JOHANN SCHNEIDER, RICHARD MANDELKOW.
12th December 1898
Reference Numbert18981212-85
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceDeath

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85. JOHANN SCHNEIDER (36), alias RICHARD MONTAGUE , RICHARD MANDELKOW () was indicted for , and charged on the Coroner's Inquistion with, the wilful murder of Conrad Berndt.

MR. CHARLES W. MATHEWS, MR. BODKIN and MR. HBWITT Prosecuted and MR. A. HUTTON Defended.

WILLIAM ROSS . I live at 82, William Street, Hampatead Road—I keep a baker's shop—I have been there 4 1/2 years—the shop is on the street level, and is entered through a door from the street—there is no other door; you have to go through the shop to get to the house—after going through the shop into the private part of the house there is a staircase going to the first and second floors—I sleep in the first floor front room; nobody else occupies that floor—on the second floor the servant and two of my children sleep, all in the same room—there is a back room on the second floor, and the man who works for me sleeps there—there is nothing above that—in the basement there is a bakehouse the same size as the shop (you get down to it by the stairs from the back parlour), and behind the counter there is a trap, which lifts up, and through which the bread comes—there is a ladder down—in the bakehouse there is a long baker's oven—there are also two troughs in front of the oven—there is whitewash on the walls—the troughs are for kneading—there is a clock in the bakehouse, also a window near the celling, it looks out into the area next to the street—the window is clear glass—you can see into the street—the top of the window is level with the street—if you got out at the window you would get into the urea, not on to the pavement—if you were in the street you could see into the bakehouse by looking down the area—the oven runs back from the road—in the bake-house a chopper was kept—outside the shop window in the street there is an iron grating in the pavement—it is about 4ft. long by 2ft. wide—when flour comes in it would be lifted up and the flour taken down a pair of steps—there are two bolts which go through some rings—it is always kept closed at night—when it is fastened it is impossible to lift the grating—I always look round before going to bed to see to the fastenings—the steps hang on to the grating with a chain—I have always had a baker to assist me, he has always lived in the house in the second floor back room—his duty in the bakehouse would chiefly be at night—he begins work about 7 o'clock to make the dough, which takes about forty-five minutes—he would use the larger trough for it—after that he goes, up to bed again—he used to have his food in the bakehouse—he gets it him self when he likes—I call him about 11.30 for his night duties—he then cuts the same dough back again which takes about half-an-hour, and puts away the ferment for the buns, that takes about five minutes—then he has got nothing to do till about 1 o'clock—he would stay in the bake house and at 1 o'clock he would make the next dough, which takes about half-an-hour—after that he starts the oven—the fire is on one side—he heats the oven till about 3.45, when the dough would be put into the oven—I go to bed about 11.30 after I have called the chap, and get up about

