Old Bailey Proceedings.
9th January 1888
Reference Number: t18880109

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Old Bailey Proceedings front matter.
9th January 1888
Reference Numberf18880109

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Sessions Paper.








Short-hand Writers to the Court,








Law Booksellers and Publishers.



On the Queen's Commission of



The City of London,





Including cases committed to this Court under Order in Council pursuant to the Winter Assize Act of 1879,

Held on Monday, January 9th, 1888, and following days.

BEFORE the RIGHT HON. POLYDORE DE KEYSER, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir ARTHUR CHARLES , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; WILLIAM LAWRENCE , Esq., Sir THOMAS DAKIN , Knt., Sir THOMAS SCAMBLER OWDEN, Knt., Sir HENRY EDMUND KNIGHT , Knt., Aldermen of the said City; Sir THOMAS CHAMBERS , Knt., Q. C., Recorder of the said City; Sir HENRY AARON ISAACS , Knt., PHINEAS COWAN , Esq., GEORGE ROBERT TYLER , Esq., and JAMES EBENEZER SAUNDERS , Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; and Sir WILLIAM THOMAS CHARLEY , Knt., Q. C., D. C. L., Common Serjeant of the said City; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer, and General Gaol Delivery, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.









A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) that they are known to be the associates, of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.


OLD COURT—Monday, January 9th, 1888.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-173
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

Related Material

173. ARTHUR MILLS (20) , Unlawfully obtaining by false pretences From William Wiseman, 10l., with intent to defraud. Second count, conspiring with another person to obtain 10l. by false pretence with intent to defraud.

MR. PAYNE Prosecuted.

WILLIAM WISEMAN . I am a fish salesman at Billingsgate Market—on Friday, 9th December, a man came up to me and offered me two coins, which I took to be 5l. pieces, but which turned out to be 5s. pieces—he said they were 5l. pieces, they were the colour of gold—he asked me to buy them; I agreed to do so, and gave him 10l. in gold and silver—them the man went away, and then I found the coins were an imitation, and went after him—I found him walking with and talking to the prisoner in Leadenhall Street—I said "Give us my money back; this is only imitation; these are only 5s. pieces"—I had seen the prisoner before, but he was not present when the coins were sold to me—the other man said "I have not got the money, come with me, I will get you the money, I have given the money to Dick"—I did not know who he meant by Dick—I went with the prisoner and the other man into Duke's Place, where he turned round and said to me "You follow him," that was the prisoner, "and I will walk behind"—I was to go to find Dick to find my money—nothing was said about that—I turned round and found the man had gone—the prisoner had heard the other man tell me to go with him; he consented to that arrangement—the prisoner had heard what I said to the other man—the prisoner said to me "Come to the coffee shop to see if I can see Dick"—I went to the coffee shop; Dick was not there—we came out, the prisoner wanted me to go further, he did not name the place—I said "No"—while we were talking outside the coffee shop I met a policeman

and spoke to him, and gave the prisoner into custody—when I first met the two men together I did not speak to the prisoner, but only to the other man; I did not hear the prisoner say anything to the other man about the coins.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The other man said I was to go with you to the public-house, to see if I could find the man.

By the Court. I have never seen the other man since—I know him by sight, I used to see him almost every day—I had not seen a 5l. piece before, I had a 5s. piece.

ANNIE LIZZIE TATON . I am the wife of Frederick Taton, and live at 22, Philpot Street, Commercial Road—the prisoner has been lodging with me—on 8th December the prisoner showed me a coin which looked a gold one, similar to this—he asked me if I had seen any of them, and said they were 5l. pieces, and he had given, he said, 10 guineas for the two, five guineas each—he paid 4s. a week for his lodgings—we did not know what the prisoner was, we thought he was something in the auctioneering and sales—he lodged with us a little over a fortnight—I do not know what wages he had—he did not seem to be in the possession of any quantity of money so far as I saw—he did not show me more than one, he said he had bought two, and that they were 5l. pieces.

RICHARD MILLER . I live at 17, Bear Lane—Riddon brought me these coins which I examined and tested—they are Jubilee 5s. pieces gilt—5l. pieces are a trifle smaller, and the engraving of the St. George and Dragon is smaller.

RIDDON (City Policeman 780). The prisoner was given into my custody; the prosecutor said "He swindled me"—the prosecutor was very much excited, and said something about some coins; I had some difficulty in understanding him—the prisoner made no answer to the charge—these coins were given to me by the prosecutor.

The Prisoner in his defence stated that he knew the other man by meeting him at sales; that he gave him one of the coins and asked him if he could sell it, and that as he had not seen one before, he took it for a 5l. piece; that he showed it to his landlady, and gave it back to the man the next morning; that he afterwards met him in Leadenhall Street, when the prosecutor came up and accused him of swindling.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-174
VerdictsNot Guilty > unknown; Not Guilty > no evidence

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174. ROBERT OVERLAND (16) , Breaking and entering the ware-house of George Saunderson, and stealing tins of lobster, a cabman's license, and other articles. Second count, receiving the same.

MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.

GEORGE SAUNDERSON . I live at 29, Loughborough Street, Kensington, and am a cab-driver—I also keep the cabmen's shelter in Duncannon Street—my night man locked up the shelter on 11th November, I did not see it shut up—when I left the shelter on 11th November, Saturday night, my cabman's license and badge were there, and steaks and different eatables—I returned to the shelter on Monday morning and missed about eight pounds of steak, and tinned lobster, and the badge and license—the badge and license were taken out of a parcel in which they were tied up with a lot of books which were put down again—the badge and license were not missed for three weeks—the donation box was broken open, and what money there was was taken out—a fortnight after the inspector came and asked me to produce the badge and they were gone;

the parcel was tied up as it was before—these are the badge and license; the inspector showed them to me then—the badge was given to me when I applied for the license—I should not have got it without the license—I saw the prisoner in my shelter about three days previous to this breaking; he represented himself as a cab-driver, and availed himself of the shelter.

WILLIAM SLATERDAY . I am manager to the cab proprietors trading under the name of Fitzpatrick, at 79, Great York Mews—on 14th November the prisoner came to me and produced this license, and asked to drive a cab—he was employed by me for two days, 14th and 15th November—he then left—I had not known him before—the license satisfied me he was entitled to wear the badge and to drive—I should not allow a cab to go out without a license, which is essential.

JOHN BOWEY ((Policeman E 389). On the afternoon of 8th December, I saw the prisoner driving a cab—I asked him if he had got a license; he said "Yes"—I asked him for his badge—he was wearing this badge—I asked him his name, he said his name was Saunderson—I asked him if he had not been previously convicted, and how he came to be driving with a license—he made two or three different tales, and then said he had—I said "You will have to come to the station"—I took him there; he was charged with forging the writing on the license—he said he had been convicted, and the license was got in his cousin's name at first, but afterwards he said he had bought the license of some hopping man.

Cross-examined by Prisoner. Mr. Harding, a cab proprietor in Ormond Street, called out "Stop him," and told me the prisoner had no license, or if he had it was in a forged name.

The Prisoner in his defence said that he bought the license from a hopping man on Sunday, the 13th, at 2 o'clock, for 10s., which he paid in three days, and that he did not know it was stolen.


There was another indictment against the Prisoner for forging a license to drive a cab. No evidence was offered.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-175
VerdictsNot Guilty > unknown; Not Guilty > no evidence

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175. EDWIN WOOD (40) , Stealing a piece of paper, the goods of Edwin John Wood.

MR. SIDNEY LOW Prosecuted. EDWIN JOHN WOOD. I live at 459, Liverpool Road, Islington—in 1872 I was in India, and had occasion to send money over to England—I obtained from the Bank of Agra a set of three bills, drawn in favour of my bankers in England—I sent over two of those bills to England, and this third one I retained in my possession—in 1885 I was lodging with Mrs. Grimble at Old Ford, Bow—this bill was in my desk there, and when I left the desk it was locked—I examined the desk at the police-court; the bill was not then in it, and other papers were missing—the desk was then open—I was in the country when I saw a report—I wrote to my bankers, saying the man was using my name, and the police brought me up to the police-court, where the desk was brought at my request—I found the prisoner was remanded—the bill and all my papers were gone.

MARY ANN GRIMBLE . I live at 20, Ashwell Road, Old Ford, Bow—the last witness lodged at my house in July and August, 1885—he left a box and this writing desk with me—I cannot say if the desk was locked—I

put it on the landing—the prisoner lodged with me for a fortnight, leaving about the middle of October, last year—he gave the name of Longkey—he occupied a bedroom at the side of the landing, where the desk was; he could see the desk.

ROBERT LOW . I live at 37, Marshall Street, Golden Square—I know the prisoner—I have seen this bill several times in the prosecutor's hands—he gave it to me, and asked me to get 10 sovereigns on it; he got a sovereign out of me on it first—I have not had that sovereign back—I have remitted money from India myself—I considered this a good bill for 95l.—it is an order to the Agra Bank to pay it—the prisoner told me he was going straight to the Agra Bank to get the bill cashed that morning—he said that before I advanced my sovereign.

Cross-examined by Prisoner. You received the sovereign from me about half-past eight on Thursday, 5th December, last year.

EDWIN TALLIN (Detective Sergeant). I apprehended the prisoner about nine p.m., on 6th December, at 37, Marshall Street—I told him he would be charged with obtaining 1l. by a worthless bank note—he said "I came from India last week, and I bought it on board of the steamer"—he said the steamer was the Penvering, which arrived, he said, at the Tilbury Docks—I have made inquiries; no such vessel ever arrived there, nor is there any property there bearing the prisoner's name.

The prisoner in his defence stated that he bought the bill from a person whose name he could give, and that he believed it was a good bill.

EDWIN JOHN WOOD (Re-examined by the COURT). I last saw the bill safe in my desk about two years ago.


There was another indictment against the prisoner for the forgery. No evidence was offered.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-176
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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176. EDWARD WILLIAM PRICE (57) PLEADED GUILTY to conspiring with others to cheat and defraud certain persons of their goods, and to obtaining goods by false pretences, with intent to defraud, from Henry de Laspi and other persons.— One Month's Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-177
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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177. JAMES DARNELL (40) to possessing counterfeit coin, with intent to utter, also a conviction of feloniously uttering counterfeit coin in November, 1882, in the name of John Bond .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-178
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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178. JOHN CLARRICOATS (49) to three indictments for forging and uttering acceptances for 2, 050l., 1, 850l., and 1, 980l.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-179
VerdictsGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentencesImprisonment > penal servitude; Imprisonment > hard labour

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179. THOMAS PERRY (50) to stealing two post letters and three postal orders, the goods of the Postmaster General, he being employed in the Post Office, and EMILY MAITLAND (43) to forging endorsement on the orders and uttering.

PERRY— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.

MAITLAND— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-180
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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180. THOMAS McCARTHY (24) to stealing two post letters and their contents, the goods of the Postmaster General, he being employed in the Post Office.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-181
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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181. ISADORE JOHN BINES (21) to stealing a post letter and its contents, the goods of the Postmaster General, he being employed under the Post Office.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

NEW COURT.—Monday, January 9th, 1888.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-182
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceNo Punishment > sentence respited

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182. MARY JOHNSON (36) , Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin twice on the same day.

MR. H. AVORY Prosecuted.

WILLIAM MORGAN ESMOND . I keep the London Hospital Tavern, Whitechapel Road—on Saturday, 3rd December, about 6. 15 p.m., the prisoner came in for a glass of sixpenny ale, price 1 1/2 d., and gave me a florin—I gave her a shilling, a 6d., and 4 1/2 d. change, and put the coin in the till in the right hand corner of the bar, she being in the right hand bar—my daughter was in the bar till six o'clock, and then I went in and cleared the till with the exception of some sixpences; there was no other florin in the till—about quarter of an hour afterwards the prisoner came again into another compartment, and asked for three half-pennyworth of rum, and gave me a florin—I put it in the tester and found it was bad—I then went to the till and looked at the other florin, and found that was also bad—I sent the potman for a policeman, and went round and prevented the prisoner from going out—a constable then came, and I handed both of the florins to him, and charged the prisoner with uttering two counterfeit florins—she made no reply then—when I got outside the bar I said "You have changed two bad florins; where is the change out of the other bad one?"—she said "I have no change, "and put a penny on the counter—I am quite sure she is the same woman, and her coming in the second time made me look at the coin.

DANIEL PACKER (Policeman J 146). I was called—Mr. Esmond handed me these two florins, and said he should charge the prisoner with uttering them—I said to her "Where did you get them from?"—she said.

"My husband gave them to me"—I said "Have you any more?"—she said "No"—I then told her I should take her to the station, and on the way she said "I wonder if the old b——can find any more of them"—at the station she said her husband was a chair caner at 45, Chicksand Street, Whitechapel, which I found was correct—the female searcher searched her and handed me a penny.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am inspector of coin to Her Majesty's Mint—these two florins are counterfeit and from the same mould.

The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "It was hard earned. I must have taken it in Mile End Road; my husband took 1s. 7d., I took 1s. 10d. and 11d. in Mile End Road."

