11th December 1899
Reference Numbert18991211-77
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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77. LOUISA JOSEPHINE JEMIMA MASSET (36) was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the wilful murder of Manfred Louis Masset.


FREDERICK HUMPHREYS (49), produced and proved the plans of London Bridge Station, and of the waitingrooms there.

HELEN ELIZA GENTLE . I am single, and live with my mother and stepfather at 210, Clyde Road, Tottenham—my mother's name is Norris—we have been living at Clyde Road about seven years, as near as I can say—we were living there when I first made the acquaintance of the prisoner, which was about three or four years ago—the deceased was born on April 24th, 1896, and I took charge of him when he was three weeks old—I had advertised that I was willing to take a nursechild, and in answer the prisoner came to Clyde Road and saw my mother and I—she asked what my proficiency and experience was, and I told her I had been a nurse for a clergyman's family, and that I was willing to take the child—I was to be paid £1 17s. per month, and I was paid the first month in advance—it was arranged, a few days after the first interview, that I was to go and fetch the child from Mrs. Ballard's, of 17, Highgate Hill, Islington—I took the child back to Clyde Road, and prisoner came with me—from that time up to October 22nd, with a few exceptions, when the child was in the hospital for an operation for circumcision, it remained with me—the child had three operations; two at home, and one at the hospital—while the deceased was in our care the prisoner came and saw him once a fortnight at first, but about 18 months ago she began to come once a week—it was about then that she went to live with her sister, Mrs. Cadisch, in the Bethune Road—she seemed very fond of the boy, and the boy of her—I became very fond of him, and he of me—we were all very fond of him, and he of us—he never seemed quite so well since he has been circumcised, and I told his mother so—he seemed weaker—the £1 17s. per month was always paid, and if the prisoner came on a Wednesday and the money was due on the Saturday, she would not wait till then, but would

pay me on the Wednesday—the boy was about the same in October; he did not get weaker—the prisoner generally came on Wednesdays—I remember coming on Wednesday, October 4th, and taking the deceased out—I remember her coming on the 11th and taking him out, and my meeting them in the Seven Sisters Road, and we went on to Tottenham Green—we got there about 3.30, and stayed there till about 5—the prisoner and I sat about, and the child was playing—we were talking about the boy—we always had something fresh to ask about him—at 5 o'clock we thought it was time to go home to tea—we were very upset that day because the boy was so sick—we were sitting on a seat, and the prisoner said, "I think Manfred looks rather heavy about the eyes"—I said, "Yes, he does," and she said, "Don't you think we had better be getting home?" and so we went, and the little boy came over very pale—I thought he was tired, and his mother carried him home, and when we got home he was very sick—his mother was there then; she stayed till between 6 and 7—a doctor was not sent for while she was there—when she left the boy still seemed to be very sick, and I sent for a little brandy—after she had gone I went for a doctor, and I met the prisoner—she had said she was coming back to see the boy; she was bo sleep at the house—I said to her that I was going for a doctor, and she saw him when he came—he prescribed for the boy, and he got better—I was with the prisoner the whole of the time after she and the boy left the Seven Sisters Road—she did not speak to anyone else—from the time that she took the boy out till I met her in the Seven Sisters Road was between a quarter and half-an-hour—the arrangement to meet was made at home—the next day the boy seemed worse; he came out in a rash, and I sent for the doctor again—the prisoner had promised to come on the Friday, the 13th, but she did not come—her next ordinary visiting day would be the 18th, but on the 18th my mother got a letter—this is it, and it is in the prisoner's writing (Produced)—before we received it we had had no intimation that the prisoner intended to remove the child from our care—it came as a great surprise to me—This stated that the prisoner had seen the child's father, and that the child would be sent for to be removed from the care of Mrs. Norris, as his father wished him to be brought up in his cousin's family, and to start learning French; that she was very sorry to have to remove him, but did not like to raise objections, as she thought she would be in the way of his future prospects.)—on Wednesday, the 18th, the prisoner came—both I and my mother saw her, and October 27th was fixed for the child's departure—she did not say where she was going to take the child to—she did not name any country—it was first arranged that I should take the child to London Bridge, and she said that they would put up for an hour or two at an hotel until the boat started—I did not know where the boat started from, I was to leave them at London Bridge—the prisoner never made any statement as to the nationality of the child, or say anything about the father—she told me to take a change of clothing for the child, and told me what to take—she told me to put into a parcel a flannel shirt, a chemise, a petticoat, a white serge dress, and two overalls, and bring them with the child—I next saw the prisoner on Wednesday, the 25th, my mother being again present

and an alteration was made in the plans—my mother suggested that I had better leave Manfred at the Birdcage public-house on Stamford Hill, where the 'buses start from, because the farther I went with him the more he would be opposed to parting with me—the Birdcage is not very far from Clyde Road or from Bethune Road—I was to be at the Birdcage at 12.45—on the Friday I dressed the child—he had on a little red sailor hat; it had black ribbon round it, with "H.M.S. Raven" on it in gold letters, a blue serge frock trimmed with white braid, and a little band of white braid to form a cuff; a turndown collar trimmed with white braid,' a little waistband of same material, with white braid on it—he had a blue cloth coat on, with brass buttons, with an anchor on each; it had fawncoloured cuffs, with two capes of fawn colour—he also had on two petticoats, one of white flannelette and one of a grey striped flannel, a pair of white flannelette drawers with lace at the bottom, a white cotton shirt, with lace round the neck and sleeves, a pair of black socks which had been a good deal darned, brown shoes with little brown straps fawn gaiters, and a white silk tie round his neck—this blue cloth coat (Produced) he had last winter, and this blue serge frock (Produced) he had in the summer—the coat had a greasemark on one of the sleeves—this. (Produced) is the dress he had on; I see now that the white braid is taken off, and the collar and the band, also the braid which made the cuffs; I can see where the braid has been; there is a piece of it here now, and there is the cotton where I should think the collar has been taken off—I am sure that this is the little child's dress—this (Produced) is the little boy's coat; the cuffs have been taken off, and the capes, the buttons, and the turndown collar—I have got one of the capes in my bag, which matches; it was taken off some time ago by the prisoner—the greasefspot is here now—I have no doubt that this is the coat which was worn by the child when I took him out on October 27 th—when I took him out I took the change of clothing which the prisoner had spoken to me about, in a brown paper parcel—I also took a little pair of toy scales (Produced) in a separate brown paper parcel—the boy was accustomed to weighing things—he had had some sugar and currants on the morning of the day he went away—this (Produced) is a photograph of the boy; that is how he looked on the 26th, when that was taken—we left on the 27th, and went by tram to the Birdcage, where we got out and met the prisoner—we got there first, and waited for her a few minutes—there was a 'bus standing by the Birdcage—I think the prisoner got in, and I got in with the boy, but I would not be sure who got in first—I put the two parcels in the 'bus—I got out and waited till it drove off—both the boy and I were a good deal upset at parting; he screamed when I left him—that was the last time I saw him alive—I had asked the prisoner if she would give me a letter of reference; I said I had one from a doctor and from a clergyman, and she said she would give me one, and on Monday,. October 30th, this letter arrived, addressed to my mother, from her—(This stated that she was very sorry to have had to take the boy from Mrs. Gentle's, that he had been thoroughly taken care of, and that she would be very pleased to answer any inquiry.)—letters had come from time to time to Clyde Road, addressed to Mrs. Mason; they had three stamps on them with