three—the baker calls me—I go down and help him to get the dough ready for the oven—the baking continues till about 11 o'clock next morning, my assistant stays there till then, at 11 o'clock all the baking is over for the day—I have had several assistants, the prisoner was one of them—I knew him by the name of Richard Montague, he worked for me about two years ago for five or six months—during that time he lived in my house—when he came in at 7 o'clock he used to sleep till 11.30—I knew he was a married man—he left about two years ago—one day he said he was not well, and I asked him on the Saturday if he would be able to come on the Sunday, and he said, "Yes," but he did not return, he sent another man—I next saw him on November 4th, a Friday, he came about 10 p.m.—he said someone had told him that I wanted a man for Saturday—I said, "No, I don't want anyone, because we are not busy, and we can manage it ourselves"—I had not said anything to anybody about wanting a hand—he said it was a man in the Christian Lodging-house in Leman Street who told him—I said to him, "Are you hard up?"—he said he had been out of work six weeks—I asked him if he would like to take two loaves for his children—he took the loaves, and then asked if I would take his address—I gave him the book which was lying on the counter, and told him to write it down—I was to write to him if I heard of any work—this is the book (Produced)—it was written on a loose leaf; it is not there now—he wrote down, "Richard Montague," I wrote the address, "144, Sewards Street Buildings, Goswell Road"—I kept the book in the shop till November 11th, when the police took it—on November 4th I had in my employ a young man named Conrad Berndt—he was about 19 or 20 years old—he had been with me about seven months—he lived in my house—he slept in the second-floor back bed-room—he did the baker's duties—while at work in the bakehouse he wore a soft cap, a shirt, and a pair of trousers, and a blue-striped canvas belt round his waist with two buckles in it—he was a dark man, with almost black hair—he was a very good workman—he had other clothes which he went out in—I have seen him wearing a silver watch and chain—he never took it into the bakehouse—I next saw the prisoner on November 10th at 11 p.m. at the shop-door—I was at the door—he asked if I would allow him to stop over the night in my bakehouse, as he wanted to go at six o'clock next morning after a place near Oxford Street—he gave the name of Grummell; it is a baker's shop—he said he was going to see the foreman—I said, "All right, Richard; I know you, you can come in"—he was wearing a hard round hat, and had a green bag in his hand—he went round the counter, opened the trap-door, and went down the steps and into the bakehouse, shutting the trap after him—I went upstairs—the gas was alight in the bakehouse—Conrad had been in the bake-house at 7 o'clock, and made the first dough—at 11, when the prisoner called, Conrad was in bed; I had not been down at all—I called Conrad; I went into his room—he was in bed, not asleep—he rose up in bed—I could only see his shirt; the room was nearly dark, but I could see that the room was tidy—I gave him some instructions, and then left him and then went down to my room—I heard Conrad come down about five minutes after I had called him—I heard the bakehouse door go as he opened it—nobody else was up then—I went to bed and to sleep—I had

not been in the bakehouse since the morning—at that time there was nothing over the window—I was not having any flour in that day—the grating was fastened—the chopper was under the trough—after I went to sleep the first thing I heard was someone knocking at the door—he did not speak—I heard the person then go right down into the bakehouse again by the stairs; I got up—I then saw it was 3.15—I dressed and went downstairs—I had a lighted candle in my hand—I went through the shop, and looked at the shop clock—I then opened the trap door and went down into the bake-house—I left the candle on the counter in the shop; I blew it out—I left the trap-door open—the gas was burning in the bakehouse—I stopped on the steps, and called out "Conrad"—I got no answer, and then I heard someone on the other side of the bakehouse on the staircase—I went down, and the prisoner came over from the stairs—he had his coat on, but nothing on his head—I said, "Where is Conrad?"—he said, "He has gone upstairs to lie down; he has been sick"—I said, "What a funny thing, he has never been sick before, and it is a good thing that you are here"—the prisoner spoke is a quiet way—I then turned towards the oven, I saw that it was alight—there were three cans in front of the oven door which Conrad used to use for himself in the bakehouse—in turning to the oven I should be turning away from the prisoner—I had not gone two steps before I had a blow on the back of my head—I stood for a moment stunned; then I turned round towards the prisoner, and saw he had moved, he was then standing near the trough—he had this life-preserver (Produced) in his hand—he had his hands crossed in front of him—I had never seen the life-preserver before—it is not mine—I rushed by him and up the staircase which he had come down—when I got half-way up I called "Police"—the prisoner came after me and put his arm round me—the only light on the stairs would shine through the bakehouse door—then I felt the point of a knife in my chest—I seized it with my right hand and kept on pushing the prisoner back with my left down the stairs—I heard my wife and servant calling out upstairs—the prisoner pulled the knife through my hand and ran down into the bakehouse—he took the knife with him—my hand was cut very much—I went through the shop, opened the door, went outside and called out "Police" and "Murder"—while I was doing that the grating outside the shop window flew open and the prisoner jumped out—that was about two minutes after I had got to the door—the grating could not have been fastened—the prisoner ran down William Street towards Hampstead Road—Constable Chrisp came up and afterwards Inspector Gough—I found my head was bleeding and both my hands were out—Dr. Maughan came to my house and attended to my injuries—I afterwards went into the bakehouse and saw that the dough which had been made at eight o'clock the night before had been cut back—the bun ferment had not been prepared—about three-quarters of an hour's work had been done—the window was covered with a flour-sack—the top of the window was pinching the sack between itself and the top of the window-frame—I had never seen it done before—I also looked at the book on the shop counter, and found part of the page where the prisoner's name had been written torn out, as it is now—the blood on the book came from my