The prisoner in her defence stated that she must have taken the second florin while selling articles in the street, and that she never uttered the first, and never told the constable that her husband gave them to her.

WILLIAM MORGAN ESMOND (Re-examined). I am positive that no one but the prisoner gave me the first coin, and no other money was put in the till while she was out of the house.

GUILTY . — Judgment respited.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-183
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty; Guilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; No Punishment > sentence respited

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183. GEORGE BOEN (18) and WILLIAM SMITH (18) , Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin, having other counterfeit coin in their possession, to which BOEN PLEADED GUILTY .

MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.

CHRISTOPHER WHEATCROFT . I am manager to Messrs. Jonas, Tower, and Wharton, bootmakers, of 304, High Road, Kilburn—on 17th December, about 6 p.m., I heard Smith ask my boy outside for a penny tin of blacking, and saw him give the boy a florin—he had not change, and gave it back to Smith, and told him to come in to me—Smith handed it to me, and as I went towards the desk I turned round and said "This is a bad one, where did you get it from?"—he made no reply—I then

broke the coin in my teeth in his presence, gave it back to him, and he walked sharply out of the shop, and afterwards, in consequence of a communication made to me, I went to the station and there saw Smith, and made this charge against him—this (produced) is the coin; I broke it with my teeth in two pieces.

Cross-examined. You did not say a word about a man being outside who had given you the coin.

SAMUEL CAYFORD . I am a smith, of 30, Kingsgate Road, Kilburn—on 17th December, about 6 p.m., I was in the Kilburn High Road, and saw the two prisoners going towards Brondesbury—I spoke to Sergeant Welham about them, watched the prisoners, and saw them enter the Earl of Derby public-house—they then came out and walked towards Brondesbury Railway-station—Been then left Smith and went into the shop of the French and Vienna Bakery Company, and came out with a small bag in his hand—he joined Smith, and they walked together towards the Lord Palmerston—then they came out of there and joined a third man, and all walked down Palmerston Road—they crossed the road, and I then saw Been hand Smith a piece of money—I was following only a few yards behind them—Smith immediately left Been and went into Mr. Wheat croft's shop—Been and the other man then went down the road into the Black Horse Yard—I followed them into the yard, and saw Been hand the other man some money—I caught hold of Been by the collar, and he immediately put his hand in his pocket and brought it out again, and threw some money up the yard, saying "You have not got the swag, let me go"—a constable came, and with the aid of his lamp I was able to pick up this bad florin in tissue paper, and this florin which had fallen out of the paper—I gave them to the constable.

GEOEGE STEVENS (Policeman S 480). I was called, and saw Mr. Cayford struggling with Been—I took Been, and saw Mr. Cayford pick up this paper—he then handed me these coins and paper.

ROBERT BOWTON (Policeman SR 26). I was on duty in High Road, Kilburn, on 17th December, about 6.30, and having had a communication made to me I stopped Smith—he said "I have got none on me, only these," pulling these two broken pieces of a florin out of his pocket, "which the man broke when I gave it him for a pennyworth of blacking"—I had not said a word to him—I found nothing but a biscuit on him—another man was with him, but he got away.

EDGAR WELHAM (Police Sergeant S). I was in High Road, Kilburn, on 17th December, in plain clothes, and saw Mr. Cay ford, who made a communication to me—I watched the prisoners, and saw Been go into a baker's shop—Smith remained outside—Been came out with a small paper bag in his hand—they joined and went together into the Lord Palmerston—they then came out, and were joined by a third man, and then they went down Palmerston Road—I saw Been hand something to Smith, who went into a boot shop, and the other two went down the road—on Smith coming out of the shop I had a communication with Wheat croft, and then went into the shop and came out and found Been in custody—I searched him at the station, and found six shillings, eight sixpences, three threepenny-pieces, and 1s. 9d. in bronze.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am inspector of coin to Her Majesty's Mint—these 2 coins are counterfeit, and one of those found is from the same mould as one of the others.

Smith in his defence stated that he met Been and went with him to the Lord Palmerston, where a man who owed him some money gave him 2s. of it; that he then went to get some blacking, and that the man then told him it was bad.

The prisoners received good characters.

SMITH— GUILTY . — Six Months' Hard Labour.

BOEN— Judgment respited.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-184
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

184. GEORGE CARTWRIGHT (25) , Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin twice within 10 days.

MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.

WILLIAM SUTTON . I am a tobacconist, of 30, Cranbourne Street, Golden Square—on 7th December, about 7 p.m., the prisoner came in for half an ounce of tobacco, price 2d., and gave me a florin in payment—I put it in the tester, and it bent very easily—I said "This is a bad one"—he said "I did not know it; I received it in change for half-a-crown from a tramcar conductor at the foot of Westminster Bridge"—I then gave him back the florin, and he asked for a pennyworth of tobacco—I asked where he lived, he said "Just at the back, No. 14, Broad Street"—I next saw him on the Saturday following at Marlborough Street Police-court as he was going through the yard, and I identified him; I have never had any doubt about him.

ALICE WHEELER . I am barmaid at the Blenheim Restaurant, New Broad Street—on 9th December, about 7 p.m., I served the prisoner with half a pint of ale, price 1 1/2 d.—he slid this half-crown along the counter with his hand over it—I took it up and looked at it, and handed it to Mrs. Chapman, the landlady—I did not say anything to the prisoner because I was not quite certain, but I did not give him any change.

ELIZABETH CHAPMAN . I am the wife of Edward George Chapman, who keeps the Blenheim Restaurant—on 9th December the last witness handed me this half-crown, which I handed over to my husband.

EDWARD GEORGE CHAPMAN . I keep the Blenheim Restaurant—on the night of 9th December Mrs. Chapman handed me a half-crown—I broke it between my teeth in two pieces, and went round to the bar where the prisoner was, and said "You knew it was a bad coin"—he said "I did not know it was a bad one"—I sent for a policeman, and gave him in custody with the coin—I had seen him there before, within a fortnight of this occasion—I then examined the coins in my till, and found a bad half-crown and a bad shilling.

FREDERICK SARA (Police Sergeant C 4). I was called to the Blenheim, and the prisoner was given into my custody for uttering a bad half-crown—he said "I did not know it was a bad half-crown; I did not come to the house with the intention of passing bad money"—I took him to the station, and found on him a penny and some tobacco paper—Mr. Chapman said he thought the prisoner was in the house a fortnight ago—the prisoner said "I never was in the house before"—he gave his address, 14, Broad Street, Golden Square—on coming into Court on the 10th, he said "I sold my best clothes yesterday for 4s. 6d. to a fellow; I had a bit of dinner and a few other things, and then had the half-crown and penny left"—I said "Do you know the man to whom you sold the clothes?"—he said "I know him by sight, but do not know where he lives."

ELIZABETH COTTIER . I am the wife of Henry Cottier, a painter, of 14, Broad Street, Golden Square, and let lodgings—I do not know the prisoner as a lodger since I have been there; that is a year last July.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. Mrs. Ryan lived there about four years ago, but not since I have been there.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . This half-crown is counterfeit—if a coin bends easily in the tester it is undoubtedly bad.

The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I know nothing of this last affair; I don't remember going into the shop at any time."

The prisoner in his defence stated that he did not utter the half-crown wilfully, and that he never went into the tobacconist's shop.

GUILTY . — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

OLD COURT.—Tuesday, January 10th, 1888.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-185
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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185. GEORGE SPIERS (20) and GEORGE SMITH (21) PLEADED GUILTY to breaking and entering the shop of Samuel Morris Samuel, with intent to steal therein.— Six Months' Hard Labour each.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-186
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty

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186. EDWIN HARRY COLLETT (35) to marrying Eliza Clamp, his wife being then alive.— One Week's Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-187
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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187. HENRY BULLIPHANT (20) to burglary in the dwelling-house of Joseph George Busby, and stealing therein a quantity of cigars and other articles.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-188
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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188. WILLIAM TAYLOR (19) and JOHN PERRY (18) to stealing two purses and 11s. 1d. from the person of Eliza Tilley.TAYLOR** having been convicted of felony in February, 1883, in the name of George Strange , and PERRY** in August, 1883.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour each. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-189
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty

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189. LAURA VEALE (21) to obtaining, by false pretences, from John Morgan, a dead goose and other articles, with intent to defraud.— Two Weeks' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-190
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty

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190. WILLIAM VAUGHAN (19) to stealing a roll of cloth, the goods of Eliza Holt, after a conviction** of felony.— Six Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-191
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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191. WILLIAM FRANCIS (45) to stealing a gelding and other articles, the property of Frederick Hilbert, after a conviction** of felony in October, 1886, and also to stealing a mare, a set of harness, and 14 sacks of oats and other property, of Edward Ganis, and a van, the property of John Merrifield.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-192
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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192. SARAH LEWIS (48) and CAROLINE MARTIN (49) to stealing a plush mantle, the goods of the Civil Service Supply Association, Limited. LEWIS** also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in 1887 in the name of Sarah Chandler , and MARTIN* to one in September, 1886.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour each. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-193
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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193. CHARLES NEILL (26) to stealing 12 fur capes and other goods, the property of Henry Rossner, his master,— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-194
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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194. EDWARD ARTHUR SAWYER (26) to marrying Sarah James Holmes, his wife being then alive.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-195
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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195. THOMAS MOORE (18) to burglary in the dwelling-house of Jane Rivers, and stealing therein two rings and other articles.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-196
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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196. DANIEL CONSTANTINE (23) , Robbery with violence with another person unknown, on James Wilson, and stealing a watch and chain from his person.

MR. ROGERS Prosecuted.

JAMES WILSON . I am a coachman, of 121, Devonshire Street—about 20 minutes to 1, on the morning of 18th October, I was passing through Devonshire Street on my way home, when I was knocked about and robbed of my watch and chain—they came up from behind, and then made off—one fixed me round the neck, while the other knocked me about the ribs, and took my watch and chain and made off—I called out "Stop thief"—they got away, and a week afterwards one was arrested, and the prisoner is the other man—I next saw him in custody when I was fetched to the station on 24th December—I picked him out there from a group—I had at first difficulty in identifying him—there were two men who resembled each other so much, and the prisoner had his hat over his eyes—at first I thought the prisoner was the man, and then after-wards I found I had made a mistake, and I told the inspector so—I have no doubt whatever that the prisoner is the man.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. It was very dark that night—the inspector was in the yard when I identified you—he did not speak to me—he did not say "Don't be frightened; have a good look and be satisfied "I believe he told me to pick the man out I knew—I picked out a man very little taller than you—he was dressed about the same as yourself—after I had picked out the other man, the inspector said to me "Are you sure that is the man?"—I said "I think I am," and while I was in the act of doing so, you took your hat off, and I said "I see I have made a mistake as the two resemble each other so much."

By the COURT. I picked him out from the group in the yard—I have never seen my watch and chain again—the other man is now in custody.

WILLIAM DONOHUE . I am a barman—on 24th December I saw the prisoner in Oxford Street coming towards Regent Circus with another man—as soon as he saw me he went into a public-house—I knew he was wanted on this charge—I went into the public-house having got a con-stable—I was prevented from going into the public-house by a gang of men who were with him—he went to go out of another door, and as he was going out he said "I know nothing about the b——watch and chain"—I said "You seem to know all about it"—he repeated he knew nothing about it—I told him he would have to go to the station—he turned and gave me a violent kick in my privates which raised a lump, and I shall have to go into the hospital with it—assistance came, and he was taken to the station and charged—the prisoner said what I have said before anything was said of a watch and chain.

Cross-examined. I do not work for the police—I did not run and fetch the police, the other officer was telegraphed for—some time before this you said to me "You are watching me about"—I have not had a row with you.

By the COURT. I had heard of this robbery, and considered the prisoner was wanted.

ARTHUR NICHOLAS (Policeman D 100). On 24th December, from information received, I went to Marylebone Lane, where I saw the prisoner detained—I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned with another man with robbing the prosecutor of his watch and chain on the night of 8th October in Devonshire Street—he said "All right, governor, I will go with you"—I took him to Molyneux Police-station—on the way the prisoner said "God blind me, governor, all I got out of the watch

and chain was a pipe of tobacco"—he was placed amongst a number of others and identified by the prosecutor.

Cross-examined. The prosecutor did not identify you at first—after you had been identified I gave some men some money to get beer with.

By the COURT. First the prosecutor thought another was the man, then he corrected himself and picked out the prisoner.

The prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "As to knowing anything about the watch and chain I am quite ignorant of it."

The, prisoner in a written defence said that the prosecutor had failed to identify him; that he and Donohue had had a row, and that this was done to try and rub off an old sore.

GUILTY . — Nine Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-197
VerdictsNot Guilty > unknown; Not Guilty > no evidence

Related Material

197. WILLIAM WINGROVE (20) , Feloniously shooting at Robert Gorham, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm.

MR. PURCELL Prosecuted.