a kind of a three on them; I should say they were foreign ones—the prisoner had asked me that if a letter came for Mrs. Mason, would we kindly forward it to 29, Bethune Road, addressed to Miss Masset—there was a second letter in the envelope which we received from her on October 30th—(This stated that the prisoner had just returned from her journey, that the boy cried until she got to London Bridge, that she was very ill on the boat, that she enclosed the letter promised, and that the boy sent his love.)—I do not know what time those letters arrived, I was not at home, but I should say between 9 and 10 on the Monday morning—by then I had heard of something in the newspapers, and on the Monday morning I went to the Hackney Mortuary, between 9 and 10—I read something in the Daily Mail, and I thought it seemed to tally, and before I did anything further, I went to our family doctor for advice, after which I went to the mortuary—that was before I went to the police—I was shown the body of a child which I identified as Manfred's—I did not identify him by the face—there were signs of injury to the face and head—it was dreadfully disfigured—it was like this photograph (Produced)—I think Sergeant Birch came to the mortuary while I was there—I made a statement to him, and then I made out a list of the clothes contained in the brown paper parcel—the sergeant took them down in writing—at that time I spoke from memory—I had not been shown any of the clothes—I was afterwards shown the serge dress, the blue coat which I identified, and the little toy scales—there was some sugar in them which the child had been playing with in the morning—I was also shown a piece of brown paper which I had received from a Mr. Shaw, who is a draper at Tottenham; it had "E. Shaw, draper, Tottenham," on it (Produced)—the piece which I received from Mr. Shaw was too large for what I wanted it, and I cut a piece off, and. in doing so I cut part of the name off—in the piece which I cut off I wrapped up the extra clothes for Manfred; the piece which I kept and the piece in which I had wrapped up the clothes in were afterwards fitted together in my presence—these (Produced) are the scales, and the little pans in which Manfred weighed the sugar on. the 27th—I have no doubt that the body which I saw in the mortuary on the 30th was the body of Manfred Masset.

Cross-examined. I saw the account in the paper of my having identified the child, but it said a middleaged person—I will not be sure whether it said that the child was the child of a Frenchwoman—I read it in the Evening News—(This stated that the poor little victim of the Dalston murder had been identified by the child's nurse, that it was the child of a Frenchwoman who took it away from her, that the police had an important clue, and that the nurse had frequently seen the mother, and that it was believed to be an illegitimate child)—during the last 18 months the visits of the mother had been weekly, sometimes oftener; the visits were generally on Wednesdays—Tottenham Green is about 10 minutes from our house—we generally went to the Down Hills—the prisoner might go with the child to Tottenham Green, but not often—by the little boy's conversation with his mother I think they had been there on October 4th—I did not go with them—I did on the 11th—the prisoner went first, and I went afterwards—we arranged to meet at the Seven

Sisters Road—we stayed from about 3 o'clock to 4.30 or 5—there were no other people there—it was very quiet—the child did not play with any other children—we were sitting down talking, and the child was playing just in front of us—I can swear that he did not play with any other children on that day—that was the day the boy was not well—the doctor came in the evening—I do not remember him saying it was indigestion or a bilious attack—the prisoner came on the 18th—she did not take the child out; the 11th was the last day she took him out—he cried very much on the 18th; his mother noticed it—I think she stayed till about 6—after I put the child in the omnibus at the Birdcage I got out at once—I could not stay, I was so upset—I never had any difficulty in getting my money for the child—I was paid in full up to the time of the child being taken from my care—the prisoner was always very fond of the child—she was very worried when he underwent the operations—I did not pay for the operations—I do not know if anybody paid for tht m at the London Hospital—the child was hasty, but only the same as other children—he was always a good boy to manage; I could always manage him—I know I spoilt him a bit—I cannot remember the prisoner saying that she thought I spoilt him; she might have said, "You give way to him too much," or something like that—she said once or twice that the child exhibited a little temper when out with her.

LEONI CADISCH . The prisoner is my sister—I live with my husband, Richard Cadisch, at 29, Bethune Road, Stoke Newington—my father was a Frenchman, and my mother was English—my sister was 36 last June; she is unmarried—for some years she has followed the occupation of a daily governess; she was living at home with our mother, just before the birth of Manfred, on April 24th, 1896—this is the certificate (Produced) of his birth—I knew that after its birth it was placed with Mrs. Norris and her daughters, and I guaranteed to them the payment monthly of £1 17s.; I was never called upon to pay any part of that—after the birth of her child the prisoner did not live at home with her mother any longer—we had a stepfather living then; he died on September 27th, since when I and my sister and the other members of our family have been in mourning for him—since August, 1898, up to the date of her arrest the prisoner was living with my husband and myself at 29, Bethune Road—she went to her teaching, among other places, to a Mrs. Haas and to a Mrs. Sonenthal, from my house—she went by tram to Dalston, and then by train, but I cannot say what station she went to on the North London Railway—she first mentioned to me that she was going to change the custody of the child from Mrs. Norris at the beginning of this year—she simply said it would be better for the child's education; that is the only reason she gave—nothing was done then—she next mentioned it on October 18th, when she said that she was going to take the child to a cousin of its father in France, to be brought up—I did not know who the father was; she never told me—on the 24th or 25th she told me she was going to Newhaven with the child on the Friday, and would be back on the Sunday or Monday—she said she was going by the 2.30 p.m. train, because she had to be in Newhaven at 5 p.m. to meet the boat, I suppose—I do not remember her saying anything about the boat—I last saw her on Friday, the 27th, at

12.30; she was not dressed to go out—her hat and jacket, which I saw at the Police-court, are the clothes she was in the habit of wearing—she did not say anything about her journey to me on the Friday—after 12.30 on the Friday I next saw her at 9 o'clock on Sunday night; she was wearing the same hat and jacket as she was wearing at the Police-court—I did not speak to her that night; she was tired and went to bed; next morning I asked if the child had been troublesome, because I knew it was fond of its nurse; she replied, "Only at London Bridge"—I asked her if she had had a good crossing, and she said the sea was better going than coming, or coming than going, I cannot remember which—I have never seen this shawl (Produced) in her possession—I have never seen her with a black shawl of any kind—we have got in our back garden a rockery made of clinker bricks, and in the front garden there is an edging of the same kind ofbricks—these bricks (Produced) are similar to those in the front garden—this one also (Produced) is like ours—my sister never mentioned to me that she ever intended giving the child into the charge of two women at Chelsea—Mondays were the days she taught at West Hampstead—she left on Monday, October 30th, at 1.30—she usually returned about 8—we used to dine about 7.45—she did not come home that night—she had not said she would not be home—we expected her—my sister was in no monetary difficulties, as far at I know.

Cross-examined. Bricks like these are in most of the back gardens in our neighbourhood—there is no regularity in the placing of the bricks round the edging—I said that you could not see where any brick had been taken from, except those taken by the police—the whole of our family knew of the existence of this child—my sister always seemed to have enough money for her wants—I and my husband housed her free of charge—she was very fond of her child—she spoke in terms of affection of him to me—when she came back on the Sunday night she was in her usual state of mind, and quite calm—next morning she had breakfast and went to her work as usual—nobody was unpleasant to her because of the boy's existence; we had all forgiven her—she went several times to her brother-in-law's, at Croydon—it was not unusual for ner to go and stay there.

Re-examined. She went there last in August, I think—she had not said anything about going to Mr. Simes.

MAUD CLIFFORD . I am an assistant to Mr. MacIlroy, a draper, of 161, High Street, Stoke Newington—I sold this shawl (Produced) on October 24—this is the bill for it (Produced)—I remember selling it—on Nov.4th I picked out the prisoner as the person to whom I had sold the shawl—I am nearly certain that she is the person—when I sold it she asked for a black shawl, and I showed her one at 1s. 6 ¾ d., a size smaller than this one, but otherwise the same—she said she wanted a little larger one, so I showed her this one for 1s. 11 1/2 d., and she had it—I was marking the shawls off—we had only had them for a week—there were only three like this in the parcel—this one (Produced) is one of the other two—I think this one is the one I sold on the 24th.

Cross-examined. I am prepared to swear that I sold that shawl to the prisoner on October 24th—I said before the Coroner, "I won't swear

positively she is the woman," and when before the Magistrate I said, "At the inquest I said I won't swear positively she is the woman; I won't swear that now"—I do not wish to differ from those two statements—I should not like to swear, but I think she is the woman—ours is a busy shop; there are about twenty assistants—I cannot remember what I sold before I sold the shawl, or what I sold immediately after; I cannot remember anything I sold on that day—I sold a good many things that week—I know this is the shawl I sold, by the pattern—this shawl is the same pattern, and wool, and size; I do not see any difference in them—I have been six years in the trade.

