; they visited the woman Kempf. I am not living with her. I occupy the front room on the third floor, and pay 4s. rent a week for it. The woman Kempf occupies three rooms on that floor, and she supplies me with food. After I left Mr. Rasch's house I spoke to Rudolph, who lives at Goldstein's, furniture dealer, New Compton Street. I spoke to a woman named Visole, who lives at Goldstein's also. I said, 'They robbed Rasch.' I said, 'Mrs. Rasch was lying on the floor.' I did not know what was the matter. Mr. Rasch and I went to several public-houses. I paid for drink, and Mr. Rasch paid for some. Mr. Rasch paid for the last drink we had at the Swallow public-house"—Having made that statement Schmerfeld was permitted to go—he was retaken on the 29th May, when I charged him with being concerned in the murder—he spoke English very well—the charge having been read over to him he said, "I know nothing about this charge at all."

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I have been in the force twentyone years—I am chief inspector of a very large district in the West-end—I questioned Rasch very closely, also the inspector who brought Schmerfeld in—Smith is head of the division; I am head of a department—

Smith assisted in the investigation—Schmerfeld answered Smith's questions freely and openly.

Re-examined. At the time Schmerfeld was discharged I knew nothing about the boxes; that came out between the Saturday and the Tuesday.

  CHARLES FORD . I am an Inspector of the Thames Police—about 2.20 a.m. on 29th May I saw Schmerfeld at a part of the river called Ratcliffe Cross, crouched behind a pile on the shore—I asked him what he was doing there—he replied, "I want to get on that ship"—two vessels were lying in the stream—I asked him what he wanted to go on board for—he replied, "I want to get to Holland"—I said, "This is not a proper time in the morning to come down to get on board of a ship to go to Holland; what are you?"—he said, "I am a German waiter"—in my printed information I had a description of him, and said, "Show me your wrist"—he showed me his wrist and I saw he had a bandage on it—I said, "What is the matter with your wrist?"—he said, "I cut it with a piece of glass"—I said, "I shall arrest you and take you to Wapping Police-station"—at the police-station I asked him where was his stick—he was supposed to have been carrying a crook-handled stick—that was part of my information—he replied, "At the house"—I said, "What house?"—he said, "Mr. Kempf's"—I said, "Where is Mr. Kempf?"—he said, "I don't know, I have not seen him since last Friday week"—that was the Friday preceding the murder, the 18th—I searched him—he had no money.

  THOMAS GREGORY (Police Sergeant C). On Saturday, 26th May, I received from the landlord or agent of the house this key of No. 89, Charlotte Street (Produced)—Mr. Maitre is the landlord or agent—I have since found the key belongs to the front door of No. 4, York Street, Commercial Road—I showed the key to Schmerfeld on Saturday, 26th May, after he had been discharged—he said, "It is not my property; I have never seen it before in my life"—I told him it had been found in a recess on the stairs at 89, Charlotte Street—he said, "I know I shall be blamed for this, but I am innocent; I went for a walk with Rasch, and when I got back to Shaftesbury Avenue I heard the children crying, and I was frightened; I ran away; I went to Oxford Street and then back to the Leicester public-house" (that is at Leicester Square, the corner of Wardour Street); "I went back home and stayed there until the police came and fetched me"—this was at 89, Charlotte Street—he asked me if I could speak to him outside—I said, "Yes"—he said, "If I knew where these people were I would tell you"—no reference had been made to any people—this was about six p.m.—he was in bed—I waited for him—I went to the Blue Post public-house—he said he would try and find out where the people were, and let me know by twelve o'clock on Sunday—I left him—I went back to the house on Sunday, 27th—he was gone.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. He told me he had been locked up—he did not seem agitated after he got up when I saw him outside, which was in the course of half an hour—I only remained on the premises ten minutes, or a little more—I was not talking; I was waiting for him to get up—I may have spoken to him while he was getting up—I went there for this key—I may have spoken to him about the murder; not for ten minutes, I could not say the time—I did not mention the parties concerned—I mentioned Rasch—I may have mentioned Kempf—I could not say I did; I do not think I did—I mentioned Koczula—upon that

Schmerfeld said he would endeavour to find out where they were—I do not think I did mention Koczula.