ROBERT GORHAM . I am landlord of the Foresters' Arms at Heston, some distance from Brentford—on 19th December I came home after 10 p.m., the prisoner and other men were in the tap-room—I went in to have some tea and dinner, and afterwards went into the tap-room—the prisoner was talking to my son and one or two others—they had got an old gun of mine to pieces, but were doing nothing with it—the prisoner made a very disgusting remark, and my wife and children being by, I told him if he did not use better language than that he had better leave the place—he made some remark to me—I said he had better go—he told me I could not put him out—I said I had as leave knock his brains out as look at him—I then took him by the collar and put him out—I took up the stock of the gun but did not use it to help the prisoner out, I put it down before I took him by the collar—he went away, and 20 minutes or half an hour afterwards came back with a double barrelled gun and said "I will show you what I will do," he was holding the gun in both hands upwards and had cocked it—I jumped up and took hold of the barrel, and took the prisoner by the collar with my other hand, and I and my son put him out; in the struggle after we got outside the gun went off, the prisoner had hold of the gun at the time by the stock, and I had hold of it then about the middle—as soon as the gun went off some of the others wrenched the gun away from us both—I held the prisoner on the ground, the others pulled me away from him, and he went off, and I did not see him again till the police brought him back about 3 o'clock in the morning.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not hit you with the stock of the gun when I asked you to go out of the house—I took it up and told you if you used such disgusting language I would knock you out—I did not say I would knock your brains out—I pushed you into the road; when you came into the place again you smashed the window, you dashed in with the gun—you went off a mile to fetch the gun, and came back with it—it was not under your arm—I don't think you had any reason to do me any harm—my house was shut up at the proper time—while we were struggling you might have asked me to be careful in case there was an accident, but in the struggle and excitement of the moment I might not have heard it.

By the COURT. The gun did not shoot me or anybody.

ALFRED GORHAM . I am the son of the last witness—on the evening of 19th December I was in the tap-room with the prisoner and others—there was an old gun there which the prisoner took up and he was doing a little bit of exercise, and I did the same to the amusement of those that were there—after that the prisoner used abusive language, and my father took him by the collar and put him outside—my father had the old stock of a gun in his hand when he did so, I did not see him help the prisoner out with it—the prisoner went straight away and came back 20 minutes afterwards—he lives about half a mile from our public-house—he came straight into the tap-room and said to my father, I believe, "Now what will you do?"—he had a gun with him; he was just about to present it at my father when my father seized the barrel and put him out a second time, and then in the struggle outside the prisoner fired—I was just by my father's side then—the trigger was pulled by the prisoner, whether it was pulled meaning to do bodily harm I don't know, but I saw the trigger pulled.

Cross-examined. It was very dark, there was no moon—I saw the trigger pulled, I was as close to my father as you were—I did not hear you make any remark—we were exercising all the evening—I did not hear you say you would fetch your gun and show it.

RICHARD HUSKINS . I was in the tap-room at work for the landlord—I saw the prisoner come back with a gun—he said "Now then, I will put you through your exercise now"—they went outside, and I heard the gun go off outside—when the prisoner came in he was pointing the gun floor-wards; he had not got it up to his shoulder at all.

Cross-examined. I saw you going through the exercise—no harm was done then.

LEVI HANCOCK . I was in the tap-room of this public-house on 19th December—there were two old guns there, the landlord said he bought them at a sale, and he got them on the table—I took one to pieces—the prisoner and young Gorham got exercising—one had been in the regulars and the other in the militia—the prisoner was drilling with the old gun, something did not suit him, and he used some expression, and the landlord said "I won't have that here, out you go, "and he caught hold of the stock of the gun and struck at the prisoner's head; he put his hand up; I don't know that it hit his head—twenty minutes to half an hour after-wards the prisoner came back with a gun and said "Try and use your gun now, try and see if I cannot hit as hard with my gun as you did with yours"—he had his gun under his arm with the muzzle down towards the ground—the landlord collared hold of it, and the son collared the pri-soner, and they went out of doors and fell, and the report went off directly, and I went outside directly and took the gun away from him and put it safely in a ditch.

JOHN BRISTOW . I was in the tap-room—I saw the landlord turn the prisoner out of the house the first time; he had the stock of the gun in his hand when he did so; I don't know if he hit the prisoner with it or not—afterwards the prisoner came back; he had a double-barrelled gun under his arm—he said "Now hit me with it, and see if I don't hit you as hard with mine"—he was holding the gun under his arm, down—as soon as he came in the door the landlord caught hold of the gun, and he and his son shoved him out—they fell down, and the gun went off just as they were on the ground; Wingrove on his back.

Cross-examined. The window was broken when you were being put out the first time—I was as sober as I am now, and know what happened—one of the arms went through the window, I cannot say which arm—I heard it go when you were being put out.

RICHMOND YOUNG (Policeman T 579). About ten minutes to 12 on this night I heard the report of firearms, and went in the direction of the sound and met Inspector Arnott—I afterwards met young Gorham, and from what he said I went to the public-house, and from what the father said I went in search of the prisoner—I and another constable watched his house till about a quarter to three, after searching all the outhouses in the neighbourhood—about a quarter to three the prisoner came across the market garden into the garden of the house where he was lodging and crept very quietly up through the garden with his boots off—I came out and took hold of him and said "I am a police officer"—I was in plain clothes; I said "I shall take you in custody for wilfully discharging a loaded gun at Mr. Gorham"—he said "I know nothing about no gun"—I said "Can you tell me anything where the gun is"—he repeated again u I know nothing about no gun"—I said "You will have to go to the station"—on the way he commenced making a statement—I said "Wait a minute, let me tell you that whatever you say will no doubt be given in evidence against you"—he said "I have no doubt about that; I did fire the gun off in the air to prevent an accident, I did not intend to hurt the man"—those were his words—I did not say before the Magistrate "I did not shoot the man with the intention of hurting him"—I give it now as I did before the Magistrate "I did not intend to hurt the man"—I searched him at the station and found on him a flask containing powder, another containing shot, and twelve percussion caps—I went with Inspector Arnott and searched for the gun and found it hid 150 to 200 yards from where this occurred, shoved in a bank—I and the Inspector afterwards saw Hancock; he was given into custody, but was released by the inspector at the station.

Cross-examined. I heard the gun go off at 10 minutes to 12.

The prisoner in his defence stated that he had not the slightest intention of harm when he brought his gun in.


There was another indictment for a common assault, upon which no evidence was offered.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-198
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

198. WILLIAM EDWARDS (the younger) (21), Wounding William Edwards, the elder, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm.

MR. HEDDON Prosecuted.

ELLEN EDWARDS . I live at 14, Little Edward Street, Regent's Park, and am the wife of William Edwards, a coal porter—the prisoner is our son and lives with us—on Sunday morning, 11th December, about five o'clock, my husband and son were quarrelling in the same room as I was in; they were both in drink—my husband struck him and knocked him off a chair on the floor—I went downstairs and I could not part them, and went for a policeman—when I came back they were both fighting in the street on the ground—I ran to the station; when I came back with a policeman I heard my husband was stabbed, and had gone to the hospital—my son was in the room; he was given in custody.

WILLIAM EDWARDS . I am a coal porter and live at 14, Little Edward Street—the prisoner is my son—on Sunday, 11th December, about five

I was in the house with my wife—my son came in; we had a quarrel—I struck him first; I ordered him out of the room—we had a fight, and we went into the street—while in the room he struck me on the head with a washhand basin—when in the street he stabbed me through the left arm and through the right as well, but I knew nothing about that—I don't remember him stabbing me more than once, but he did stab me more than once—I was taken to the hospital by two men—we were both intoxicated.

HENRY LANCASTER (Policeman S 125). At half-past five on 11th December I was on duty at Albany Street Station—the prosecutor's wife came and said something to me, in consequence of which I went to her house, where I found the prisoner concealed under the bed—I took him into custody, and told him what he would be charged with—I found this large knife by his side and this small one in his pocket—when charged be made no reply.

GUSTAVUS GIDLEY . I am junior house surgeon at the Temperance Hospital, Hampstead Road—on Sunday evening the prosecutor was brought to me—I examined him, and found a out on the right forearm and a smaller cut on the upper part of the left arm, just below the shoulder, a wound on the nose and over the left eye, and his chin was bruised and cut—the wounds were not serious—the wound on the head was a small lacerated wound, which might have been produced by a blow with a washing bowl—the wounds in the arm were likely to have been produced by a pocket knife—those were the only two—the wound close to the left eye was rather deep; it did not puncture the eyelid—he stayed in the hospital till the following Thursday and went on well—the wounds are healed now.

The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I am very sorry for what I have done; I had a drop of drink after being long a teetotaler."

The prisoner in his defence expressed his sorrow for what he had done, but said that he did not recollect anything about it, and that he took his father's and mothers word for what they said.

HENRY LANCASTER (Recalled). The prisoner was the worse for drink.

GUILTY** of unlawful wounding.— Six Months' Hard Labour.

NEW COURT.—Tuesday, January 10th, 1888.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-199
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

199. GEOEGE KING (33) , Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin, having other counterfeit coin in his possession.

MR. W. GILL Prosecuted.

HENRY WHITE . I am a dairyman, of 360, High Road, Kilburn—on 16th December I served the prisoner, who I had not seen before, with a glass of soda and milk, price 2d.—he gave me a florin—I tested it and told him it was bad—he said "By golly, it is a bad day's work for me," and took another out of his pocket—I tried that and a bit broke off—I told him that was bad also—he said that he got it on a bus—I put it back on the counter, and he then gave me a good half-crown—1 gave him a florin and 4d. change, and he left—I followed him—two constables were on the other side; I pointed him out to them, and they followed him—I cannot swear to this coin (produced); it is similar to

the one he passed, but it is not bent so much as when I handed it back to him.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I next saw it at the police-court—you said as to the second coin "Try this, perhaps it may be the same"—it was perhaps five minutes from the time you came in first to when you came in with the constable—when you came out of my shop the constable was opposite to you, and he followed you down while I went back to get my hat—you did not go hurriedly away.

ALFRED BROWN (Policeman X 250). On 16th December I was on duty in High Road, Kilburn with another constable, and White pointed out the prisoner to me, who was about 20 yards off, looking in a shop window—I followed him up the High Road, got in front of him, and got behind a cart—he turned up Dine Road, where he was apprehended by McCall, who was on fixed point duty—on the way to the station I had hold of one of the prisoner's hands, and McCall held the other McCall said "Mind he throws nothing away"—the prisoner said "You need not hold my hands so tight; I have no bad money on me now"—I said "If you have not now you had a few minutes ago"—he said "Yes, I done a deal with a man in the High Road, and he gave me the bad money; after I had left Mr. White's shop I took it back to him; I told him the money he had given me was bad, and he then gave me a two-shilling piece and two separate shillings for the bad money"—I said "Do you know the man?"—he said "No, he is a perfect stranger to me; I never saw him before, and should not know him if I saw him again"—the prisoner was never out of my sight until I pointed him out to McCall—Dine Road is a new road, with a fence, 8 feet high at the end, and then fields, and when the prisoner got to the top of the road he would be obliged to turn back—on the 19th I searched this field, and about 8 or 9 yards from the fence I found this florin in a puddle of water—he was searched at the station, and on him was found two shillings, a florin, a sixpence, a threepenny bit, and 3d. in coppers, all good—the inspector said "What is your address?"—he said "I have no address"—I then said "Where did you sleep last night?"—he said "Somewhere in Clerkenwell, but I don't know where"—I said "You must have some address"—he said "Sometimes I do a day or two in the country and sometimes a day in London."

Cross-examined. I searched Dine Road with my lamp on Friday night, but found nothing then, and I searched this field on Monday—I scooped the water out of the puddle, as I had an idea something was there.

WILLIAM MCCALL (Policeman S 397). On, the evening of 16th December I was on fixed-point duty at the Lord Palmerston, Kilburn Road—Brown pointed out the prisoner to me, who was proceeding up Dine Road, opposite to where I was standing—knowing there were fields at the end I ran and seized him—he had then been up to the end of the road to the fence and was coming back—I did not see him do anything; it was too dark—I brought him back to Mr. White's shop, who said he would charge him—we took him to the station.

Cross-examined. Immediately you saw me you endeavoured to cross the road to get away from me.

By the JURY. I should think the prisoner went within 10 yards of the fence, but it was dark; it was within 50 yards, I am certain.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am examiner of coin to Her Majesty's Mint—this florin and this small fragment of another is bad.

The prisoner in his defence said that he was a hawker, and was just as liable to take bad money as anyone else, and that he did not know the florins were bad.

HENRY WHITE (Re-examined by the COURT). I handed the prisoner both of the bad coins back—if this is the coin I bent it is not bent now as much as it was then—it bent very easily.

GUILTY Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-200
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

Related Material

200. WILLIAM BOLTON (14) Unlawfully having counterfeit coin in his possession with intent to utter it.

MR. A. GILL Prosecuted; MR. TAYLORM Defended.