Re-examined. These are all new shawls—a detective brought the shawl in and asked me if we sold shawls like that, and I brought out a box and showed him some, and we saw they were the same—that was on a Friday—I knew nothing about the Dalston murder then—I gave my evidence before the Magistrate, on November 11th—the detective brought the shawl in on the Friday week before that, the 3rd—I told the detective I remembered selling the shawl—next day I was taken to the Dalston Police-court, where I picked out the prisoner as the person to whom I had sold the shawl.

ERNEST HOPLIN MOONEY . I am manager to Mr. MacIlroy, draper, of 161, High Street, Stoke Newington—on October 16th or 17th I purchased a quarter of a dozen woollen shawls, trade No. 310, from Rylands & Son, Wood Street, City—anyone going to Rylands could get the same shawls—I have compared this one, which was sold on October 24th, with the two remaining in our possession—the three are all the same—I have had 12 or 13 years' experience in the trade.

Cross-examined. I should call this shawl rather a striking pattern, not an ordinary pattern—I think I said, when before the Magistrate, "I suppose it would be an ordinary shawl," not "an ordinary pattern"—I said that they could be bought by anyone.

Re-examined. These were not made specially for us—I have never seen this pattern before.

THOMAS BONNER . I am an omnibus conductor employed by the London General Omnibus Company—my 'bus starts from the Birdcage, Stamford Hill, for London Bridge—we started at 12.48 p.m on October 27th; we got to 1 ondon Bridge at 1.35—I remember a woman and a child travelling with me from the Birdcage to London Bridge—this is a photograph of the child—it had a red hat on—I do oot recognise the prisoner at all—the child was crying inside the omnibus—they had a brown paper parcel—that is all I remember.

GEORGINA WORLEY . I am a widow, and relieving waitingroom attendant at the London Bridge Station on the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway—my waitingroom is on the south side near the parcels' office—it is No. 2, firstclass waitingroom—I was on duty there from 7.30 a.m, till 2.30p.m. on Friday, October 27th—I saw a little boy in the waitingroom—I cannot positively say that this is a photograph of him—he had a little blue serge dress and a little blue serge coat—I do not remember what kind of a cap he had on—the coat had one or two bright brass buttons, and a little collar round the neck, of either red or brown—this is the frock (Produced)—this is the coat, only there was something round

the neck, a lady was with the boy; she was dressed in black—a black round hat—I afterwards went to Dalston Police-station and saw a number of women, but I did not identify anybody; I had not seen the woman's features sufficiently; she came into the waitingroom and hurried to the far side and put the boy on the settee and sat down on it herself; she never looked up whilst she sat there—this is like the hat she was wearing (Produced)—it was about 1.45 when they came in, and I left at 2.30 to book my money in—I was relieved at 2.30 by Mrs. Swaker—while I was on duty I wore a white cap—I went and paid in the money which I had taken—when I left the lady and the boy were in the waitingroom—I had spoken to the lady—I said, "You look very tired"—she said, "No; I am waiting for someone to come"—I could not see her face because she had her head down—she put the parcel down on the floor—it was concealed by her dress—I never saw her look up while she was in the room—I returned about 2.40—they were not there then.

Gross-examined. I cannot say if the boy had a red hat on—I did not speak to the lady till just before I was ready to go out—the child kept running up and down the settee—it appeared quite happy—I asked the lady if she was going by train, and she said she was waiting for someone.

KATE SWAKER .—I am married, and waitingroom attendant at the same waitingroom as Mrs. Worley—I was there to oblige her, and relieved her at 2.30 on October 27th—I did not notice a lady and a little boy there.

Thursday, December 14th.

ELLEN REES . I am a widow, living at 8, Ruel Road, Tottenham, and am the attendant at the first-class ladies' waitingroom, main line section at London Bridge Station—it is near the refreshment room—I was in attendance at the waitingroom on October 27th—I went on duty at 2.30 and remained there till 12.10 midnight—I saw the prisoner there about 2.40—I observed the little boy first; he had his back to her—then I looked at the prisoner to see what she was doing to the little boy—she was sitting on the couch—this is a photograph of the little boy (Produced), but he had a coat and a red hat on—if anybody is talking to me in the lavatory, I have a habit of always looking at the door to see if there is anybody there who ought not to be, and I saw the little boy going backwards, and I looked at the prisoner—I saw that the child did not want to go to the lady who was with him—I did not speak to him then; I spoke to him about 15 minutes afterwards, during which time the prisoner remained seated upon the couch—I was putting away my umbrella and bonnet in a cupboard where we hang them, and I saw the little fellow near the prisoner's knee, and he looked up, and I said, "What are you grizzling about?"—he came towards me, and I said, "There is nothing here for little boys"—he looked at me again, and I looked at the prisoner and said, "What is he fretting about?" and she said, "His nurse"—then she said, "Perhaps he is hungry; I will get him a cake"—I said, "He is a fine little fellow; how old is he?" and she said, "Four next April; have you a refreshmentbar here?" I said, "Yes, on the left as you go out of the door"—she got up and turned round and picked something up with her right hand, but I do not know what it was, and took the little boy by the right

hand by her left and went out at the door; as she was going out she turned round and looked at me—I thought she was looking to see which way for the bar—I should think she left about 5 or 10 minutes past 3, the two minutes to three bell rang as I came out of the lavatory, and before I spoke to the little boy—I could not see in what direction she went because the door was shut—I next saw her coming up the room about six minutes to seven, but I did not notice that it was the prisoner until I went to draw some, water for her—she asked for a wash; she had her hat on—the lavatory is attached to the waitingroom, and has three basins in it—she washed in the middle one opposite the lookingglass—she was drawing up her sleeves, and I turned the water on for her—I looked at her in the glass, and said to myself, "Where have I seen you?"—and then I thought, "Oh, you are the lady I saw this afternoon with the little boy"——I was alongside her, and the glass was in front, and I saw her reflection—she washed her hands, and I went to the cupboard to get the towels; we lock them away—I gave her a towel—I did not see her do anything to her hair—I was making my tea in the waitingroom—after I had made my tea, I remembered I had not got any sugar, and I went in to the cupboard to get some, and the prisoner was brushing her jacket down and said to me: "Have you got a clothes brush?" I said "Yes; shall I brush you down?"—she said "No"—I said "You will have to hurry up, because it is quarter past 7 now"—when I was drawing the water, she said, "When is the next train for Brighton?" and I said "twenty past seven"—I gave her the clothesbrush—I did not see whether she used it—I went back to my tea——I saw her go out of the waiting-room door—that was about 7.18 or 7.20—the last time I looked at the clock it was 7.15, and the train goes at 7.22; but we always call it 7.20, as it has gone for so many years at 7.20—the prisoner had a brown paper parcel with her gloves on it at the end of the washing slab; it was not a tidylooking parcel—the little boy was not with her then—on November 24th I went to a courtyard attached to the Dalston Junction, where I saw a cluster of women, and amongst them I saw the woman whom I had seen in my waiting-room on October 27th—I have no doubt that the prisoner is the woman.