  EDWARD DREW (Detective Sergeant C). About 3.30 a.m. on 29th May I went to Wapping Police-station, where Schmerfeld was detained—I said, "I am a police officer, and I shall take you into custody on a charge of being concerned with Paul and Susannah Koczula, who are already in custody, in stealing a quantity of jewellery and money, of the value of about £80, from Mr. Rasch, of 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, last Friday night"—I said, "Do you understand me?"—I knew he was a German—he said, "Yes; I was not in the robbery at all"—I had received from the police there one pair of gloves, one tobacco pouch, and one rubber stamp—those were the only things found on him—I conveyed him to Marlborough Street Police-station in a cab—on the way he said, "Everyone must speak the truth; I did not do any thing, but I was afraid. I have had nothing to eat since Friday last but two eggs, which I found in Regent's Park under a hedge, where I slept since last Sunday. Last night I walked to the docks to try and get on a ship to go to Rotterdam"—I afterwards went to 89, Charlotte Street—I saw in the room which had been occupied by him clothes saturated with blood—the prisoner was charged at the Police-station with being accessory to the robbery, and the articles were specified—he was also charged with attempting to commit suicide—he said nothing when that charge was read over—I examined the premises, 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, about 3.30 or four p.m on 26th May, to ascertain if there were any signs of a person having got in or escaped by the back premises—I could not discover any—there was a ladder leaning against the house—it was not in a position as would assist any person to get in or out—I put the ladder against the back of a house in New Compton Street to look over the other side—there was no sign of anyone having scrambled over.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The property found on Schmerfeld was his own—I did not follow him from Charlotte Street on the Sunday.

  JOHN KANE (Sergeant D). In consequence of information I went on Sunday, 27th May, about 12.45 in the middle of the day, to 181, hampstead Road—when the door was opened I went upstairs to the third floor with an inspector—in the front room I found Paul Koczula in bed—Susannah Koczula had opened the door—she was up and dressed—I said, "Koczula, I need not introduce myself; you know I am Sergeant Kane"—I knew him before—he said, "Yes, I know you; I will not give you any trouble"—I spoke in English—the woman was standing with her back to the fireplace—I took her by the arm and led her over to the edge of the bed, where the man was still lying—I said, "Now listen attentively to what I am going to say to you; you will both be charged with being concerned together in having feloniously and wilfully killed and murdered Mrs. Sophy Rasch at 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, on Friday night last, between half-past eight and ten o'clock, the 25th of this month"—neither of them said anything—I said, "You will be further charged with being concerned together in stealing about £50 in money, and about £30 worth of jewellery at the same time and place"—the man said, "I did not steal any jewellery from Mrs. Rasch"—this was in broken English—the woman said nothing—I said to the man, "Do you understand the charge of murder I have preferred against you?"—he