THOMAS LEE . I am a pawnbroker's assistant, at 31 King Street, Twickenham—on 16th December, about 9 a.m., the prisoner came in and said that he wished to pay two shillings off a watch which was in the window for sale—he gave me this florin, and I gave him this receipt—after he left I was going to put it in the till, and saw that it was bad—I put it on one side, and in the evening he came again, and said that he wished to take the watch and pay the balance, eight shillings—he tendered four other bad florins out of this purse (produced)—I said "Where did you get this money from?"—he said "I had it in wages; two shillings was given me this morning and the other four this evening by my employer; I am house boy at The Laurels, Belmont Road"—I said "The first florin you brought me was wrong, and the other are wrong"—he said "If you won't say anything I don't mind telling you the truth; I picked them up in the Arragon Road in an old purse"—that was not five minutes' walk off—I went to the station, got a constable, and give him in charge.

EBENEZER ENSER (Policeman T 275). On 16th December, about 8.30 p.m., Mr. Lee came to the station, and I went with him to his shop and saw the prisoner there and purse on the counter containing five counterfeit florins—Mr. Lee said "This boy has passed this money to me; he has told me one or two different tales about them; first he said that his master gave them' to him, and then he said he found them in the road"—I took him to the station, and found on him an old bank book and 5 1/2 d—I said "Have you any more bad money"—he said "No"; but in the cell I requested him to remove his boots, and in his left boot I found a counterfeit florin—I said "What about this?"—he made no reply.

Cross-examined. I made inquiries, and found that he has a very good character—he had cashed one florin that morning, and bought a pair of skates for ninepence—he had been page boy at The Laurels 12 months, and before that he was at Mr. Bowen's a greengrocer, at Twickenham, and seven months at another place.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am inspector of coin to Her Majesty's Mint—these five florins are counterfeit, and two of them are from the same mould as the one found in the the prisoner's boot.

LILLIAN SPENDER (Not examined in chief)

Cross-examined. I am barmaid at the Alma Tavern, Arragon Road, Twickenham—on 15th December, the evening before this happened, a man had some ale about 10.15, and gave me this bad florin (produced)—

I put it in the tester and marked it, and he left at once—I gave it to my employer.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER (Re-examined). This florin is from the same mould as one of the rive.

EBENEZER ENSER (Re-examined). The prisoner worked at Mr. Coward's in the morning and at another place in the evening—he would have to walk along Arragon-Road.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-201
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

201. WILLIAM ADAMS (33) and FRANCIS CHAPMAN (31) PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of James Pitcairn Hackett, and stealing a purse and 3l. 8s. 7 ¾d. and two pairs of earrings, the property of Janet Creighton .

ADAMS— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

CHAPMAN— Nine Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-202
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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202. THOMAS SMITH** (25) to burglary in the dwelling-house of James Wise, and stealing a scarf and two cushions, having been convicted at Marlborough Street in Nov., 1884 .— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. And [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-203
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty

Related Material

203. JOSEPH MULLENS (33) to unlawfully having housebreaking implements in his possession without lawful excuse. ( See next case.) [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-204
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

Related Material

204. JOSEPH MULLENS was again indicted for feloniously wounding Joseph Thomas Edridge, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm. Second Count for an assault with intent to rob.

MR. HEDDON Prosecuted.

JOSEPH THOMAS EDRIDGE . I am a painter, of 34, Sedgwick Street, Homerton—on 14th September, between 2 and 3 o'clock, I was turning into Nile Street, and was knocked down from behind by a blow on my head, and afterwards received several blows all over my head—I put my hand up, and received a cut on it which is not well yet—the police came up and took me to the station.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I was coming from Shepherdess Walk, and had only just turned into the dark part—I have been laid up ever since and unable to work—I was attended by the divisional surgeon, and by a doctor at my house; I suffered much pain.

WILLIAM DIPROSE (Policeman Q 83). On 4th December, about 2. 40 a.m., I was in Nile Street, Hoxton; heard cries of "Murder" and "Police"—the prisoner ran round the corner of Nile Street, saw me and stopped, and then walked—I asked him what was the matter; he said "There are six or seven men murdering and robbing an old man in the Walk, I had to come away and leave them"—I said "You will have to go back with with me, "and when we got to Shepherdess Walk he struggled to get away—No. 408 G came up and took hold of his left arm, and pulled out this jemmy (produced) from up his sleeve—we found Edridge lying in Shepherdess Walk by a lamp post, bleeding from wounds on his head—we told the prisoner we should take him to the station, and charge him with assault—he said " How can you do that when there are other people about?"

Cross-examined. You made no resistance till you got to Shepherded Walk.

HENRY PETTIT (Policeman G 408). I was near Nile Street; heard cries and saw Edridge bleeding from his face, and the prisoner running down Nile Street—he met a constable who brought him back—I saw no one else about—he struggled to get away; I caught hold of his arm and

drew this jemmy from up his sleeve—I afterwards found blood on my hand which appeared to have come from the jemmy.

Cross-examined. Directly I caught hold of your arm you resisted and tried to get away—I found no blood on your coat when I examined it at the station—I showed the blood on my hand at the station, but do not. know that I have mentioned it before.

HENRY WHITWORTH (Policeman G 245). I was near Nile Street on 14th December, and heard cries—I ran up Nile Street and saw the prisoner in custody—Pettit gave me this jemmy, and off of it wet blood came on to my hand; I assisted Edridge to the station.

Cross-examined. I did not assist Edridge previous to the jemmy being given to me; I received it with one hand and then held him up with the other.

HEWITT OLIVER . I am divisional surgeon of police—on 14th December, about 3.15 a.m., I examined Edridge—he had a wound on each side of his forehead down to the bone, and a contusion on the back of his left hand—those wounds might have been caused by this jemmy; they were severe and dangerous.

Cross-examined. I did not examine the jemmy.

The prisoner in a written defence stated that he took the jemmy from another man, and was going to take it to his club, when he met the policeman; he contended that the blood on the policeman's hands must have come there from the prosecutor's head, and not from the jemmy, which did not stain his sleeve.

GUILTY of unlawfully wounding . He then

PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell on 26th July, 1886.— Five Tears' Penal Servitude.

OLD COURT.—Wednesday, January 11th, 1888.

Before Mr. Justice Charles.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-205
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

Related Material

205. FREDERICK PROCTOR (57) , Feloniously setting fire to his shop and dwelling-house, with intent to injure and defraud.

MESSRS. POLAND and MEAD Prosecuted.

JOHN BOURNE . I am a valuer and house agent—I was instructed by Mr. Kennedy to make an inventory of the stock-in-trade, fixtures, and utensils, at 24, Goodman's Yard, Minories—it was a general shop; the business was then being carried on by Mr. Kennedy and his sister, Mrs. Southouse—I produce the inventory—I saw the prisoner and he signed this agreement to buy the business—I witnessed the signatures. (This was dated 6th June, and by it the prisoner agreed to pay Kennedy and Southouse 16l. for the premises, 2 guineas deposit, and the remainder on 26th June.) An appointment was made to complete on the 20th—he did not attend on that day—I had nothing to do with the matter after the 19th.

SARAH ELIZABETH SOUTHOUSE . I live at 8, Gladstone Avenue, Wood Green—the business at 24, Goodman's Yard, belonged to my mother, upon her death it came to myself and my brother; we wanted to sell it—after Mr. Bourne had seen the prisoner, I saw him some time in June, and I referred him to my solicitor, Mr. Haynes—I was willing to complete the agreement—I have not received any money for the business—Mr. Bourne had the two guineas deposit.

HENRY JOHN HAYNES . I am a solicitor in the City—on 1s. t July last Mr. Kennedy and the prisoner called on me about the house, 24, Good,

man's Yard—the prisoner said it was not convenient to pay the 18l. then he offered to give a bill at three months for the amount, which Mr. Kennedy was satisfied with—this is the bill he gave, it would be due on 4th October, if not paid then it was to be renewed on security—it was not met on the 4th, and the prisoner renewed it for another three months, giving a third charge upon some freehold property—upon that he was let into possession.

HERBERT THOMAS PURCHAS . I am a clerk in the Guardian Insurance Office—I produce this letter of 10th September purporting to come from the prisoner (Read: "24, Goodman's Yard. Gentlemen,—I notice that the house as above is insured in the Guardian, and I want to insure the contents, kindly send prospectus and oblige. Yours, F. Proctor.")—about 20th September the prisoner called at our office in reply to a letter we had written to him to know the number of the policy—he proposed to insure for 220l.—this is the proposal, signed F. Proctor—it is dated 15th September—it is for 100l. on household furniture and effects, 100l. on stock, and 20l. on trade fixtures—it was arranged that our surveyor, Mr. Beaver, should go and see the place—I did not see the prisoner again—the proposal was declined by letter on the surveyor's report.

GEORGE POWNE ROBINS BEAVER . I am surveyor to the Guardian Fire Office—on 26th September I went to 24, Goodman's Yard, in consequence of this proposal—the premises were then closed—I went again on 6th October; the prisoner was there then—I went over the whole house; there was a single room on each floor with the exception of the ground floor, where a small part was partitioned off, and a shed communicated; the two top floors were absolutely empty; in the first floor there was an iron bedstead, rather a common one, with a little bedding on it, two or three cheap prints on the walls, and two chairs; I have no recollection of anything else—the shop was a small chandler's shop for the sale of grocery and provisions, very little stock, a wooden counter, scales, and a five-gallon can of paraffin—the prisoner went over the house with me—I went into the cellar, there was nothing there but rubbish, nothing insurable—I said to the prisoner that I supposed he had got more property coming in—he said yes, that was so, he was waiting to see how the business answered before he had all his furniture in—I formed a very rough estimate of the value of the property, between 50l. and 60l. at the outside—the fittings and scales and the shop would be the most valuable part—I reported unfavourably and the insurance was not effected.

EDWARD ROBERT HOOTON . I am a clerk in the Sun Fire Office—on 11th October the prisoner called and said he wanted to insure—I asked him if he had ever insured, or proposed to insure before—he said "No"—these are the notes that I took at the time—"24, Goodman's Yard, household goods 40l., stock and fixtures 60l., been there three months. "He said he was insured in our Life Office, and that was the reason he wished to insure in the Fire Office as well—that was said the second time he called—our surveyor went over the premises, and the insurance was taken—on 28th October the prisoner paid me 3s. premium, and I gave him this receipt—I knew nothing of the proposal to the Guardian—I have nothing to do with the Life department.

WALTER GREEN . I am inspector of risks to the Sun Fire Office—on 17th October I went to 24, Goodman's Yard—I saw prisoner there—I

only went into the shop, not to the other part of the house—the shop was clean and tidy; the stock was low; there were ordinary fixtures—I reported the matter to my principals, and the insurance was taken—the prisoner said that the landlord insured the building in the Sun.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I remember your saying that you were going to have some more furniture in, there was very little there.

WILLIAM SCOTT . I am inspector of Life risks to the Sun Fire Office—the prisoner called at the office, I cannot tell the date; from what he said I filled up the form on 22nd October—he said he had delirium tremens six years ago—I said it would be useless to submit a proposal, but he insisted on the form being filled up for 100l., and I said I would see what could be done.

Cross-examined. I saw you at your shop one morning, and we had a conversation—you told me that your life had been insured once; you also asked about insuring the lives of your nieces.

Re-examined. He said that he had insured in the Sceptre five years ago at the ordinary rates.

SAMUEL JAMES PEARCE . I am now living at 4, Block G, Peabody Buildings, Whitechapel—I was employed by the prisoner at his shop, 116, High Street, Poplar, as manager—it was a general shop—I after wards knew that he had taken 24, Goodman's Yard—on the 19th September the brokers were in at Poplar—the prisoner slept at 24, Goodman's Yard on the first floor—I used to go there from Poplar of a morning—there was no shopman there—there was a Mrs. Roberts there for a while; she used to live there afterwards; in August, I think—prisoner owed me 3l. and my first week's wages and the last—I spoke to him about it and asked him to give me a little to support my wife and children as I hadn't been at work—he said "No," and being a little irritable, I took a loaf off the shelf to take home—I said I would be satisfied if he would only pay my rent—he said "I don't think I shall do anything, I shall think over it"—I couldn't get a farthing from him, so I paid myself from the takings as we wanted grub—the shop at Poplar was given up on 19th September—I was at Goodman's Yard on one occasion when a gentleman from the insurance office was there—prisoner said he was going to insure the place—I said "Before you do that you ought to look after stock, and see what stock there is at Poplar"—he said "I will learn you a wrinkle, first get into everybody's debt, and then set the b——place on fire"—the gentleman from the insurance office was gone then—Mrs. Dixon was present when this was said—she lives next door, in Sugar Loaf Court—I was serving her at the time—the last time I was at the shop was the beginning of October—there was very little stock there then—the stuff in the window would be worth about 5s.—it was sweetstuff, and some bottles of ketchup, two or three jars, and a bit of cheese—I saw his bedroom; there was a bedstead in it, two mattrasses, a couple of sheets, two old rustic chairs, a model of a yacht, and a few prints.