Cross-examined. I was not called before the Coroner—the incident at the Police-station was about a month after I saw the prisoner in the waiting-room—I had read of this case in the meantime—it interested me on account of London Bridge being mentioned—I do not think I read a description of the supposed murderess—I have read nothing that has been going on about it—I saw a supposed likeness of the child—I did not read a description of the child: one was not furnished to me—I do not think I said before the Magistrate, "I wondered if this was the child, from the description I saw"—I said, "I wondered if it was the boy with the red hat"—I saw the prisoner without her hat—that was long before I went to the Police-station—I said to the Magistrate, "I was putting the kettle on when the prisoner came back," and that I said nothing to her about having seen her earlier in the day—I did not ask her where her boy was—I was convinced when I saw her washing in the lavatory that she was the woman I had seen earlier in the day with the little boy—the gas was alight at 7 o'clock—sometimes we use 12 towels a day; it all depends on who the customer is—they

pay extra for washing, and that includes one towel—in a quiet season sometimes we do not have a wash in the day—in the Brighton season sometimes 200 or 300 people, on an average, use the lavatory in the day—I cannot say how many use the waiting-room—I have taken £4 or £5 odd in the day in pennies—that was the Sunday before Jubilee, a great deal more than usual—there may be more people on Sundays—I do not know how many trains go—I have been in the waiting-room since July 24th, 1877—there are fewer trains on Sundays—I took an interest in the case, but I did not want to have anything to do with it—I did not communicate with the police; they went to the Station Superintendent, who sent for me—there was a gentleman from the police with him when he sent for me—he asked me if I had seen a lady with the little boy on such a day—I think he mentioned the day, but I am not sure—I did not deny it—he did not describe the little boy to me, or the woman—he asked me if I should know her, and I said I should know her if I saw her—when I got to the station I had no hesitation about identifying her—I saw her on the steps of the station, and I said, in my own mind, "There you are"—it is not true to say that I stopped two or three times before reaching the prisoner, and looked up and down all the persons—some door shut, and I stood on the steps, ana I understood that I had to identify the woman I saw in the waiting-room; I put my glasses on, and I looked at the cluster of women; I saw the woman I wanted, and I said, "There you are" to myself—I walked down, and a voice said to me, "Look steadfastly at them, and touch the one you want"; when I came to the prisoner I stood a minute and looked at her; the voice said again, "That will not do, you must touch her," and I touched her—I did not like doing it, and the voice said again, "Walk this way," and I walked on—I do not know if the inspector stood just behind me—it was a yard, and paved with gravel and asphalt—I did not hear anything but the man's voice—I do not know if it was Inspector Forth; that is the man (Pointing to Inspector Forth)—I had my glasses on when I identified her—I was about 2ft. from her—I am not shortsighted; if I want to see I put my glasses on—I do not generally use them in, the waiting-room—I had not them on when the woman and the child were in the room—betwen October 27th and November 24th I had seen thousands of people in the waiting-room—there was no peculiarity about the prisoner; she was dressed in black, which is a very prevailing colour, especially for travelling—a great many children are continually travelling, and coming into the waiting-room—I cannot give you a personal description of anybody who was in the waiting-room other than this woman on October 27th, on the day before or after—I could recognise hundreds of ladies who go out and in.

Re-examined. I read the account of the murder in the newspapers on the Sunday—I did not make any communication about the case to anyone on the Sunday, because I did not think it concerned us in any way—there was nothing about London Bridge in it—I went back to my ordinary work on Monday, October 30th, and in that week I had a conversation about it with Marion Fitzgerald, who is bookkeeper at Bertram and Roberts' refreshmentroom at London Bridge—I was in very great fear that anyone should find out that I knew anything about the case—I did not want to give evidence in the case—I made a statement

which was taken down by the police—there is no ground for the suggestion that I was helped in any way by the police in identifying the prisoner—I had, and have, no doubt about her identity—I take in the People every Sunday—this (Produced) is a copy of the People of November 5th, in which I saw the likeness of the prisoner and the little boy.

CLARA HAAS . I am the wife of Maximilian Haas, and live at 72, Green-croft Gardens, West Hampstead, which is about seven' minutes walk from the Loudoun Road Railway Station on the North London line—the prisoner has acted as daily governess in my family since 1895, with the exception of about five months in 1896, when she did not attend—at first she came four times a week, the last two years twice a week—she always used the Loudoun Road Station—she always came on Mondays and Thursdays, in the afternoon—she came on Monday, October 30th, at 5.15, and left at the usual time, 12 or 13 minutes to 7.

Cross-examined. On October 30th she was in her usual spirits and quite cheerful—she gave every satisfaction in her capacity as governess—I had not thought of parting with her then.

MART TEAHAN . I am single, living at 46, Walpole Street, Isleworth, and am a daily governess—on October 27th I travelled with a friend, Miss Briggs, from Richmond, in Surrey, to Dalston Junction—our train was timed to leave at 5.19, and reach Dalston Junction at 6.5 p.m.—we arrived rather late—we got out at Dalston at No. 3 platform, and we went at once to the ladies' waiting-room on that platform—I left my friend in the waiting-room, and went to the floor leading to the passage which leads to the water closets—I went into the one which is nearer to the passage door, and as I was in the act of closing the door I saw a dark object on the floor, lying at right angles to the door when it was closed—I saw a child's face, and I immediately opened the door, and went out—I had not quite closed the door—I went into the waiting-room, and rejoined Miss Briggs—I spoke to her, and we left the waiting-room together, and she in my hearing spoke to a porter who was on the station—she and I left the station, and went to a lecture to which we were going in Tottenham Road—the school-room, where we were going to, is about five minutes' walk from Dalston Station—we went on foot, and were seated there comfortably, when we noticed it was 6.30 by the school clock—on Sunday, October 29th, I saw something in Reynolds Sunday paper, and in the evening we communicated with the police.

MARGARET ELLEN BRIGGS . I am single, and live at Twickenham—I am a friend of the last witness, and on the evening of October 27th travelled with her from Richmond to Dalston Junction, to attend a lecture in the schoolroom, which is close to the station—the 5.19 train was rather late in arriving, but on arriving we went into the waiting-room, and Miss Teahan left me and went into the passage which leads out of the waiting-room—she was away a short time, and then returned and spoke to me, and we both went out on to the platform—I spoke to a porter named Standing, and Miss Teahan and I left the station and went to the school—when we were comfortably seated we noticed by the clock it was 6.30—the lecture was to begin at 7—the room is about five minutes from the station.

THOMAS HALL . I am a guard on the North London Railway, and live at 10, Shaldon Street, Bromley-by-Bow—I was in charge of the 5.19 train from Richmond to Dalston Junction on October 27th—it was due at Dalston at 6.5; it did not arrive till 6.19—I booked it at that time in the course of duty.

JOSEPH JOHN STANDING . I am a porter in the employ of the North London Railway at Dalston Junction—on the evening of October 27th I was on duty at No. 3 Platform, when Miss Briggs and Miss Teahan spoke to me—I was wheeling a barrow, and I went straight over to the inspector, Mr. Bundy—I spoke to the foreman porter, Cotteral, first—I spoke to the inspector at 6.38—he told me to go and see what it was—I went into the ladies' waiting-room and to the back w.-c. first, and then to the one nearest the entrance; I pushed the door, and found there was something behind it—I saw a shawl behind the door, then I saw the body of a child—I came out directly, and went over to the inspector and informed him—he came out, and I lit a lamp and went across the metals—I did not touch the body till after Mr. Bundy got over, when I left it in his hands—I stayed till the police came—the body was not disturbed in any way till then, that I know of; if anybody had touched it I should have seen them—there was a very dull light before I brought in the lamp; there was only the gaslight on the partition between the two closets; we could not see without the lamp—I saw a clinker brick on the floor; there are no bricks like that about the station, that I know of; I have been there about six months—I left the brick on the floor, and it was taken possession of by the police.

Cross-examined. I looked at my watch when I fetched the inspector and it was then 6.40—my watch was exactly right by the station time.

DAVID BUNDY . I am a station inspector at Dalston Junction—I have been there 111/2 years—I was called to the ladies' waiting-room on No. 3 Platform on October 27th by Standing—he came to me first at 6.40, and shortly afterwards I went to the waiting-room—behind the door of the first lavatory I found the body of a child clothed simply in a black shawl, which was round the body, the head, throat, and feet being exposed—I put my hand under the shawl on the chest and I found the body was slightly warm, although the child was dead—I sent for the police and for a doctor—the face of the child was smeared with blood, and there were two or three wounds on the face, one above each eye—this photo shows the state of the face as I saw it (Produced)—I also saw on the floor a clinker brick—I did not see any blood on the floor—I did not examine the floor—I touched nothing after finding that the child was dead—I did not touch the feet or hands of the child—the ladies' waiting-room on No. 3 Platform has never had an attendant while I have been at the station, only two charwomen, first thing in the morning and last thing at night, to clear it up—they are not there between 4 and 7—there is a bolt on the middle of the door of the lobby where the closets are, and anybody coming into the lobby can prevent anybody from coming into either closet from the general portion of the waiting-room—there is no entrance except from the waiting-room—the closets themselves are also provided with a small catch in the locks—the quick trains from Loudoun Road arrive at No. 3 Platform, and

the slow trains to Loudoun Road leave the same one—all trains from Finchley Road arrive at No. 3 Platform, except the 8.5 a.m. and the 11.45 p.m., except on Sundays—the train due to leave Loudoun Road at 6.55 and arrive at Dalston Junction at 7.14 runs in at No. 2 Platform—that is a slow train.