first said, "Yah," and then, quickly, "Yes, yes, I understand"—I turned to the woman, and said, "Do you understand the charge of murder?"—she said, "Yes, I understand"—at the station, when the charge was read over, the man, pointing to the woman, said in broken English, "She knows nothing about it"—when the man had got out of bed and dressed I said, "Hand me whatever property you have got about you"—he handed me a purse containing £9 10s. in gold, 16s. 6d. in silver, and 7d. in bronze—after they had been charged I went back to the room which they had been occupying—I found a small foreign portmanteau containing female wearing apparel, this small gold watch (produced), which was identified the same day at the Police-station—before going to Hampstead Road I had found at 89, Charlotte Street, these two documents (produced) on a small dressing table in a corner of the room which Schmerfeld had been occupying—this card was underneath the letter, which was sealed up in this envelope, which is addressed "Herr Carl Rasch, Shaftesbury Avenue, No. 167"—I opened the letter there and then—I showed it to Koczula before I took him to the station—I said, "I found this letter in the room of your friend George Schmerfeld at No. 89, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square. In the letter Schmerfeld states that he has committed suicide, and that the murderer of Mrs. Rasch can be found at 181, Hampstead Road"—I went on to say, "Schmerfeld's room is swamped with blood, but I have been unable to find him"—both prisoners were standing together; the male prisoner shrugged his shoulders—they said nothing. (M. ALBERT here interpreted these documents as follows:—The letter: "London, 26-5 (May), 1893.—Friend Carl,—I have been deceived, as I have heard, and therefore I have deceived you, but not to hurt you, or to murder, for that is not my nature. I have secreted from you that that old servant girl had not been in Germany, and that her child had died here, but I never think any evil inclination or business. I now have the address of the murderer, and am compelled to inform you of it. Come to see me. Offer me your hand in death to say good-bye, for I cannot do better than to die. The address of the murderer is Hampstead Road, 181. Good-bye till we see each other again. Your friend till death, better than dishonour or shame,—Schmerfeld. Forgive and forget me. My Helena knows nothing about it. I am to be pitied. Your most devoted friend, George. If you have any suspicion of me we were at the theatre till twelve o'clock."The envelope: "Mr. Carl Rasch, Shaftesbury Avenue, No. 167."The card, written in pencil: "It is to the eternal sleep, where I will swallow this, but you must forgive me; it is not my fault. I am innocent, but I am quite willing to pay for her life with mine. Dear Helena, excuse; there is no human blood sticking to my fingers but my own. I die without a murmur. Hampstead Road, 181, which I have the will to write, to my great astonishment.")

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. He spoke broken English, but sufficiently clear for me to understand it.

  MARY SAPPARELL . I am female searcher at Marlborough Street Police-station—I searched Susannah Koczula on 27th May—I found on her £2 in gold; four half sovereigns.

  MAURICE MAITRE . I live at 89, Charlotte Street—on 26th May I found this key in a recess on the staircase—I handed it to Sergeant Gregory.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The recess is by the first landing, which is close to the door, under the sink, on that side.

  CARL RASCH (Recalled). I did not tell Susannah Koczula on 25th May, before I went out, to tell the little girl not to wake her mother that night when she came in.

  EDWARD DREW (Recalled). I found these two boxes at No. 4, York Street, Commercial Road—I afterwards opened them—I found a photograph and the address of a witness—the rest of the contents was property belonging to the Koczulas and Schmerfeld.

Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I had not seen any articles of the Koczulas' in Shaftesbury Avenue—these were shown to Rasch—I am telling the Jury what I have been told about these articles—they were shown to Mr. Rasch and two other witnesses.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The articles were found in the black box.

Re-examined. The address was found in the black box—there were men's and women's things.

  CARL RASCH (Re-examined). Most of these things in this box belong to the Koczulas, the rest to Schmerfeld—this dress is Mrs. Koczula's; this coat belongs to Schmerfeld—I believe Schmerfeld had a clock like this in is possession; he showed it me once—these pictures belong to the Koczulas; this one was smashed in my place—Koczula paid 60 marks (£3 4s.) for them; they are pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Koczula.

The prisoners' statements before The Magistrate were:—Paid Koczula said (through the Interpreter): "All I have to say is that I know nothing of the matter, and I am innocent, all the rest I leave in the hands of my solicitor." Susannah said (Through the Interpreter): "I don't know anything about the affair; I am innocent." Schmerfeld said: "I am innocent."

PAUL KOCZULA, GUILTY .— DEATH .

SUSANNAH KOCZULA. NOT GUILTY .

SCHMERFELD, GUILTY as accessory before the fact.— DEATH .

SUSANNAH KOCZULA was also indicted, with others, for stealing four watches and other articles, and £50 in money, the property of   Carl Rasch, in his dwelling-house. MR. MATHEWS, for The prosecution, offered no evidence on this indictment, and the JURY returned a verdict of

NOT GUILTY .