Cross-examined. I was two months at Poplar—I was to have had 10s. a week, but I did not get it—there was about 7l. worth of stock there—you took some away every time you came there—there were two cheeses there, and one and a half of that was taken away by the brokers—I assaulted you in the shop, and you deserved more because I didn't get my rights—I found your front door key in the lock at Goodman's Yard, and I sent it to you by my wife.

CATHERINE DIXON . I am a widow, and live at 1, Sugar Loaf Court, which is next door to 24, Goodman's Yard—I was in the prisoner's shop on one occasion when Pearce was there—I heard him say to Pearce that he was going to insure his place—Pearce said "What do you want to insure your place for?"—prisoner said he would insure his place, get into everybody's debt, and burn the b——lot—this was about the last of September or 1st October, I couldn't say which—I went in to make a purchase, and Pearce served me—a day or two before the fire I saw the prisoner leave his house about half-past six, and go up the court, carrying a sack on his shoulder—he went towards Cohen's Place—I had seen Cook at work at the shop, and Pearce used to be there sometimes, and a young female was sometimes backwards and forwards there.

Cross-examined. I was formerly a customer of your's—I never said that the first chance I got I would lag you.

ABRAHAM COHEN . I am a general dealer at 96, Mansell Street, Whitechapel, not two minutes' walk from 24, Goodman's Yard—I have seen the prisoner at my shop several times before the fire—he has brought me things to sell—some little old-fashioned scales, a little tap, some hammers, a little looking-glass, and an old tub—he asked 2s. for them, I gave him 1s. 6d., that was about four weeks before the fire—he also brought some old prints and damaged glass, I gave him 3s. for them and 1s. 6d. for some bottles and bundles of wood—that was about two weeks before the fire—he also brought some other things on the Thursday before the fire—he left those, I wasn't at home, but I paid him 3s. for them after the fire—I saw some scales and weights in my shop on the Friday night about 7 o'clock—my wife had taken them in—I didn't see the prisoner till four days afterwards, when he was arrested in my shop.

Cross-examined. You and I did a little business; you owe me a little money—you said you had a few rubbishing things of no use to you, and that you would let me have them cheap, and we made a deal—you said you were going to give the place a thorough overhaul, and going to get rid of your old stock.

ROSE COHEN . I am the wife of the last witness—on the night of the fire, Friday, about seven o'clock, prisoner came to our shop with a pair of scales and a few weights—he asked if my husband was in; I said "No, what have you there?"—he said a pair of scales that he wanted to show him—he didn't mention any price; he left them, and they were there after the fire.

JAMES BROWN (Policeman G. E. R.) About half-past two on Thursday afternoon, 3rd of November, I was passing prisoner's shop—I saw him outside his door—there were three small trusses of straw on the pavement—I said "What are you going to do with all that straw ?"—he said he was going to pack up some goods and send them off to the country—I saw him put one truss into a shed adjoining his place of business—I did not see what he did with the other two—the shop was shut up at the time—the door was a little open, but the shutters were up—I believe he was repairing the place—I passed by about half an hour afterwards, and the two trusses had then been removed—they were ordinary trusses, about 20 lb. each—I had noticed that the shop was closed two or three days before this—I asked him why it was closed—he said he was doing the place up, and he had Cook painting it up, and was going to get some goods in to recommence business with.

Cross-examined. This was about two days before the fire—I did not see who put the trusses there—you did not borrow 1s. of me—I used to deal regularly with you at one time, because you gave me nearly one ounce of tea for a halfpenny—the boys were continually breaking your windows—you were in the public-house the best part of your time.

ROBERT COOK . I live at 25, Goodman's Yard—the prisoner engaged me to do some whitewashing for him—on Thursday, 3rd November, I whitewashed the ceiling of the shop—I was about a week or a fortnight before that painting the front of the shop—there was not much valuable property there—on Friday, 4th November, I was whitewashing the ceiling of the basement—I worked up to about 10.50 p.m.—a cat went into the cellar, and the prisoner went after the cat, and threw it into the street, and I shut the door after him—I said "What are you going to throw it out a night like this?"—he said "It has been away these three or four days, and it can go where it has been before"—he then went to the Crown and Anvil—one gas was burning in the shop, and one in the parlour—they were not turned down before he left; they were about half on—in the cellar the prisoner said "Mind you turn down the gas, Bob"—I said "I will turn it out; that is the principal thing in a place like this," and I turned the gas right out—he said nothing about the gas upstairs—we both left the premises, and I shut the door—we went to the Crown and Anvil, about a minute's walk—I left him there partly asleep about 11.20 p.m.—before leaving him I asked him if he was going out in the morning would he leave me the keys so that I might finish the white washing, because I did not want to be more than two or three days on a dirty job like that, and he said he would—then I went home and went to bed—in the morning I heard of the fire from my son who lives upstairs—I went round to the fire—I live only at the corner—the fire was still burning—I did not receive the keys from Proctor—I did not see him—on Monday morning, 7th November, I received this letter by post—I know the prisoner's writing—this is his signature—it was signed when I received it. (Read: "Dear Bob. Be good enough to meet me at Waterloo Station at 11 o'clock on the 7th, Main Line. Bring a bag and basket with you. Should any one want me they can see me before 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning. F. Proctor.") I went to Waterloo Station at the time named—I did not see the prisoner there—on the Monday night he came to my place about 12.15, and said "How is this, there is a lock on my place; they have got a padlock on; if I had a hammer I should have knocked it off; I find the place has been on fire; how is that?"—I said "I am sure I do not know"—he said "Don't you know?"—I said "I am sure I don't"—he said "Are you going to have a glass of ale?"—I said "A fine time of night to have a glass of ale," and we went into the Minories and had it, and he asked me to meet him in the morning at 9 o'clock at Waterloo Station—I went there on the Tuesday morning, and saw him—I asked him if he knew about the fire—he said no, he did not know anything about it—I said "Why don't you show yourself up like a man, and go before them? everybody says you have set fire to the place; why don't you show yourself up?"—he said he would go between 2 and 3 o'clock, instead of that he came between 1 and 2 o'clock—a crowd collected, and I went to the police-station and complained—the police told me to turn him out, and when I got back I turned him out—he paid me nothing for my work—he owed me about 18s.—he paid me nothing on account—no one else

did repairs there—I know nothing about repairs being done there to the amount of 10l.—I only saw the work I had done myself.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. My step-sons were employed by myself, and not by you—they were not paid by you—I did not know that another man worked there—I did not see two or three others downstairs—there was a hole into the adjoining premises, but not through the partition into the parlour—I saw no paraffin store in the side of the shop—the last three or four weeks before the fire I did little jobs for you—your reason for not selling paraffin oil you said was on account of children throwing fireworks about the place—you ceased to sell paraffin about a fortnight before the fire—I saw no paraffin there at all—I must have seen it if there had been any—I do not remember a glass partition leading into the staircase—I did not see the window broken at the foot of the stairs—I have heard Pearce use a lot of threats—you told me yourself—I did not hear him—I only saw as much straw in the place as I could put in my arm—you used it to put in front of a counter on a very wet day—I never saw any in the shed—I should have seen it had there been any three or four days before the fire—I never saw a truss of straw outside your door—you told me you had bought some stock—there was not much furniture upstairs—you were annoyed by the children you said, because they broke your windows, and took things out of the shop—on that account you put the shutters up in the daytime, and somebody would pull them down again—the last fortnight or three weeks they were more up than down—my wife and I were in the shop considerably—she was left in charge several times—when I came to turn you out you wanted protection from the crowd—I asked you to go out—you asked me to get a policeman to protect you out of the neighbourhood—no policeman came—about 20 people went after you—Dixon and McKenna and others were the instigators—they used a lot of threats because they thought they were going to be burnt out—had you gone out at first I believe you would not have got off so clean as you did, and I was in fear myself, because they said I was in it as much as you.

Re-examined. The shed spoken of adjoins the shop; you can go into the shed from the house without going into the street—I saw the prisoner in the shed on the Friday night—I passed through it, but did not see the back of it—I saw no trusses of straw there—the straw which I saw could be put under my arm; it was used for people to stand on on a muddy day.

By the COURT. You can enter the shop from the street—you can enter the shed from the street—you have to go downstairs from the shop and then come up again into the shed—you come out in the street again—the shed lies back—it is dark in the daytime when the door is shut.

By the JURY. It would be possible for straw to be at the back of the shed without my seeing it, but I think not so much as three trusses—there was nothing to obstruct my view of the back of the shed—I had not been upstairs on the Friday—I was not in the shop in the day.

ELIZABETH MCKENNA . I live at 1, Sugar Loaf Court, Whitechapel—that court runs out of Goodman's Yard—mine is the corner house next to the prisoner's, No. 1—I saw the prisoner on the Thursday before the fire about 7. 30 p.m.—on the Friday night I saw him and Cook about 11.45 come out of the shop and go up the court—I can fix the time because I was sitting up at work—I sat up afterwards—about 12.20 I

heard the prisoner's street door slamming to—I was still at work—about 12.35 I heard the cry of "Fire"—I went downstairs to see where it was—I saw smoke in the premises—I awoke Mrs. Dixon, who lives in the same house—afterwards I saw the shop was in flames, and some one breaking open the door—my house is behind the prisoner's, a little way down the court, and adjoining.

ROBERT COOK (Re-examined). I was only in the shed on the Friday by going up and down stairs, but I was there on the Friday night—I went up and down the stairs from the door that opens from Goodman's Yard leading from the basement or cellar.

By the Prisoner. There was not much rubbish in the shed—if I had looked I should have seen straw if there had been any; I saw none except that in front of the counter—I did not hear you say you would get into everybody's debt and burn the place down; I did not hear any one say you said it.

JAMES ROBERT JOHNSON . I am a fireman in the employ of the Great Eastern Railway Company—on Saturday, 5th November, I went to 24, Goodman's Yard, having heard an alarm of fire—I was only about 50 yards off—I went at once, about 12. 40; I am able to fix the time—I was the first to arrive—I saw the shop was on fire; smoke was coming from the top of the shutters—the door was fastened—I could smell a stron smell of paraffin oil and straw burning—I went back to the station and got a hose—I was not away a minute, and when I got back the police had arrived—the place had been broken open, and I could then see the fire—I could see the place was well alight before it was broken open, as the smoke was coming out thick and-black—I assisted in putting out the fire—there was a strong smell of paraffin oil and straw—I could not tell then whether there was more than one fire because I had the hose on to the hydrant—after the fire I went upstairs—in the first-floor room I saw an iron bedstead, two paliasses, a few chairs, a few pictures in maple frames—in the shop there was half a cheese, a bar of salt, a few packets of extract of soap, and some Bath bricks—the shop and parlour were burnt.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not see the straw—I could not tell how much paraffin oil there was—I could smell it.

JOHN TRACEY HYLAND (Police Sergeant G. E. R. 7). In the early morning of 5th November I hard an alarm of fire—I was stationed at Goodman's Yard—the prisoner's premises would be between 20 and 30 yards off—Johnson was there—I went with him to the shop about 12. 40—I saw the place on fire—the shutters were up and the door closed—smoke was issuing from the top of the shutters—Johnson went to get the hose, I remained outside—I believe the place was well alight; I did not smell anything—shortly afterwards Tully came; I saw him break open the shop-door—five minutes afterwards I saw three distinct fires, one to the right of the door, one to the centre, and one to the left, in the extreme corner of the shop—I am positive there were three distinct fires—I could not say what was burnt as I was standing in the street, but quite close to the door—the fires were on the ground—the fire was put out in about eight or nine minutes from my arrival—part of the shop and the back parlour were burned—I immediately went back to the station—I did not make any examination.

GEORGE TULLY (Policeman H 27). I was called to Goodman's Yard on the night of the fire—I heard a whistle and at once went to prisoner's

shop—it was about 12. 40—I saw Hyland there; he had got there before me—I saw a thick black smoke issuing from the shutters; there was a crowd of people outside who stated there was a man inside; I placed a small ladder against the shop; I could not get in at the window, so I burst the shop door open, with Hyland's assistance—in the middle of the shop I saw a heap of straw about eight inches deep, clean and burning, and I saw another fire separated from the one in the middle of the shop by about a yard, that would be about 18 inches wide; I believe there was another fire behind the counter—the three fires were separate and distinct—assistance came and the hose was got by the Great Eastern firemen—the greatest space between the fires was about a yard—the fire was put out in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, then I saw that the shop and back parlour were burnt—I saw the burnt ends of straw after the fire was put out.