Cross-examined. If the trains were running late I should say that probably a little more than 100 people would use the lavatory on No. 3 Platform—I should say that there would be over 200 trains arrive at No 3 Platform in a day—there are four platforms at Dalston Junction; you can go from one to the other without giving up your ticket—the partition between the two closets is made of stained matchboarding—there is an opening common to each closet over the door of about a foot, and one gas light which lights them both—I should say that any noise in one compartment could be easily heard in the next—it would be easy for anyone who wanted to make a noise and not be heard to bolt the door in the passage; it would not require two—if an accomplice went into one closet while the murder was done in the other the public would be excluded—it would be easier to be done like that than by a single person.

Re-examined. If one person bolted the door from the waiting-rooms he or she would be free from any interruption—Dalston Junction is the third station from Broad Street—fast trains do it in five minutes, stopping trains in seven minutes—there are about eight trains in the hour, from Broad Street to Dalston between 3 p.m. and 5 p.m., stopping at No. 3 Platform, and about eight or nine going back—between 5 and 6 there might be ten or eleven trains going to Broad Street from No. 3 Platform—they would rather increase as the evening draws on—I do not know of any clinker bricks about the station.

JAMES PATMAN (108 J). I was called to Dalston Junction on October 27th at 6.48—I arrived in the ladies' waiting-room, where I found the station-master, who pointed out to me, in a water closet, the dead body of a child; lying near its head there was a clinker brick—I did not disturb the body or anything till Dr. Fennel came—just after he came a police-sergeant, named Birch, came, and after the doctor had seen the position of the child the policesergeant took charge of the brick—a black shawl partly covered the body.

ENDOR LUCAS . I am a clerk, and live with my father at Havre, in France—I am a Frenchman and 19 years old—I came to England in August, 1898, and went to live at 31, Bethune Road, which is next door to No. 29—I lived at 31 till early in last November—I first made the prisoner's acquaintance at the end of last year, when she was living with Mrs. Cadisch at No. 29—I knew Mrs. Cadisch first; I was a visitor at her house, where I met the prisoner—I continued my visits up to last Whitsuntide, when I paid a visit to Brighton with the prisoner and a lady and gentleman—we all four stayed at an hotel kept by a Mr. Findlay at 36, Queen's Road, Brighton; we occupied rooms No. 10 and 11, two adjoining bedrooms on the first floor—we stayed there from a Saturday till the Monday, and then returned to London—after our return my relations with the prisoner became more friendly, and I began to walk out with her about a month after—that was not known to her sister and brother-in-law—I wrote to her sometimes, and she wrote to me—she addressed her letter

to me at my office—I have not preserved any of her letters—sometimes I met her at the Loudoun Road Station about 6.45, when we would go to Dalston Junction by train—I went from Broad Street to meet her at Loudoun Road—we would return from Dalston Junction to Bethune Road by tram—we would leave the tram at Manor Road and go together on foot to the Bethune Road, and I would part with her at the door of 29—I went in on other occasions, but not on these, because I did not want Mrs. Cadisch to know that I had been out with the prisoner—I met the prisoner at other places, but most often at Loudoun Road—she told me that she had had an illegitimate child—she first mentioned it about the beginning of September—I cannot remember where we were walking when she told me—I had been walking out with her for some time before she told me—I do not think I had been making love to her before she told me—I do not call that love—when she told me she had a child I said, "I am glad to know that"—I did not want to know any more about the child, and that I was very pleased to know that she had told me, and that it was fair of her to tell me—I was not making love to her then specially—I met her sometimes once and sometimes twice a week—I wrote sometimes one or two letters to her in a fortnight—they were letters of appointment or friendship—I threw them away because I did not want anybody to see them; I do not know why—I did not want them lying about in my pocket—I said before the Magistrate, "They were love letters; they were about meeting; there were loving terms in them"—we do not understand that in France as one does in England—love is not the same thing in France as it is in England—I do not think they would be called love letters in England—I think you cannot call them loving terms in English—on October 24th or 25th I met the prisoner at Liverpool Street Station by appointment—I think I made the appointment, but I cannot remember whether by letter or word of mouth—I had met her there before a few times—I did not know anything about Tottenham—she had not told me where the child was—I did not know that it was at Tottenham—on this occasion she told me she was going to Brighton on the Friday from London Bridge by the 4 o'clock train—I said I should like to go too, to meet her on the Saturday at Brighton—she said she intended staying at Mr. Findlay's hotel, in the Queen's Road, where we had stopped at Whitsuntide—I said I would go down by the 2 o'clock train on Saturday from London Bridge, which arrives at Brighton at 3.20—she said she would meet me at the station there—I said I would not go in my own name, and should like to take another, and I gave her the name of Brooks as that which I should go in—she also was to take the name of Brooks, and we were to go as brother and sister—she was to take two rooms—I was to write to her and tell her what train I was to take at London Bridge—I had already told her, but I was not quite sure—when I met her at Liverpool Street we went to Clapton by train, and then we went home to Bethune Road, where I parted from her—she did not mention the child during that interview—she only mentioned it a very few times after the first time—she said she had seen it; that was all—she never told me that she intended taking it to France, or that she intended to hand it over to anybody in London—on Friday, the 27th, I wrote to her in the name of Brooks at Findlay's

hotel, when I knew that I could get away by the 2 o'clock train from London Bridge on the Saturday—I went by it—we arrived punctually, and the prisoner met me on the platform—we walked to the hotel, I carrying my luggage—I did not give any name at the hotel then—I found the rooms Nos. 10 and 11, which we had had at Whitsuntide, engaged—the prisoner seemed calm and quiet, nothing extraordinary about her—we stayed there together that night, and slept in the same bed—that was the first time that I had had connection with her—she did not mention the child—we remained there all day Sunday—she seemed very quiet, the same as usual—she did not make any statement with regard to the child on Sunday, and we travelled up together on Sunday evening to London Bridge—the prisoner had a brown bag (Produced)—we went home to Bethune Road, by cab to Stoke Newington Station, and walked from there; it is about five minutes' walk—I parted from her at the corner of Kildos Street, about 60 yards from her door—I left her at 9 o'clock, and I did not see her again till after she was arrested—the question of marriage had never been discussed between us.

Cross-examined. I do not remember the suggestion of going to Brighton again after Whitsuntide being discussed from time to time—that she had had a child was not at all material to me—my income was not sufficient to offer marriage to anyone; I was earning £3 a month—I continued on exactly the same terms with the prisoner after she had told me she had had a child as before—I did not know that she would have to make excuses to enable her to go to Brighton—I said before the Coroner "I knew she would have to make an excuse to get to Brighton"—her age is 34, and mine 18—I never wrote her letters promising her marriage, nor love letters in that sense—when I got to Brighton her demeanour was as usual—I asked her what train she came by—she said the 4 o'clock from London Bridge—I went freely in and out of her room—her door was not locked against me.

Re-examined. I arrived at the hotel about 3.20 or 3.30—I fetched my luggage from the station—it was about 10 minutes' walk—the rooms did not communicate—I went outside of mine to reach hers in the night—I was in her room once or twice on the Sunday—we were staying at the hotel as brother and sister—I knew that—she did not tell me what her excuse was to get to Brighton—I was earning £3 a month as correspondence clerk—my object was to learn English—my father is well-to-do—on the return journey the prisoner brought a grey light waterproof, in addition to the gladstone bag—she carried it over her arm—I only saw it on that occasion.