hands—this round felt hat (produced) is the prisoner's—it was left behind in the bakehouse—this chopper (produced) is mine—it was left in the bakehouse on that evening—these two buckles had been on Conrad's belt—this piece of charred cloth is a piece of the trousers Conrad used to wear, and also this piece of belt—this green-baize bag is the one the prisoner was carrying on that night—this watch and chain and seal belonged to Conrad—I have never seen the knife before—all the money I take in my business I take up to my bedroom every night about 11 o'clock, and it remains there till next morning—I pay it away to the millers as soon as I can; I have no banking account—on this night I had between £20 and £25 in my house—when I go down to the bakehouse at 3 o'clock I used sometimes one staircase and sometimes the other.

Cross-examined. As a rule I go into the bakehouse during the day to see how things are going on—the gas is always burning down there—on the morning before the murder I was down in the bakehouse with Conrad—I saw the hatchet there under the trough—there was nothing over the window then—we never put anything over the window—after the prisoner left my employment two years ago I did not see him again till November 4th—I inquired for him during the first week—I found out he was ill, not buffering from his head—he said he had done himself harm by lifting a sack—I saw him every day whilst he was with me—when I saw him on November 4th I did not notice that his manners had changed at all—he was perfectly quiet—during the seven months he was with me there was nothing to be frightened of about him—on November 11th when he came he was perfectly quiet—when he struck me he made no sound—I was struck by the life-preserver, not the hatchet—when I turned round he was about two yards away from me—he stared at me for about two minutes before I made the rush for the stairs; till then he did not make any step towards me—he was dressed, but had no hat on—the first time I knew he had a knife in his hand was when he put his arm round me on the stairs—it only penetrated the skin—I was wearing a shirt and an under-shirt—when I went up to Conrad's room the night before to call him, it was nearly dark, but I could see it was tidy because the lamps in the street were shining into the room—flour comes in about once a fortnight—nothing else comes down through the grating—Conrad fixed the bar—if I know that the bolts were fixed, and nothing had gone through I do not look at them; if they are safe in the morning I should not go round in the evening.

Re-examined. I asked the man who the prisoner sent to do his work when he went away, how Richard was getting on, and he said, "I don't think he will come back again."

EVA MILLER . I am a servant in the employ of Mr. Ross—I have been with him for about three years—it was part of my duty to attend to the room occupied by the assistant in the business—I used to go into the room occupied by Conrad Berndt to make it tidy—he had a box in the room in which he kept his best clothes—there was also a cupboard where he kept a suit which he wore for second lest—his room was always nice and tidy—he used to wear a silver watch and chain and seal—as a rule they were kept in the cupboard in the waistcoat of his second best

suit—I never knew him to wear them in the bakehouse—when at work he used to wear a shirt with blue and white stripes—this burnt piece is a part of his shirt (produced)—he always wore a belt, he had two, one was leather and the other of a striped material—one of the belts had two buckles, one large and one small—these (produced) are the two buckles and this is a part of the belt—I saw Conrad on the 10th after he bad had supper and before he went up to bed—I saw him going up to bed, he had his bakehouse clothes on, he had no waistcoat on, that was the last I saw of him—my room was quite close to his—about 3 o'clock I heard a noise on the stairs, I had been asleep—I went downstairs, by that time the police had arrived—I accompanied one of the police-officers into Conrad's room—it was very untidy—the box had been opened and the clothes were on the bed—they were searched by the police., and a purse was found in the trousers' pocket—it was shut, but was opened in my presence, and £5 5s. was found in it—in the box was a cigar box in which Conrad used to keep some cotton and needles, and some money—he generally kept most of the money in the purse—the cupboard was open—these are Conrad's watch and chain and seal.