CHARLES CAHILL . I am a member of the London Salvage Corps—about 1 a.m. on 5th November I went to this fire—it had been extinguished and I went over the premises—I saw a cheese in the shop, and upstairs a few rustic chairs, home-made things, a small iron bedstead with two straw palliasses on it, and outside a gas lamp and bracket, and an old washstand—when it got daylight I found a dead cat on the first floor—I have remained in charge of the premises since in the daytime, another man relieving me at night—on Tuesday I saw the prisoner about 2 p.m.; I asked him how it was he had not come there before, as he knew there had been a fire on his premises—he said he did not know—I contradicted him, and he said he might have known, but he did not know in the first instance—he said he was round there the night before, the Monday night, and that was the first time he had seen anything of the fire—I asked him if he knew how the fire occurred—I told him a man who knew him saw him at Blackfriars and spoke to him about the fire, and he got up and walked away—he said Cook was the last man on the premises—I said "You went back after you left Cook"—he said he did not go back—I said "You did go back, because when you went after Cook you threw the cat into the street, and I found the cat the next morning on the premises"—he said "I might have gone back, but what about it?"—I asked him if he had ever had a fire before, and he said he had had a fire some years ago at Barking—on the floor of the shop I found a few ends of straw, and in the back parlour I found some rags and paper smelling very strongly of paraffin—the police have got some here (produced)—that was scattered about the parlour floor—it smells now, but not so strong as it did then.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I have been on the premises all day, and in the shop several times—I do not know why the burnt ends were not brought up to Arbour Square—I did not bring them here.

ALEXANDER EAGER . I am the manager of the lodging-house at 178 and 179, Blackfriars Road—I knew the prisoner—I heard of the fire—before the night of the fire the prisoner had been sleeping at my house nearly a week, not every night, but on and off—the price of a bed is sixpence—he paid the porter on the 5th November—he came about 2 o'clock, when I was just going to bed—he sat on the form in the kitchen—he asked me if I would allow him to go up to bed as his place was on fire and burnt clean out, and that two 5l. Bank of England notes had been burnt, and as he had no money with him he would pay next day—

I allowed him to go to bed—the following morning he came and handed me a basin with some raw potatoes, an old pair of spectacles, an old pair of gaiters, and a dirty shirt, wrapped up in a newspaper—that was between 11 and 12 on the Saturday morning or Sunday, I am not sure which—he said "They are what I had in my place"—he was wearing the gaiters when he came at 2 o'clock in the morning, but the other things I did not see—the basin is the property of the lodging-house—I asked him when he first came if he was insured—he said he was—he was sober, but somewhat excited, and he said his place was burnt out and everything destroyed—he slept at the lodging-house two or three nights, but he only paid for one night—the other nights he slept in the kitchen, and paid nothing—I made no charge, but if he had paid sixpence in advance he could have gone to his bed.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I trusted you on the night of the fire—you asked to leave your stick and coat as security, but I did not take them—this is the card you gave me—if anybody wanted you I was to send to this address, or any messages.

RICHARD WEBBER . On 8th November I was living at 178, Blackfriars Road, and I saw the prisoner there—he asked me to write a letter—he said he had had a fire, and would I make a list out of articles that were in the house at the time of the fire—he said he was insured for 100l. in the Sun Fire Office on the things on the premises—I wrote by his dictation the articles—he said there were two 5l. Bank of England notes in the house—I kept the list for three or four days, and the prisoner added to it from time to time—I counted them up afterwards, and found they amounted to between 80 and 90 articles—he wanted to send the list to the Sun Fire Office—I gave him the list on Monday morning, and he added something on the Tuesday, not in addition to the 80 or 90—an appointment was made to meet the prisoner at his shop on Monday, 14th November—I kept the appointment, but he did not—I went over the house, but did not find all the things, only one or two mentioned in the list—I have made out a list as far as I can from memory of all the prisoner dictated to me. (MR. DAVID EDWARD ABRAHAMS proved service of notice to produce upon the prisoner on 12th December of the list. The prisoner here stated that Webber had never given him the list.) To the best of my recollection the list produced is a copy of the list which I gave to the prisoner—of the articles mentioned in the list I only found on the premises one washstand on the first floor, a few picture frames, not 18, an iron bedstead, two mattresses, a feather bed, a pillow, some pictures, a counter, and a few fixtures—I saw no stock of any value—the letter which he asked me to write was to borrow 2l.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not say to you on the morning after the fire that you had been very good to me, and that I would make the list out for you, nor "What do you know about making out a list?"—you received a letter to admit you to the premises—I refused to come to the place without you—you got a letter from Brown and Roberts—I went to the premises previously, but they would not admit me without a written authority and I advised you to get one—you promised to be there, but you did not come at the time appointed, so I examined the things myself—I did not see you again until I saw you at the police-court—you formed my acquaintance on November 8th, the Tuesday after the fire, and not before the fire—you did not treat me

because I was starving, but quite the reverse—you came to me without any money when you told me about the fire—I had never seen you at any lodging-house—you did not keep me three days and allow me half your victuals—I did not advise you to make out a larger claim, and you did not tell me I ought to have six months or 50 six months.

Re-examined. I adhere to my statement that I wrote down at the prisoner's dictation the articles in the list which I gave to him on the 14th November.

EDWARD DAWSON . I am a clerk to Messrs. Brown, Roberts, and Co., assessors to Fire Insurance Offices—on Thursday, 10th November, the prisoner called upon me in reference to a fire which had occurred at his premises—I put questions to him, but he did not know the cause of the fire—he said he left the premises on the Friday night about 11 or 12 o'clock and went to 178, Blackfriars Road, and when he returned on Monday about 12 o'clock he said he found a lock on the door—he said he had had some men whitewashing and painting up till the Friday night—he said the few clothes he had there he had sent to the wash—he said he had left two 5l. notes on the premises; that he had 11s. in his pocket; that there was no more than 5l. worth of stock; he had not much furniture, and it was very old; that he had recently purchased the business about four or five months back, and that he paid between 23l. and 24l.; that he had laid out about 10l. in improvements—he went away, and returned on 12th November, the following Saturday—he said he had not opened the shop on Saturday, but he did on Sundays generally, but not upon this Sunday, because he was not going to open it again until he had had the place thoroughly overhauled; that he had reduced the stock because there was to be a sale close by—the second time I saw him he said he had only ninepence in his pocket—I gave him a note to be admitted into the premises—the note was addressed to the salvage men.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. We are assessors for the Sun Fire Office in this case.

GEORGE FREDERICK HARRINGTON . I am an auctioneer and surveyor—I went to these premises for the purpose of making a valuation—I produce a copy of it—I made it on 13th December—I valued the furniture at 4l. 8s. 6d., the stock-in-trade at 1l. 3s. 4d., tenant's fixtures and fittings at 9l. 6s., 2d. total 14l. 18s.—I have seen Mr. Webber's claim, and compared it with what I found on the premises—with regard to the three suits of clothes, I can only find one jacket, an old white vest, an old skirt, an old girl's straw hat, two old ragged coloured shirts—I could not find two pairs of boots nor one pair of shoes; I found a child's old pair—the mahogany chest of drawers was not there; no mahogany washstand, but an old common deal one, no other—the six mahogany chairs mentioned were not there—there were two very old walnut frames, which have had their backs cut off, and have been repaired with rustic wood—the two mahogany chairs were not there—there were not six kitchen chairs; three only—not two arm-chairs, only two rustic chairs—not six pictures, but four only—the other item, six pictures, were not there; another ditto, not there—three pairs of scales, not there—provision scales, not there—iron bedstead: there was an old iron stump bedstead and two old palliasses—the two 5l. notes were not seen—the rest of the list was not there—the stock valued at 17l. I value at 1l. 3s. 4d.—the fixtures valued at 7l. I

value at 9l. 6s.—I found no china and glass; only a few odds and ends of crockery, and a few old knives and forks—I have also made a statement comparing the result of my examination with Mr. Vaughan's inventory—I have examined Mr. Vaughan's list, and put a tick against the items traced.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not value anything before the fire, but I valued what I found at what I considered they would be worth previous to the fire, and not as they were—all burnt and charred they would be worth nothing.

WILLIAM SCOTT (Re-examined). I have seen the prisoner write—to the best of my belief this is his signature.

ROBERT LEWIS WELSH . I am a clerk in the Sun Fire Office—this letter was received on 8th November—it is stamped 8th November. (Read: "178, Blackfriars Road, S. E., November 8th, 1887. Gentlemen, I regret to state my premises were destroyed by fire on Saturday, 24, Goodman's Yard, Minories. I was not aware of it until Monday night. I will call at your office tomorrow, Wednesday. Yours respectfully, F. Proctor.")

CHARLES DOWMAN (Detective Officer). At 12 p.m. on 12th November I took the prisoner into custody at Mr. Cohen's—I said "I shall take you into custody for wilfully setting fire to your premises on the 25th"—he said "All right, I will come along quietly, but it is nothing of the kind"—I searched him at the station, and found in his pocket County Court summons for 7l. 3s. 3d. and a notice to appear on 10th November—I found two keys tied together, one of which fits the door of the shop, 24, Goodman's Yard.

The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate." I reserve my defence. The receipt for premium was burnt with the two 5l. notes in the fire."

CHARLES DAWSON (Recalled by the Prisoner). When you came to our office I asked you to make a statement—you said you had laid out 10l., and in stock 4l. or 5l., and you had finished repairing the place thoroughly—I first saw you on the 10th.

The Prisoner in his defence stated that in taking the premises in question he had every expectation of forming a good business, and therefore could have no motive in setting the place on fire; that it must have occurred through fireworks, which were being let off in the neighbourhood, or by the movements of the cat on the premises.

GUILTY . — Five Years' Penal Servitude.

NEW COURT.—Wednesday, January 11th, 1888.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-206
VerdictNot Guilty > directed; Not Guilty > unknown

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206. WILLIAM MITTENS the younger, Unlawfully, within four months of his bankruptcy, disposing of certain goods obtained on credit and not paid for. The prisoner declined to plead, and the COURT ordered a plea of

NOT GUILTY to be entered for him.

MR. CLAYDON Prosecuted; MR. BESLEY Defended.

HENRY ALFRED STACEY . I am Superintendant of Records in the Bankruptcy Court—I produce the file of proceedings in the defendant's bankruptcy—the petition is dated March 4th, 1887; the receiving order March 25th; the adjudication March 28th; and the appointment of trustee April 27th—the bankrupt's statement of affairs is dated March

29th, and there is a transcript of the shorthand writer's notes of the bankrupt's examination of May 12th, 1887.

Cross-examined. Here is also a list of unsecured creditors over and under 10l.—the sole person who could make him a bankrupt was Mr. Cameron, the petitioning creditor—the prisoner's father is put down as a creditor for 150l. for cash and timber in the last three years—there is a memorandum of the security of a bill of sale which leaves the debt uncovered by 50l.—the furniture is disclosed as contracted in September, 1886—I find in list E that he discloses liabilities three quarters rent of Clay Hill Farm, 48l. 15s.; that shows that he had gone into a speculation in dairy farming—he accounts for his bankruptcy in this way: "Net loss, 212l. 6s. 2d.; expenses incurred since March, household expenses, of self and wife, including the experiment in dairy farming, 350l.; "loss on destruction of stock and effects by fire, valuation 928l. 4s. 4d.; insurance company, 450l.; net loss by fire, 448l. 7s. 4d.—these items show that before the fire he had 1, 130l. 10s. 6d., and the total bankruptcy debts are 612l. 6s. 2d.—there is on the file an order with regard to the inquiry by the trustee as to the father's claim, made by Mr. Justice Cave.

Re-examined. The order states "This Court doth declare that the bill of sale is fraudulent as against the trustee"—no goods were delivered up—my knowledge is confined entirely to what is found on these papers—in List D I find 48l. 15s. in respect of a farm at Tottenham—it was from his examination that I learned that he had been carrying on a speculative farm—the' assets are nil—William Mittens and Mr. Wheatley were partly secured, one for 50l. and the other for 80l.; that would have been sufficient—two or three creditors can combine together and petition.

GEORGE BLAGROVE SNELL . I am senior official shorthand writer in the Bankruptcy Court—I took notes on 12th May of the bankrupt's answers on his public examination—I was duly appointed, and he was sworn—the transcript on the file is correct, and the prisoner has signed it. (The transcript was put in and partly read.)

CHARLES E. GOLDRING . I produce a bill of sale dated January 11th, 1887, between William Mittens the elder and William Mittens the younger;' I saw the prisoner sign it; I witnessed it—I made an affidavit in this examination.

Cross-examined. The father came to me to act as his solicitor—I had prepared for him a bill of sale of 28th February, 1880—that was to secure a debt for the same amount from his son, and when the new security was made, he came and said that his son wanted to borrow more money—the father gave me 20l. in gold—that was the only advance in addition to the bill of sale which was not satisfied—the old bill of sale was left with me—I have known the prisoner all his life, about 30 years, and never heard a syllable against him—his father carried on the same business, cabinet-making, many years, and had given it up, though he had not actually retired—his description of the business is correct; they made up timber and sold the made articles.

Re-examined. I was not aware that he had been bankrupt previously—I am his father's solicitor, not his—I put in the statement in the 1887 bill of sale about the 130l.; it was put in by the instructions of both—the prisoner did not tell me that it was for cash or timber supplied during

the last two or three years; if he had, the consideration would have been stated in a very different way.