ALICE RIALL . I am chambermaid in the hotel kept by Mr. Findlay, in the Queen's Road, Brighton—on Friday, October 27th, the prisoner arrived about 9.45 p.m.—she stayed till Sunday evening, October 29th—she occupied No. 11 bedroom, on the first floor—on Saturday afternoon she was joined by a gentleman I now know to be Lucas—she ordered No. 10 bedroom on the Saturday night—I took the arrival—she said most likely she would want No. 10 for her brother, who would arrive between 4 and 5—Lucas came about 4.10—they slept in those adjoining rooms, as far as I know—the prisoner gave the name of Brooks—a letter came on the Saturday morning in the name of Brooks—I took it to her bedroom about 9.30 a.m

—there was nothing unusual in her condition or demeanour—she was very particular about having No. 11 room.

Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate that she had a small Gladstone brown bag and a wrapper or rolled up parcel; that on the Sunday afternoon I still saw the two articles—I call it a wrapper; it was a little plaid, bound round with leather—it was plaid pattern—I saw the luggage opposite the coffee-room door—I remember it because I asked the boots to take it up—I saw it in the bedroom about 1.45 on Sunday—I was off duty after that—it was by the side of the fire-place and the table—it appeared to be in the same position as it was on the Saturday—I saw some French fancy cakes in a drawer, not cakes bought in the hotel—they fitted in the little papers—I did not see any name on the paper.

JOHN FINDLAY . I keep an hotel in the Queen's Road, Brighton—on Friday, October 27th, I saw the prisoner in the lobby about 9.45 p.m.—she had two packages—the succeeding Wednesday I found in a drawer of No. 11 room the small scales produced—one scale had grains of what appeared to be sugar—I handed them to Police sergeant Burch.

ANN SKEATS . I am a widow, of 19, Buckingham Road, Brighton—I am assistant in charge of the first and second-class ladies' waiting-room at Brighton Railway Station—I was on duty on Saturday, October 28th, from 9 a.m. till 9 p.m.—there is a small inner room which adjoins the lavatory, in which I have a little box to keep my caps—on that Saturday afternoon, about 3.30, I found in my capbox a brown paper parcel—I am sure it was not there before—I kept it till about 5.40, when, in accordance with my duty, I took it to the cloak-room, and handed it to Henry Court.

HENRY COURT . I live at 23, Over Street, Brighton—I am cloak-room porter at the Brighton Railway Station—about 5.40 p.m. on Saturday, October 28th, Mrs. Skeats handed me a parcel—I kept it in the cloak-room till Monday, October 30th, when I opened it—I attached this label, and sent it to the Lost Property Office, at London Bridge, on October 31st—I forwarded the same paper—that was in the usual course of my duty.

WILLIAM JAMES BROWN . I am chief clerk at the Lost Property Office, at London Bridge Station of the L.B. & S.C. Railway—on November 1st I received a parcel with this label on it—in my presence it was handed to Sergeant Nursey that afternoon—it was opened the same Wednesday afternoon.

RICHARD NURSEY (Police-sergeant J). On November 1st I saw this parcel Opened—it contained this serge frock and this little blue coat—the next day I received this brown paper from Brown—I kept them till they were produced in Court—on Friday, November 3rd, I received from Ellen Gentle, at her residence, 210, Clyde Road, Tottenham, another piece of brown paper—I fitted them together, and found they corresponded (Produced)—on one piece are the letters "E. S."—part of the other piece is torn off—I was in charge of this case from November 1st—before that I made inquiries as to the identity of the child—with Burch and Forth I kept observation on 29, Bethune Road from 3.30 on Monday, November 3rd—information came to me from Mrs. Rees, the attendant at the ladies' waiting room at London Bridge—on November 21st I

Attended at the station superintendent's office—Mrs. Rees was sent for—she made a statement, which I took down in writing—she signed it—she was ordered to attend on November 24th at the North London Police-court—I was present in the yard and saw her identify the prisoner—I have tested the time of the trains between Dalston Junction and Broad Street—the express trains take five and the stopping trains seven minutes—I went from Dalston Junction to the foot of London Bridge by 'bus and walked into the station in 23 minutes—walking to the 'bus at the foot of the bridge, and going to the corner of Liverpool Street, and walking to Broad Street Station, took 25 minutes—I selected No. 3 Platform on the first occasion and then took my chance, but happened to come in at No. 3—there may be variations in time caused by stoppages.

Cross-examined. About seven or eight persons were present—there is no practice for the inspector to stand or follow at the back of the person identifying who is asked to touch the person she or he knows—Mrs. Rees stopped and put on her glasses, stopped and looked, and then pointed with her umbrella at the prisoner—I said, "Touch the one you mean," and she touched the prisoner—the inspector was not behind her that I remember—such a thing did not strike me—part of the yard is gravelled and part paved.

Re-examined. Persons are placed on the asphalted pavement in a semicircle for identification—they are allowed to choose their position—persons are collected like the accused, and great care is exercised according to instructions, which were carried out in this case.

By the COURT. We at first, in watching 29, Bethune Road, did not go near the house till dark, before 7; we tried to avoid observation.

RICHARD CADISCH . I live at 29, Bethune Road—I am the prisoner's brother-in-law—I remember her return home on Sunday, October 23rd—she brought this brown bag—it is mine—I did not notice any waterproof—I let her in—I did not see her again till Monday—about 2 a.m. on October 31st my brother-in-law, Mr. George Richard Simes, came to the house—Mr. Simes made a statement and remained some time with me—he and I went the following morning to London Bridge Station, with the object of going to his house at Croydon—it was about 8 o'clock—we noticed, in Stoke Newington, that we were followed to the station—we found they were police-officers—we spoke to them at the station—in consequence of what we stated they came with us to Mr. Simes' house at Croydon.

Cross-examined. When the prisoner returned on Sunday evening she seemed exactly in her usual spirits—I have four children—she has lived in our house about 18 months—she was kind and affectionate, and very much liked by the children—she earned from teaching enough for her wants—she was not distressed for money, so far as I know—she retained some pupils for several years—she went for two or three years to the same houses.

ALICE SONENTHAL . I am the wife of George Sonenthal, of 30, Bellsize Park, Hampstead—the nearest stations are Hampstead Heath and Finchley Road, or East London, about a quarter of an hour off, and Loudoun Road, which is the nearest—the prisoner Masset has given

lessons to my daughter since October, 1895, with several interruptions, including the summer vacations, when we were away, and when she was away in the spring of 1896 down to Monday, October 30th, last—I recommended her to Mrs. Haas—sometimes she came to me first, and some-times to her—I did not see her on the Monday; I heard her voice—Thursday would be one of her days for coming—she came three or four times a week.

Cross-examined. She gave every satisfaction—I had the fullest confidence in her.

Friday, December 15th.

GEORGE RICHARD SIMES . I am an auctioneer at New Streatham. Road, Croydon—I am married to the prisoner's sister—she visited us. from time to time at Croydon, before October 30th—I think the last time she came was at the beginning of August—I did hot expect any visit from her on October 30th, but about 11 p.m. I answered the door and found her there—she said, "Can I speak to you?"—I said, "Yes; what is it?"—she said, "I am being hunted for murder, but I have not done it"—I said, "The child found at Dalston was not yours, was it?"—I think she said, "Yes, I am sure that it is," or something like that—I asked her what she knew, and she said that she had seen at Dalston that evening a placard of an evening paper stating that the body had been identified, that she had bought a paper, and from the description she was sure that it was her child—she was very much agitated, and I tried to calm her before I said much more to her—I was fairly successful in calming her, and then I asked her to account for her movements on the Friday—she said she had handed the child over to two women at London Bridge railway station (South Coast), and had after-wards gone by the 4 o'clock train to Brighton; that she arrived a little before 6 o'clock, I think it was; that she went to Mutton's restaurant and had something to eat, and afterwards went to Mr. Findlay's hotel and engaged a room there; that Mr. Lucas was at Brighton on the Saturday; that was the first I heard of the visit to Brighton—by that time it was nearly 12 o'clock—I then left home and went to my brother-in-law, Mr. Cadisch, at Bethune Road, leaving the prisoner with my wife, her sister—I got to Bethune Road about 2.30 a.m., where I saw Mr. and Mrs. Cadisch, and had a conversation with them—I stayed the night there, and next morning left with Mr. Cadisch to go back to Croydon—we went to London Bridge Station on foot, when I noticed that we were being followed, and on our arrival at London Bridge, finding that it was the police who were following us, I spoke to them and made a statement, in consequence of which they accompanied us to Croydon, where we arrived about 10 a.m., when the prisoner was arrested.