WILLIAM GRIST (265 s). On November 11th, about 3 a.m., I was on duty near the Hampstead Road—I heard cries of "Police!" and "Murder!"—I ran to the shop of Mr. Ross, and saw him standing against his shop door—he was bleeding from a wound at the back of his head—Inspector Gough came up, and I was sent for Dr. Maughan—I brought him back with me—the inspector and I then searched the house trying to find Conrad Berndt—we went down into the bakehouse, and saw that the fire in the oven was alight—in front of the oven there were three cans—the oven was very hot, with the assistance of an iron bur we opened the oven door, and saw lying inside the oven the remains of a human body—under directions I cooled the oven as rapidly as I could, and afterwards assisted other officers to remove the remains from the oven.

ALBERT JOHN HEARN (60 s). I was on duty in the Hampstead Road on November 11th, between 3 and 3.30 a.m.—William Street turns at right angles from Hampstead Road, and leads up to Cumberland Market—I saw the prisoner in George Street, which is hardly a quarter of a mile from William Street—he came hurrying towards me from Tolmer Square, which is on the opposite side of the street to William Street—I noticed that he was very much excited—he had no hat on—I went towards him, and said, "Halloa, what is the matter I"—he made no reply, but turned and ran towards the Euston Road—I ran after him—Constable Westcote was with me—while the prisoner was running in front of me I saw him throw something away—I did not see what it was—I caught him by Gower Street Station—I said, "What have you been doing?"—he said, "Nothing"—we took him back into George Street, and searched about where we had seen the prisoner throw something away—we found this knife (Produced) lying in the street open—I noticed that it had wet stains on it, apparently of blood—I said to the prisoner, "What have you been doing with this?"—he said, "It is not my knife"—we took him to the station—on the way I noticed his hands were wet with blood—I asked him how he got it—he said, "I must have got it last night, I was drunk"—I asked him, "Where were you going

when I first saw you?—he said he was going to work at the Meat Market in Farringdon Street—the front of his clothes was all white—Westcote asked him what it was—he said he must have got it leaning against a whitewashed wall—at the station Inspector Kerswell was in charge.

Cross-examined. When the prisoner turned to run away he was about six yards off—there was nothing very extraordinary about his appearance, he looked very excited, he looked as if he had been having a fight—he was panting and wild-looking about the face, he looked frightened as if he was afraid of meeting some one—he looked frightened when I first saw him—he went to the station quietly with one of us on each side of him we were both holding him—he was quiet in the station—he looked agitated—I did not have any conversation with him there—I did not see the knife in his hand—I did not see if he took it out of his pocket.

JEREMIAH WESTCOTE (64 s). In the early morning of November 11th I was in company with Constable Hearn, I saw the prisoner in George Street and assisted in his capture.

Cross-examined. When I first saw him he was looking very excited, he looked so before the other policeman spoke to him—he was hurrying before we spoke to him, he commenced to run when we spoke to him—he was going about six or seven miles an hour and when we spoke he began to run—he was coming towards us—he was on the opposite side of the road, he went on in the direction he was going which would take him into the Euston Road—we ran after him for about fifty yards, when he was stopped he came quietly to the station—on the way I noticed some white marks on his clothing and I asked him what it was, he said it was white-wash—he said he got it from getting over a wall—he was not excited when he said that—people running from the police are generally excited under those circumstances.

JOHN KERSWELL (Inspector S). In the early morning of November 11th I was on duty at the Albany Street Police-station—about 3.20 the prisoner was brought in by the last two witnesses—they told me in his presence that they had seen him running, and thinking that something was wrong, they ran after him, and immediately they ran after him he threw something away—they showed me this open knife; it was wet on the blade as though with blood—I asked the prisoner whose knife it was—he said, "It id mine"—I noticed that his clothes were covered with what looked like flour—I asked him what it was—he said, "I was drunk last night; I leant against a wall and got the whitewash on me"—I examined his hands, and on his right hand he had blood—I asked him how he accounted for the blood, and he again replied, "I was drunk last night, and must have cut myself"—I said, Why were you running?"—he said, "I was not running; I was hurrying to get to work; I am a butcher, and work at Farringdon Meat Market"—I tried two or three times to close the knife, and the prisoner volunteered to show me the way to close it—he took the knife, placed the back of it. against the iron rail of our dock, and pressed it, the spring is very stiff, and so closed it—about five or ten minutes after the prisoner was brought in Sergeant Lubley came in with a message from Inspector Gough, the prisoner was sitting down then—