JOHN CAMERON . I am a timber merchant, of 55, East Road, City Road, and am a creditor of the prisoner's for 98l. odd for timber sold between July and December, 1886—I had drawn bills on him for part of the amount, and he accepted them—he accepted one on 13th September at three months for 29l. 5s., which was renewed on 16th December; I gave him a cheque to renew it, and gave him up the old bill—there was another bill on 17th September for 29l. 5s. 7d., and another on 29th November, 1887, and another on 3rd December, 1886, for 20l. 3s.—those were all drawn in respect of timber supplied on credit, and they are all still due—it was on that debt that I founded the bankruptcy petition, and on which the receiving order was made and the proofs allowed.

Cross-examined. I do not consider that this is my prosecution—this is my ledger (produced)—from March, 1882 to 1886 he bought goods of me to the amount of 568l. 5s. 9d.—from February, 1885, the practice was for me to draw on him for the month's goods—he had very few cash dealings with me—I knew of the fire, but never asked him about it—I knew that he was a manufacturer prior to the account opening—I did not know of his insolvency for 150l. 30 years ago—from the time of the fire I still trusted him—all the acceptances were paid when they became due until the one which fell due on 16th December—I knew his father 20 years ago, but never had any business transactions with him—I went to the factory on 12th January, 1887—I did not take an inventory—I never sold him any rosewood veneers.

Re-examined. The value of the goods I sold him altogether was 568l.—it is totally untrue that he paid me from 4, 000l. to 5, 000l. from first to last, as he says—I only supplied him with a few shillings' worth of goods before this account.

F. FOREMAN. I am an accountant, of Gracechurch Street, and am the trustee in bankruptcy appointed on 27th April, 1887—the goods recovered under Justice Cave's judgment amount to leas than 5l.—by the statement signed W. Mittens, the estimated value of the securities is 100l.—the bill of sale was set aside, and we recovered less than 5l., so that the loss is 95l.

Cross-examined. There is a record book, but I do not produce it—it was not before the Magistrate, but it was in Court, and I recollect a dispute between you and the Magistrate—I took it there to refresh my memory—I cannot say whether it is in Court now, as my clerk is not here—it is really a private memorandum book—my rent book is in the office, I believe—I have brought an action for damages against Mr. Mittens, senior, in relation to the bill of sale—the matter has not lapsed yet, and is not likely to.

Re-examined. I am not a lawyer—this is a book in which I record proceedings—the rule is that I need not exhibit it to any one—it contains the committee minutes.

Witnesses for the Defence.

WILLIAM MITTENS . I am a son of the prisoner, and have been one of the managers of his business six years—he never bought any rosewood veneers from Mr. Cameron—I remember some consignments of wood coming to my father's place from Cameron in December, 1886, and it was all used up before Christmas—none of it remained on the premises till

January 11—it was my father's custom to use up that kind of wood for the cabinets as soon as it arrived—it was five-eighths and three-eighths walnut—the work people would make the cabinets up, and they would be taken from the premises.

Cross-examined. Five or six men were in my father's employment—the wood that came in on 7th December was made up before January 11—I cannot say what was done with the wood which was supplied before that.

Re-examined. There may have been a piece of wood left not made up, which was almost firewood, when the last parcel came in from Cameron; that had been there some months—that was paid for in the bill—all that was delivered subsequently was used up—I never bought wood; my brother always bought it.

JOHN MITTENS . I am a son of the prisoner, and am occupied in his business—my duty is to cut up wood and give it out—I cut up the wood which came from Cameron on 11th January, and gave it out to the men—when the consignment of 8th December arrived, a very few pieces of Cameron's wood were left on the premises, value 15s. or 1l. only, and not such as we could use in the business as far as I recollect—my father has never got rosewood veneer from Cameron that I recollect.

Cross-examined. We have our five-eighths walnut timber from Cameron—it is impossible to identify it from other timber—we bought of other people, but we kept Cameron's timber apart, because it was cut up as soon as it came in—there might have been a short length of Cameron's timber left on 11th January, but I cannot recollect; it is a year ago.

The prisoner received a good character.


THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, January 11th, 1888.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-207
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

207. MARY AGNES SMITH (35), MARGARET MARTIN (alias Smith ) (32), and JOHN PAUL (53) , Unlawfully conspiring to defraud Joseph Helinska of his moneys. Other Counts for conspiring to defraud other persons.

MESSRS. MEAD, F. FULTON, and PARTRIDGE Prosecuted; MR. CRISPE appeared for Smith and Martin, and MESSRS. MOYSES and EDMUNDS for Paul.

JOHANNA HELLNSKA . I am the wife of Joseph Helinska, of 309, Oxford Street—I am a Court dressmaker—in March, 1886, I was living with my husband at 7, St. Laurence's Road, North Kensington—he was lessee of that house, and Mr. Schofield was the landlord—we were anxious to find a tenant, and instructed Collett and Collett, house agents, to let the house—my husband suffers from great deafness, and I transact business for him—in March, 1886, Martin came to look over the house—she said she wanted it for herself and her mother—she came twice alone—I accepted her as tenant from 24th June, 1886, at 55l. a year—when the first quarter's rent became due at Michaelmas, she produced this document as a set-off against a portion of the rent, and I received the balance of 9l. 17s. 5d.—at Christmas, 1886, no rent was paid, nor at Lady-day, 1887; and in May I instructed Mr. Scott to put in a distraint for the rent—in the result I recovered 18s., and had to pay the costs of the levy, 2l. 15s. 9d.

THOMAS WILLIAM ROSSITER . I am a solicitor, of Verulam Buildings, Gray's Inn—I was present when the prisoners were arrested at 41, Talbot Road—I found there this letter book (produced); Paul came in after I had found it, and said "You have got my letter-book, I see"—this letter "E" (produced) is in the same writing as the copy of the letter in Paul's letter-book.

JOHANNA. HELINSKA (continued), I received this letter. (This stated that as she had refused to take the rent and allow for the work they had done, and had kept a man in the house for five days, she (Martin) was willing to accept 30 guineas, out of which she would pay solicitor's costs, and to leave the house, but that if this were not done she would accept service of a writ, and continue the terms of the agreement—signed, Martin). I did not appreciate paying 30 guineas, and never paid anything—they continued to occupy the house—on Thursday, 6th October, 1887, the Thursday before their arrest, Martin came and saw me again; they had never paid any rent up to that time—she said she wanted 5l. from me and a receipt for the whole rent due to me at that time, in return for which I should have the house back; she would give me up the key—she said if I did not do it she would send the brokers to me—she said it would save me a good deal of trouble if I did it—on 8th October she was arrested, and some time after the police recovered possession of the premises—Paul called on me once at the time I gave the matter into the hands of my solicitors, Hepburn and Davison, to get the levy—he gave no name, and my maid said it was a solicitor who called on me—he wanted to have a reference about Miss Martin—he wanted the house or to have lodgings; he explained that he had lived before in a house where he had a deal of trouble, and the people had had the furniture sold, and he wanted to know whether there was anything of the sort about this house.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. Miss Martin was introduced by Messrs. Collett—she came to me before I heard from the agent; I referred her to the agent before I let her the house—Messrs. Collett had the matter in their hands, not I personally—I did not go to the house after it was let to Miss Martin—I saw a person with Miss Martin when she called at 309, Oxford Street—she was represented to me as housekeeper or servant, I am not sure about that—I did not hear her speak to her as Mrs. Martin—I am quite sure that what I have said about the 5l. is quite correct—I am quite sure she did not say she had come to ask me to take 5l. off the rent that was due, and then she would give me the key—she did not complain at that time about damage to the roof of the house, at one time she did—she did not complain of having had to pay some taxes that I would have to pay—I had paid all the taxes—when Miss Martin called on me on the last occasion the same person was with her—she did not say she spoke for that person, she spoke for herself—two young ladies out of my house were present then—they are not here.

Cross-examined by MR. EDMUNDS. Paul came and saw me alter I gave the matter into my solicitor's hands—that was after the first and second quarters' rent was due—I don't remember when—he came on his own business to have a reference about Miss Martin from me—he explained that he had had some trouble in living in a house where the furniture was sold, and wanted to know whether anything of the kind had happened with Miss Martin, as he wanted to have lodgings there—I believe

he wanted to know whether he could trust himself to live in Miss Martin's house.

Re-examined. I have seen the elderly person who accompanied Martin in this building (Mrs. Ingram wax called into Court)—that is the person.

HENRY CORNWALL . I am chief clerk to Messrs. Collett and Collett, house agents, Ladbroke Grove, Notting Hill—I had instructions in March, 1886, to let a house at 7, St. Laurence Road, Notting Hill, and the prisoner Martin called on me in reference to it—she gave her name as Mrs. Mott, and I entered this in my book, "Mrs. Mott, 427, Fulham Road, agrees to take 7, St. Laurence Road, from Madame Helinska, at 55l. per annum, references Mr. Lomax, 57, St. James's Street, Pall Mall, and Mr. Paul, 427, Fulham Road, rent at commencement and not at half-quarter as arranged with Madame Helinska"—I then wrote letters of reference to these persons and received these two answers. (These were both signed Paul; the first stated that as to the reference they had applied about, the name should be Martin and not Mott; and the second stated that the above lady was highly respectable and in a position to pay the rent, and that having known her a considerable time he considered her a desirable tenant.) Shortly after that Martin came again—I had previously given this agreement to her to get executed, and she brought it back as it now appears—she said that her name was Mrs. Martin—she gave her name as Mott in the first place, but afterwards she said she had made a mistake and her name was Martin—that was between the time of her first calling and the time of her taking the house.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I thought it was rather strange—I did not make the mistake, she made it—the name of Mrs. Mott is entered two or three times in our book by different clerks—she said she wanted the house for her mother, whose name was Martin—I never saw an old lady with her—I don't know in whose writing the signature is to the agreement, it was taken away and signed.

Cross-examined by MR. EDMUNDS. I had two letters from Paul.

JAMES SCHOFIELD . I am a surveyor, of Southampton Street, Blooms bury—I am the superior landlord of 7, St. Laurence Road—my consent was necessary in order to allow Madame Helinska, who was my tenant in 1886, to sub-let—about 2nd April, 1866, Martin called on me with another person whom I have not seen since, and in reply to me she said she was not Mrs. Martin, and also that her mother was an aged and infirm lady who was at home—Martin also said that her father was dead, and when I inquired as to their responsibility to pay the, rent they told me that they would be wealthy when they received money out of the Court of Chancery—Martin did not tell me the name of the woman who accompanied her, she only said she was Miss Martin's friend—Martin never gave me any name except saying that she was the daughter of the old lady, Mrs. Martin—I then heard that the letters of reference were satisfactory and agreed to my sub-tenant letting—Madame Helinska has had to pay me rent and interest ever since—the rent was 55l. per annnm and the taxes were to be paid by the tenant—the tenancy has not expired yet, but on Monday last it was cancelled by arrangement.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. The spokeswoman was not Martin; it was the lady who represented herself as the daughter of the old lady, but Martin joined in the conversation at the end of it—I think Mr. Rossiter

mentioned to me on one occasion that the prisoners were claiming 20, 000l. in Chancery—in the interview the tall lady (Martin) said Miss Martin would be wealthy, and she described herself as Miss Martin's friend—I have never seen the old lady, Mrs. Martin.

SARAH INGRAM . I am a widow, and am cook to Mrs. Douglas, 74, Elsham Road—I became acquainted with the female prisoners about two years ago—I was in service at Teddington, where they were living—I knew them there under the names of Margaret Josephine Smith and Mary Agnes Smith—I came to London and got a situation in 1885—I remember Martin becoming the tenant of 7, St. Laurence Road—she told me she had taken the house there—I have called there several times and seen both the female prisoners there—I knew Martin by the name of Smith there—I was not aware she was passing in the name of Martin or that she had taken the house in that name—this name, Sarah Ingram, to this document, is not my writing—I did not attest that signature; I never saw that document before—I cannot say when they took the house at 7, St. Laurence Road; I was in a situation then—I was there frequently between Christmas, 1880, and March, 1887: the house was furnished—I have seen Mr. Paul many times at 7, St. Laurence Road—I knew him under the name of Paul, and I have heard him called Allen—I have heard him called those names by the other two prisoners—they have called him sometimes one, sometimes the other—I did not know how that was, I did not inquire—I have seen him under the same names at 73, Elsham Road, when I visited them there; that house was furnished.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I first saw them when I came to London in Lilley Road, where they were then living—it was taken before I knew it—they were at St. Laurence Road before I knew they were there—I believe we came to Lilley Road in November, 1885, from Teddington; we lived there together—Martin came to Lilley Road and went back to Teddington again—I came up with the younger prisoner alone when I first came up, not with the others; that was November, 1885—I never signed anything for either of the prisoners—I have not put my signature to anything, I am quite sure about that—I have not forgotten it; I have spoken the truth—I wrote a postcard for them in Elsham Road, not at Notting Hill—I never wrote anything for them concerning that house; I have not given my name to anything—I signed nothing for them in Elsham Road—no one except Martin and Paul came to Lilley Road—I visited them once at Elsham Road—I did not know Mrs. Martin there—the only old lady I have seen there was Miss Smith's mother, not Mrs. Martin—their mother, Mrs. Smith, was there—I have not seen a Mrs. Martin at that place or any other.