Cross-examined. The prisoner was in a very hysterical state when she came to me—I told her that if she would tell me all about it, whatever it was, I would do my best for her, and I think she said, "How could you think I could kill my own child?"—then she told me about Lucas going to Brighton, and that the story about the child going to France was untrue—I think I had heard of it from my wife—it was then that the prisoner told me of the meeting with the two women at Tottenham—I think she said at Tottenham Green—at any rate, one day when she had the child out—she

said that they had found out that it was a nurse-child, and that they were forming a home at King's Road, Chelsea, and that they said they would take the child for £12 a year; that she had agreed to hand over the child to them at London Bridge Station on the Friday, I understood in the general waiting-room; that she was to pay the £12 down in advance—I am not sure that she told me that she had gone to another waiting-room first—she said that she had met the two women, that she had given them the £12, and that they had left to go to the refreshment-room, taking the boy with them, for the purpose of getting something to eat—she said that she knew Lucas was coming on the following day, and asked me not to mention the fact to her people—she did not say she would go to the Police-station if she was wanted—I told her she must go, and she said, "Very well"—she made a statement to Sergeant Birch at my house in my presence, which he took down in writing—I know Dalston Junction and No. 3 Platform fairly well, and that there is large traffic there—I went with the prisoner to the station, where she twice asked to see the dead body of the child—her request was not granted then—I had an interview with her in the cells after she was remanded, and she urged me to arrange for her to see the child; which she did, in spite of my telling her it was not in a condition to be seen—I was aware of the existence of the child, and we all considered her to be very fond of it.

Re-examined. I never saw the child myself—I knew it was at Tottenham—I believe I heard of its intended removal to France on the Friday when the murder was committed—I heard that the pair had gone to France with the child to hand it over to some relations of the father, who would take care of it in the future—I did not hear that the father had been in England in the week which ended on October 14th—the prisoner told me of more than one meeting with the two women prior to October 27th—I believe she said that the place of meeting on each occasion was at Tottenham Green, at about 2 o'clock—she told me that she waited in the waiting-room on the 27th for the purpose of getting a receipt for her money which she had paid the two women—it was from her that I first learned of the visit to Brighton, as well as the fact that Lucas had been down there from the Saturday to the Sunday night.

WILLIAM BURCH (Sergeant J). I and other officers kept watch on 29, Bethune Road on the afternoon of October 30th—we got there about 3.30—Sergeant Nursey was with me—the prisoner did not come to that house at all that evening—next morning I followed Mr. Cadisch and Mr. Simes to London Bridge Railway Station, and then went with them to Mrs. Simes, at Croydon—I saw the prisoner—I was with Detective Allen—I said to her "We are police officers; you had a child which you took from its nurse last Friday Can you account for it to me?"—she said, "I last saw my child Manfred Louis Masset, aged 31/2, on Friday at London Bridge Railway Station in the waiting-room; I gave it to two women, who gave the address at 45, King's Road, Chelsea, with £12, mostly gold, to take care of it for a whole 12 months; I had seen them at Tottenham Green four Wednesdays ago; that would be October 4th; they first spoke to me and by their conversation with me they found out it was a nurse child; they said they were setting up a

home, and would I mind letting them have mine for £12 a year"—I took this statement down in writing at the time—she said that at first she did not agree, but that she would see them again next Wednesday; that she had the child with her, and decided to leave it with them for that sum, and arranged to meet them at London Bridge on the 27th; that she met them, but before doing so she went into the waiting-room near the parcels' office, where there was a woman attendant who had a cap on, and another attendant came to relieve her while the prisoner was there; that the woman took the bag, and went out as they asked the child if he would like a cake; that she waited there two or three minutes for a receipt for her money, but they never came back; and that she had never seen her child since—when that statement was made I did not know that Miss Leahan and Miss Briggs had communicated with the police—I said to her, "You will have to go to Dalston Police Station"—she said, "I will go willingly"—she was taken to the station and charged by Inspector Forth—on November 1st I was at Brighton, and Mr. Findlay handed me some toy scales (Produced)—I also produced the clinker brick found in the lavatory at Dalston Junction—I saw the body of the child in the lavatory on the night of the 27th, and one part of the brick was on one side of the head, and the other part on the other side—there was a portion broken off—this black shawl was round the body of the child—on November 28th I took a journey from No. 1 Platform at Dalston Junction to Broad Street by train, and then by 'bus to London Bridge—I left Dalston at 5.42 p.m., and arrived at London Bridge at 6.17 p.m.—I waited about 5 minutes for a 'bus.

Cross-examined. The statement I took down is in the identical language in which she spoke—this (Produced) is the original note, and part of it is the result of my questions and her answers.

Re-examined. The language used is the language of the prisoner—I repeated everything she said, while I was writing it down, so that I should have it correct.

HENRY WILLIS . I live at 45, King's Road, Chelsea, where I carry on the business of a dairy; I have had the place for ten years—there is no home for nurse children kept there—I employ four female assistants in the business, and also a female domestic servant—my wife lives there, and those are the only females in the establishment—I got a visit from a policeofficer soon after October 27th—I am quite sure that none of the females at my address were away on October 27th; they were all there between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.—I have no lodgers.

WILLIAM BOWERS . I am a guard employed on the London, Brighton and SouthCoast Railway, and was in charge of the train due to leave London Bridge at 4 p.m. on October 27th for Brighton; we left at 4.1, and arrived at 5.19, four minutes late.

JOHN WHITTLE . I am a guard employed by the London, Brighton and SouthCoast Railway, and was in charge of the train due to leave London Bridge for Brighton at 7.22; we left at 7.23, and arrived at 9.18, eight minutes late.

FREDERICK FORTH (Inspector J). I am the inspector in charge of this case—these are two lines of omnibuses between London Bridge and Stoke Newington—I was present at the Dalston Police-sation when Mrs.

Rees identified the prisoner on November 24th—she picked her out without any aid from me or anyone—on October 31st the prisoner was first brought to the station, and Sergeant Burch showed me a statement made by the prisoner, which he had taken down—I read it, and then said to the prisoaer, "You will be charged with the murder of your child"—she said, "Impossible"—the charge was read over to her—she said, "Cannot I say something to clear myself"—I said, "Yes, if you like"—Mr. Simes, who stood near, said, "You had better not say anything now," and she said nothing—on November 2nd I was at the Coroner's inquiry, and also the prisoner, and she asked to see the child—the permission was given, and I accompanied her into the mortuary, where the dead body lay—when she saw it she said, "Oh! my child, my poor boy"—she was affected—this (Produced) is a photograph of the child after death, which I had taken about noon on October 28th—it correctly represents the condition of the child's face at the time—there had been a great change between October 28th and November 2nd—I went to 29, Bethune Road, and in the back garden there is a grotto or rockery formed of clinker bricks—I took these two bricks (Produced)—when I took them away there were no traces left of their having been taken—there are also some clinker bricks in the front garden, forming a border, and there were some loose on the ground—I took away three and compared them with the clinker brick found by the child's body—they are apparently of the same kind—on November 28th I took a journey from No. 2 platform at Dalston Junction to Broad Street—I left Dalston at 6.5 p.m., and after waiting a few minutes at Broad Street I went by 'bus to London Bridge, arriving there at 6.35—the distance from Bethune Road to Dalston Junction is 17/8 miles, and from Dalston Junction to the Birdcage public-house, 13/4 miles—from the Birdcage to Tottenham Green is about 11/4 miles, from Tottenham Green to King's Road, Chelsea, is about 81/2 miles.

Cross-examined. I could not see any place from where the bricks were missing—the loose ones had been lying loose on the ground some time apparently.

HORACE BAKER (41 N). I was present at the identification of the prisoner by Mrs. Rees on November 24th—no indication was given to Mrs. Rees to help her in her identification.