on the piece of paper which Mr. Gough had sent me was a name and address, and the description of a man wanted, "R. Montague, 121 or 141, Sewards Buildings, Goswell Road"—I said to the prisoner, "Your name is Montague t"—he immediately replied, "No, my name is Schneider, and I am a Russian, and I live at 15, Regent's Park Road"—soon after that Inspector Gough came to the station and saw the prisoner—he then left and shortly returned with Mr. Ross and Dr. Maughan—I then searched the prisoner, and in the outside breast pocket of his coat I found this watch and chain and seal—I asked him whose they were—he replied, "It id mine, I bought it about two years ago"—I also found on him two pieces of paper—this is one of them (read): "121, Bartholomew Buildings, Seward Street, Goswell Road, E.C.: R. Mandelkow"—I also found this piece of paper (read): "Schneider, Cabel"—I told the prisoner that 150, Regent's Park Road was a shop—he replied, "No, it is not; I have lived there for the past two months"—I then entered the charge in the charge-book—I charged him with wilful murder, and also attempting to murder Mr. Ross—I asked him again for his name and address, and he gave Johann Schneider, 150, Regent's Park Road—is answer to the charge he said, "I know nothing about it; I do not know the shop."

Cross-examined. I did not consider him excited when he was brought in at 3.30—he was not put into the cells till 7 a.m.—he was in my presence the greater part of that time—when he was put into the cells he appeared more excited than at first—he looked as if he felt his position he looked wilder—he did not look wild when he first came in—he had a rather vacant expression and a glaring expression—he looked with a wild glaring look as if he had something on his mind—he had a depressed look—he did not say anything wild—I mean to say that being depressed and downcast and glaring and vacant and wild mean the same thing.

JOHN GOUGH (Inspector S Division). About 3.15 on November 11th I was in Stanhope Street—I heard cries of "Murder" and "Police"—I went to 82, William Street—outside the house I saw Mr. Ross standing and P.C. Grist—Mr. Ross was bleeding from the back of his head and his hands—I sent Grist for Dr. Maughan and I accompanied Mr. Ross into the house—the constable returned with the doctor—we then proceeded to search the house—on the stairs leading from the house to the bakehouse I found this hatchet—there was some hair on the head of it; it did not look like human hair—blood was on the handle where it fits into the head—it was wet—the doctor took the hair off it, and has got it now—on the floor of the bakehouse I found this roughly-made life-preserver—it is composed of a piece of lead with a piece of round, and attached by a piece of string to a short rope handle—on the rag when I discovered it, I found a wet spot of blood—we were then trying to find Conrad Berndt—Grist and I went to the oven, which was heated—I told Grist to open the door with an iron bar—inside we found the remains of a man very much charred and burnt—the body had been placed about 2ft. 6in. in—the head was towards the door—the skull was bared and broken on the right side—I gave directions for the fire to he drawn—Grist did so—about 5 a.m. I went to the bakehouse again, with Dr. Maughan, the fire was still burning very fiercely, we could not get

near the body then—we returned again when the oven had cooled, and then in the presence of the doctor, and under his directions, we removed the body from the oven and placed it in a shell—I saw that one of the kneading troughs was damp near the oven-door, as though it had been washed, and on the damp were some faint stains like blood—on the wall above the trough there were some splashes of blood; they were dry then—on a shelf I found this brown hard felt hat—on a stone in the ashpit, under the oven, was more blood—I went to Conrad's room—on the bed I saw a-suit of clothes, and in the breast pocket of the coat I found this receipt for a watch—the box in the room was open—the room was in great disorder—I then found that the prisoner was already in custody, and I was present when he was charged with this murder—in answer to the charge he said, "I know nothing about it. I do not know the shop"—a document was found on the prisoner giving his address as ill, Bartholomew Buildings—I went there—he occupied two rooms there—I saw the bedstead in the bedroom—it had originally four brass knobs—it was an iron bedstead, with brass knobs—when I saw it it had only two; I took off one of the remaining ones (produced)—the lead forming the head of the life-preserver appears exactly like the brass knobs, as if the lead had been moulded in a corresponding knob—I also brought away two pieces of brass, and in the bottom of one of the knobs was a piece of lead.

Cross-examined. I did not see the prisoner until just before he was charged except for a few seconds.

FRANCIS BOSWRLL (Sergeant S). On November 11th about 5.20 a.m., I went to 82, William Street, Hampstead Road—I assisted in the removal of the remains from the oven—Dr. Maughan superintended the removal—afterwards the burnt ashes in the mouth of the oven were swept out—I turned them over with my hand—a quantity of bones reduced almost to ashes were found, and also two buckles; these are the buckles—to the larger one a piece of coarse canvas was attached, also a portion of a trouser button—in the box in the deceised's room I found a savings' bank book in the name of Conrad Berndt, showing that he had about £15 to his credit—in the packet of the trousers on the bed I found a leather purse containing £; in gold and a crown piece—there was besides the suit, a hat and a shirt on the bed.

JAMES MAUGHAN . I am a Bachelor of Medicine, a Member of the College of Surgeons, an L.C.P. and divisional surgeon to the S Division of police—on the early morning of November 11th I was called to William Street—in the parlour I saw Mr. Ross—he had a wound on the scalp at the back of the head, exposing the bone, and a swelling in front of the left eye; on the right hand, between the thumb and forefinger, an incised wound, two and a-half inches long; on the right elbow five abrasions; on the left palm an incised wound three inches long; a second wound on the left hand between the thumb and forefinger; a punctured wound on the chest, a skin wound only—it was in a dangerous place—if it had been deep it would have been dangerous—in his shirt and vest I found cuts corresponding with the cut on his chest—they could have been caused by this knife—I wound into the bakehouse and looked into the oven—it was heated to about; 600 degrees Fahrenheit—I saw a human body lying about two and a-half feet inside—the hair of the head had been burned

off—the bones were exposed—the head was retracted and the bones charred—after some delay the oven was cooled, and the remains taken out and placed in a shell, and I examined them—in the bakehouse there it a large trough, and one end joins on to the oven, and on the wall by it I saw some splashes of blood—there were hairs on the wall, and it looked as if the wall had recently been wiped with something wet—the hairs were very dark and very healthy—the lid of the trough was damp and there were blood stains faintly showing through as if it had been wiped with something wet—on a piece of wood above the trough I found a piece of human brain with recent blood stains on it and weighing 57 grains—on a large stone under the oven I saw blood which had recently fallen on it and I found a piece of brain weighing 10 grains—the trough and the wall had been sprinkled with flour over the stains—on the hatchet there were spots of blood and on the middle part of the head there was something fluffy—the handle had been recently washed, but blood stains were clearly perceptible—I was also shown a clasp-knife and found blood stains on it—on the piece of material over the lead of the life preserver were two stains which were found to be blood—that was such an implement as would have inflicted the blow on Mr. Ross's head the remains were removed to the mortuary, and on November 12th, assisted by Doctor Jackson Clarke, I made a post-mortem examination and we arrived at the conclusion that death was caused by the fracture of the skull, which caused extensive bleeding on the surface of the brain, in consequence of which there was failure of the respiratory centre, or asphyxia—unconciousness was probably immediate, and then death—the fracture was caused by some person other than than deceased—the broad end of the head of the chopper was such an instrument as would produce the injury found on the deceased's head—the deceased was probably lying down, or his head was resting against a firm substance—the blow was delivered on the right side of the head—I think the man must have lived about half an hour after the blow—I do not think he would have recovered consciousness; he would not have been conscious when placed in the oven—on the early morning of the 11th I examined the prisoner at the station—on his right hand there were recent blood stains—across the palm there was a recent burn about 2 ins. long and 1/4 in. broad, and across the finger tips, except the middle finger which was gone, there was another recent burn—on the inner side of the palm of the left hand there was a narrow burn 2 1/2 ins. long, and a blister and a scorch, both recent—the left arm from elbow to wrist was smudged with wet blood—his left coat sleeve and vest sleeve were stained with blood—I saw some white marks on him, and I took some scrapings off them, and also off a sack in the bakehouse, and the two corresponded exactly—while I was doing that the prisoner said, "Oh, that is only a little whitewash that I got from a wall lost night."—he offered no explanation as to the burn or blisters.