Cross-examined. Mrs. Rees halted two or three times before getting to the prisoner.

Re-examined. She then went up to her and identified her, about six or seven yards in front of Inspector Forth.

MARIAN FITZGERALD . I am a book-keeper at Bertram and Roberts' refreshment-room at London Bridge station—I know Mrs. Rees, who is the attendant at the ladies' waiting-room nearest the refreshment-room—I remember her making a statement to me, as near as I can possibly say, on Wednesday or Thursday, November 2nd or 3rd.

JAMES PATRICK FENNELL . I am a registered medical practitioner, and live at 20, Dalston Lane—on Friday, October 27th, I was called to Dalston Junction at 6.55—I went at once to the water-closet, which is attached to the ladies' waiting-room, arriving there about three minutes after being called—on the floor I saw the dead body of a child—it was behind the door, a few inches from the partition, with its

head towards the corridor, and its body towards the seat of the closet—the left leg was bent at the knee, the outer surface of the leg resting on the ground, and the foot under the right thigh—the body, with the exception oi the head and legs, was loosely covered with a black shawl; it was simply laid over it, not tied round it—I felt the body on my arrival, and found the trunk was warm; stiffening had not set in, the extremities were cold—I saw some bruises and abrasions on its head—I should say it had been dead about one hour, but I cannot fix the time—in my opinion the longest period ihat it could have been dead was two or three hours, four hours would be the outside time—I think the shortest time within which it could have died would be within an hour—the photograph which has been produced shows the condition when I saw it on October 27th—I did not then come to any conclusion as to the cause of death—I noticed that the tongue protruded slightly between the teeth, which is one of the signs of death by suffocation—there were bloodstains on the head and forehead, and a small clot on the floor to the left of the child's head—I saw a clinker brick there, and I afterwards made an examination of it—there appeared to be bloodstains upon one corner of it, but I cannot say that it was bloodstains—there wete also two hairs corresponding to the hairs on the eyebrows of the child—the brick was an instrument with which the injuries to the child's head might have been inflicted, and I believe it was the implement with which they were caused—I do not attach any importance to the position of the left leg—I beheve the child died in the closet, and was not removed there after death—the child's bowels had been evacuated, which, I should say, took, place at the time of death—the clot of blood on the floor could have been covered with a florin—the blood being there would indicate, I think, that death had taken place in the closet—the lips were blue, which would be another indication of death by suffocation—the upper lip was slightly swollen—the tip of the nose was bruised, which might indicate pressure; over the nose—under my instructions the body was conveyed to the mortuary, where I made the postmortem examination, when I found a bruise on the forehead extending from above the centre of the left eyebrow to the outer side of the right eye-brow—it was of recent infliction, but I cannot say positiviely whether before or after death, but it was immediately before or after death—it would require much violence to inflict—it was a bruise only, not a wound—it might have been inflicted by a clinker brick—there was a lacerated, punctured wound 1in. above the inner side of the left eyebrow 1/4 in. long—there was a small wound of the same character immediately beneath it, and at the outer end of the right eyebrow there was a lacerated, penetrating wound, and a very small wound beside it—at the inner end of the right eyebrow there was a small lacerated wound—outside the left eyebrow there was a small abrasion and a bruise—there was a curved bruise extending from the right side of the nose across the cheek to the outside of the right under eyelid, about 1/2in. wide at its widest part—a bruise of a similar character extended from the left side of the nose across the cheek to a little beyond the centre of the left lower eyelid, ending in a small lacerated wound—there must have been a good deal of violence used to cause those

wounds and bruises—in my opinion they were all caused by some hard substance; a clinker brick would have caused them—the postmortem was made at 10 p.m. on Saturday night—I and Dr. Jackson, the livisional surgeon of police, made it together—when at the closet I saw a depression in the centre of the forehead about the size of half-a-crown, with some gritty dust on it; it was gritty to the feel of the fingers—at the postmortem I found the surface of the body pale, with the exception of the face; the body was clean and well nourished—the child had been circumcised—there was no disease of the organs—the brain was congested, and the large venus channels in the interior of the skull were full of blood, which was indicative of death from want of air—it is a sign I should expect to find in death from suffocation—I believe the child died from suffocation—I speak of suffocation as quite distinct from strangulation the injuries on the child's head were not sufficient by themselves to cause death; it is not possible to say whether the external injuries were caused immediately before or after death; the appearance would be the same—probably the child would be stunned, and probably the stunning and suffocation would be quite close to each other; they might almost be simultaneous.

Cross-examined. I said before the Coroner "I think he must nave been dead at least half-an-hour; I think the child had certainly been killed within an hour of my seeing him"—I cannot say if rigor mortis takes place sooner after suffocation than in ordinary circumstances—I do not think rigor mortis would intervene more rapidly if there had been struggling immediately before death, unless it had been prolonged—I do not think the ordinary struggling in suffocation would be sufficient to induce rigor mortis to set in earlier than normally.

Re-examined. It is most difficult to fix the precise time when this, child died—I think it had been dead about an hour.

CHARLES HOWARD JACKSON . I am divisional surgeon of police and live at 69, Cliverly Road—I assisted at the postmortem examination on the body of the child on October 28th—I agree with Dr. Fennel that the injuries on the face and forehead must have been caused by violence and with some hard substance, as the clinker brick which has been produced—I say that it is impossible to say whether the injuries were inflicted either immediately before or after death—I agree that the general condition of the organs were healthy, and also that the death was caused by suffocation, which may have been caused by pressure of the hand over the nose and mouth—the tongue protruding through the teeth is another indication of death from suffocation—it is difficult to say precisely how long the child had been dead.

Cross-examined. I did not have an opportunity of judging how long it had been dead by its temperature; I think it is impossible for Dr. Fennel or for me to say how long the child had been dead—he did not tell me what the temperature was; he did not say that the w.c. was draughty—I wish to differ from Dr. Fennel when he says that the child had been dead an hour when he saw it.

Re-examined. Heat may remain in the body for eight or 16 hours after the death, if you wrap it up; under the conditions in which this body waa found it might be from eight to four hours.

THOMAS BOND . I am a F.R.C.S., and consulting surgeon at the Westminster Hospital—I have had much experience in giving evidence in courts of justice—I have studied the depositions in this case, and I have heard the evidence given in Court today—I cannot form any certain opinion as to how long the child had been dead irhen seen by Dr. Fennel; but I should say between one hour and four—I quite think an hour would elapse.

Cross-examined. I think I am much more qualified to give an opinion than Dr. Fennell—I have seen so many hundreds of dead bodies with regard to giving evidence; but a man who is present has a better opportunity of judging than one who comes afterwards.

By the COURT. The study, observation, and examination of questions like this does not form part of the practice of an ordinary practitioner—I have given special attention to questions of this kind.

INSPECTOR FORTH (Re-examined). I have been in the water-closet on other days since the one on whicn the body was found, and I have made experiments with matches and so on, and I find that it is not cold or draughty.

Cross-examined. I heard Dr. Fennel! examined at the Police-court; I cannot remember him saying that the closet was cold and draughty.

DR. FENNELL (Re-examined by LORD COLERIDGE). I said before the Magistrate that the closet was a cold and draughty place; that is true.

By MR. MATHEWS. I was speaking generally; I had made no tests.

The Prisoner, in her defence, on oath stated that she delivered the child to two women named Browning at London Bridge Station as arranged, and then went to Brighton by the 4p.m. train on the 27th, deceiving her friends by the story of her journey to France to take the child to his father; that she admitted that on seeing the newspaper announcement of the identification of the body she prosecuted no inquiries; that although she mentioned the name Browning here for the first time, she had disclosed it to her solicitors, and if she had been asked she would have done so earlier, and that she had not injured the boy in any way.

H. E. GENTLE (Re-examined). I did not know of the little girl Millie.

Cross-examined. I knew of the little boy playing at Tottenham Green on the afternoon of October 4th only; that was the occasion we went to Tottenham, and he played while his mother and I were sitting down that was the only time I had ever been to Tottenham.

By the COURT. On other occasions, when the boy came back, he said he had been to the Green—I had never heard of his having played there before.


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