Cross-examined. He did not appear to be suffering pain at all—insane people are less susceptible to pain—in certain kinds of insanity there is a total absence of pain—he had a fit at the Police-court, whilst the evidence was being given—I attended him, and he recovered—it is quite possible for a person to commit an act, and a short time after to be quite unconscious of having done it.

Re-examined. The fit at the Court I put down to lack of proper selfcontrol; the evidence had been particularly painful, and he could not control his emotion—it was not through an impaired intellect.

SAMUEL FELDT . I am an Hungarian, and live at 77, Mile End Road—in November last I made the acquaintance of the prisoner; he told me his name was Richard Mandeckow, and that he was a German—I was then living at 141, Bartholomew Buildings, and the prisoner was living in the same house—on November 6th we were together in my room—I opened my trunk where I kept this knife produced, which I had bought about two years ago—I took the knife out and gave it to the prisoner, it was a free gift, I had no use for it—he took it away with him, and I did not see it again—I saw him every day till the 10th—I saw him on the 10th about 10 o'clock, he said he was going to work somewhere for the night, with a baker at Islington—he left the house that night—he was wearing a hat like this, and he took his green baize bag—that is the last I saw of him until he was in custody.

Cross-examined. I had seen him frequently during the time I knew him—he was morose, downcast, and absent-minded—he never knew what we were talking about—he was depressed because of his poverty and because he could not find work, and he has three children and a wife—sometimes he would sit for hours in a corner by himself without speaking to anybody—he did not know what we said to him, we always had to repeat it—we made him understand at last.

Re-examined. He used to go out and try to get work, and read the advertisements in the newspapers; he said he could not find it—I only knew him from November 5th to the 10th.

PETER VOLHAUSER . I am a foreman baker to Messrs. Grummell and Sons, 12, Nassau Street, Soho—the prisoner did not apply to us on November 11th for work or on any other day—I do not know him, and we had no vacancy.

JOHN LEINVER . I am foreman baker to Messrs. Grummell, of 4, Mackle Street, Soho—I do not know the prisoner—he did not apply to us for employment, we had no vacancy.

JAMES SCOTT . I am medical officer at Hollo way prison—the prisoner was received there on November 11th—in consequence of instructions I have made him a special subject for observation since then—in my opinion he was sane on his reception, and has remained sane since.

Cross-examined. To some extent he is an emotional man—when he first came to the prison he looked rather thin—an insane person is not so susceptible to pain as a sane person—I have watched him narrowly.

JOHN HENRY PARKER WILSON , F.R.C.S. At different times the prisoner has been under my medical observation—he was so from, May to November, 1897—I did not see anything tending to show that he was not sane—I had constant observation of him—he was again under my observation from September 3rd to November 2nd, 1898—during that time I saw nothing in his demeanour to indicate that he was other than of a sound mind.

Cross-examined. I only saw him in an ordinary manner, no special watch was kept on him—I used to see him about three times a day—during the day I should see between 200 and 300 people.

Re-examined. If there had been any indication of insanity in him my attention would have been directed to it—the least little matter is always brought to my notice by those under me—I should not put him under, special observation unless there was some reason for it.

GUILTY.— DEATH .


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