Cross-examined by MR. EDMUNDS. I heard Paul called Allen by Miss Smith; he was a stranger to me—I knew nothing about him—it did not strike me as very surprising that he was sometimes called Allen and sometimes Paul.

Re-examined. I think it was in February, 1885, I first heard they had become the tenants of 7, St. Laurence Road—it was six weeks or two months after they went there before I heard they were there—I wrote a postcard for them at 73, Elsham Road, to Mr. King at Martin's request—Mrs. Smith can write. (The postcard requested Mr. King, the landlord of 73, Elsham Road, to take the bailiffs out of the house.) WARWICK SCOTT. I live at 2, Warwick Street, Regent Street, and

assist my father, James Warwick Scott, a house agent—in May, 1887, I received instructions from Madame Helinska to levy for two quarters' rent due March, 1887—on 10th May I distrained—I went there myself and levied the distress, which produced a balance against Madame Helinska of 2l. odd—the majority of the goods there were claimed by Emily Wright, a lodger—the actual goods realised 18s., and the costs were 2l. 15s. 9d.

EMILY WRIGHT . I live at 2, Alexander Road, Kensington—I know all the three prisoners—I made their acquaintance at Teddington some years ago when they lived there, and I did a little dressmaking for the two female prisoners; they were then living at Gordon Lodge—I fancy I saw Paul there once—I afterwards recollect the two women coming to live at 7, St. Laurence Road, and I visited them there from time to time—I went there between Christmas, 1886, and Lady Day, 1887; the house was then furnished—about May, 1887, I received a letter from Martin; I knew her writing well—I must have lost it—I have looked for it several times since they have been arrested, but cannot find it—in the letter she wished me to come up to St. Laurence Road to live there as a lodger—I live in unfurnished rooms, and have my own furniture—I was to bring my own furniture, and stay there till I got a place to suit me—I came up on 8th or 10th May, 1887, bringing with me my little furniture—the house at that time was all empty except a piano, a box, two or three odds and ends—I saw nothing of Mrs. Martin there—I don't know her—I saw the prisoner Martin—she told me to get my things in as soon as I could as she was going to see her solicitor, and if any one should ask for Mrs. Martin to say she has gone out shopping or something, she would be back soon, and then she said "If there should be any inquiries about Mrs. Martin say she has gone to Dublin"—she said the men were coming for the piano, and I was to give it to them if they came, and tell them to take it away—I arrived about 3 with my furniture; shortly after three men came and took the piano away, so that the only things remaining in the house besides my furniture were a box and a few odds and ends—I don't think I had been there an hour when a distress was put in for rent—the piano had been taken away then—I was astonished; I gave them notice that I had only come there as a lodger, and that what furniture there was belonged to me—I thought it was a planned thing—I continued living there till I went to Uxbridge Road about September last—I saw Martin continually after that—I don't think she lived at 73, Elsham Road; she went there—I have seen her there several times—I paid one week's rent to Miss Martin, and I was to work the other off at dressmaking—in June or July last while I was at St. Laurence Road, Martin wanted me to say I was Mrs. Martin to some one in London—I objected that I could not do that—she said "You could if I dressed you up with a black bonnet and veil"—she did not say what she wanted me to represent myself as Mrs. Martin for—while I was at St. Laurence Road Paul came to live there in the name of Allen—I made up a bed for him in the front room—he paid no rent; it had nothing to do with me—I did needlework to work out my rent, and lent my things; they had the use of them—only Martin lived with me there—I saw Smith at 73, Elsham Road—she was living there all this time—I have been there, but not very many times—about 29th September, on their suggestion. I took another house at 270, Uxbridge Road, taking my furniture away, and

leaving the house tenantless—I did not know Paul's name was Paul till he was in custody—he was arrested at 41, Talbot Road—I was not there at the time—I went there on the evening of the day they were arrested, Saturday, 8th October—I met the old lady Smith, and Ingram, and they said the prisoners were arrested, and they could not get in, and I went with them to 41, Talbot Road—I found these documents there under a book on the shelf in the back sitting-room after the prisoners were in custody. (These purported to be receipts for rent paid by Mary Agnes Smith, and were in Paul's writing. MR. ROSSITER stated: "I have no doubt whatever that these documents are in the same hand as the letter-book which I have most carefully examined.")

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I received a letter from Martin, in which she said that Mrs. Martin would accommodate me, and I went there—I did not know her, nor did I know her afterwards—I cannot say I know Mr. Geary, a solicitor, but I wrote him three or four letters by Miss Smith's dictation—I cannot say the contents—I cannot say I wrote them for old Mrs. Martin—I don't know that there was a Mrs. Martin; Miss Smith dictated them—there was an old lady there, Miss Smith's mother; her name is not Martin—I cannot say that I signed the letters to Mr. Geary in the name of Martin—I might have put the name she told me—the Magistrate did not ask me about my being dressed up in a black bonnet and veil; I told the solicitor about it—the policeman asked me if I had ever represented an old woman—I said I had not, but Miss Smith had wanted me to do so between June and July last year; it was not in a charade—the old lady did not go back to Dublin; she went to Elsham Road—I had known these people some time—I knew they came from Ireland—when she said "If anybody asks for Mrs. Martin, "Idid not know that referred to the old lady, because I said to Miss Smith "'Where is Mrs. Martin?" and she said "She has gone to Dublin"—she told me first to say that she had gone out shopping—I do not mean that she had gone shopping to Dublin—I did not see her at Hammersmith Police-court.

Cross-examined by MR. EDMUNDS. When I went to "Uxbridge Road Miss Smith asked me if I could accommodate Paul—Paul used to write letters for Smith; he used to be told what to write—he chiefly conducted their correspondence at their directions—he is a very good scholar, so far as I know—he was in very reduced circumstances when he came to live with me—I put him up a bed partly as a matter of charity—he could not get any work or situation, and so he was made use of by the two Smiths to write their correspondence and do their work; he wrote exactly what he was told to write—I am not aware that he had anything—I was not always in the room when he wrote letters—he was in the capacity of secretary.

Re-examined. I don't know that I should describe him as a substantial man; he was very reduced—he is not the sort of man I should like to have as reference for the respectability of a tenant—I know his writing; this is his writing (the receipts).

JAMES WOOD . I am a greengrocer, of Church Road, Teddington—I have a horse and cart with which I do removals—I have known the two female prisoners, not long—in March, 1887, I received a letter from one of them which I con not find—it asked me to remove goods from the St. Laurence Road to the Elsham Road for Mrs. Allen—I went to 7,

St. Laurence Road in March, about a quarter to 6 a.m.—I saw Smith and Martin—I took some furniture in a cart to the Elsham Road—the caretaker there would not receive it—subsequently it was taken in early in the morning—I cannot say which of the female prisoners paid me for removing it—I saw Paul when I was doing it; nobody else.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I do not know Mrs. Allen—I saw nobody I was told was Mrs. Allen—I only saw the two prisoners whom I knew as the Misses Smith.

HERBERT; CHARLES PEPPERCORN . I am one of the firm of W. S. Peppercorn and Sons, of 105, Talbot Road, Westbourne Park, pianoforte makers—in June, 1887, a lady giving the name of Vance came to us about hiring a piano—we objected till we saw the landlady—we saw Martin, who told us she was the landlady of the house—we said we should require her to sign this paper before we delivered the piano, and she signed it; I wrote it. (This engaged not to detain the piano for rent, or on any pretence whatever, and to deliver it when demanded. Signed, Margaret Josephine Smith.) We let the piano in June and got it back on 11th July—we were never paid for the hire of it—when I went to fetch it away I saw Martin—she said Mrs. Vance owed her money, and she would have to pay, and she would not let us have it—I drew her attention to the receipt she had given—she said it had nothing to do with her; she was not the landlady then—we paid her 25s. and got the piano back.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I saw Mrs. Vance when she came to hire the piano; she was never visible at the house—the receipt for the 25s. we paid to get the piano back was signed by Mrs. Wright for Mrs. Martin, because the prisoner objected to sign it.

Re-examined. Martin had the 25s.

ERNEST HEPBURN . I am a partner in the firm of Hepburn and Davis, solicitors, of 10, Westbourne Grove, Bayswater—in July, 1887, I was consulted by Madame Helinska in reference to 7, St. Laurence Road—I wrote a letter to M. A. Martin, and afterwards Paul called and showed me the letter, and said he came from Miss Martin; that he represented her, and asked me what the letter meant—I told him to read it, and said "Do you understand English?"—he said "Yes"—I said "Then take it home and read it"—he went away—on the following Monday, 11th July, I made a demand for possession of the house, 7, St. Laurence Road—they refused; the door was just opened and a voice came out—on 25th July I took out a writ of ejectment, and then I had to get an order for substituted service—appearance was entered by Mr. Graham Gordon—about the beginning of October I found the premises were deserted, and I applied to a Magistrate for a warrant to have the premises, and I obtained the usual order for the possession under the Act—notice was affixed in compliance with the Act, and I acquired possession in that way.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. The writ was between Johanna Helinska and Mary Agnes Martin.

Cross-examined by MR. EDMUNDS. When I told Paul to read the letter he said "That is a funny answer"—I said "Are you a solicitor?"—he said "No"—I was not going to speak to him—he said he came from Mrs. Martin; they ought to have sent a solicitor; I had my opinion about him.

WILLIAM FREDE RICK KING . I am in the Admiralty—on the death of

my mother I became interested with my brother in the remainder of the lease of 73, Elsham Road, Kensington—I placed the house in Mr. Carter's hands, and afterwards in Mr. Richardson's, house agents—I left in the house as caretaker an old servant named Farrant—communications passed between me and Messrs. Carter, and finally I agreed to accept Mrs. Allen as tenant of that house—on 20th July I received this letter. (Miss Wright stated that this letter was in Paul's writing; it stated that he had been applied to for a quarter's rent to 24th June, but that he had not had possession of the house till the second week in April, and that he had been put to 10 guineas expenses, which were to be allowed when the September rent became due; that the range and drains were bad, and that he found now objection was made to his taking boarders as he had told Mr. Carter it was his intention to do.) I was not satisfied with that, and consulted my solicitor and eventually gave instructions for a distress to be put in—on 27th August I received this letter. (Mrs. Wright stated that this was in Paul's writing. It said that he was surprised at being threatened for the payment of the rent to June 24th, as no rent became due till September, and that he must hold Mr. King responsible for any legal proceedings he thought to take.) On 22nd September I received the keys of the house enclosed in this envelope. (Miss Wright stated that the writing on this envelope might be in Paul's writing, but disguised.) The envelope was left by a messenger—I received this letter, dated 29th September, on the 30th from the prisoner's solicitors. (This stated that they had been consulted by Mrs. Allen relative to the forcible entry by Mr. King and his broker into 73, Elsham Road, and the seizure of her goods and those of her lodger, Miss Smith, and called on him to make a fair and reasonable compensation for the injury done, and that unless settlement were offered they should institute legal proceedings to recover from him and his broker.) I did not see my tenant myself nor the agreement.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I signed no agreement—the keys were brought to my office by two ladies, and a messenger brought me word that they wished to see me—I did not see them—one of them gave the name of Mrs. Allen.

THOMAS CARTER . I am clerk now to Messrs Richardson and Co., house agents, Maclise Mansions—in February, 1887, the business was carried on by my father, and then Martin called at the office and gave the name of Mrs. Martin—she said she came for a Mrs. Allen—at that time we had the house 73, Elsham Road on our books to let, and in the result I let her the house, 73, Elsham Road—an agreement was drawn up; I don't know what has become of it; I have hunted everywhere for it—after it was signed I tied it up with other papers and put it on my desk—after Mrs. Martin had left the office, the same day, I looked for it—some time afterwards, and before proceedings were taken, I turned the office and the desk out—since proceedings were taken I have turned over every paper—we drew the agreement up; Paul signed it in the name of Allen, I think, in the office—I did not witness the signature; I think he signed it on behalf of Mrs. Martin—I tied it up with the reference and put it on my desk—the entry in my book on March 17th is: "Allen, Mr., and Martin, Mrs., agreed to the terms and agreement which was read to them, for 73, Elsham Road; to send some coals in"—we are also agents for coals—that was the day the agreement was signed by Paul—I tied that agreement up myself with the other papers relating to 73,

Elsham-Road, the two letters of reference, and one or two other letters relating to the property—it was about 12.30 or 1 that Paul and Martin came and executed the agreement—I missed the documents about a quarter of an hour after they had gone, and have never seen them since—Martin had previously given me the names of Messrs. W. and J. Lille, 12, Wharfdale Road, Redcliffe Square, and Mrs. Martin, of 7, St. Laurence Road, Notting Hill, as persons to whom I could write as to her responsibility—this is a copy of the letter received from Mrs. Martin, 7, St. Laurence Road. (This stated that she could most unhesitatingly say that Mrs. Allen, the wife of the late P. J. Allen, Esq., was a desirable tenant, punctual in her payments; that she could confidently recommend her, and that she was sorry to lose her as a tenant.) I had seen Martin before; I knew her when she lived at 429, Fulham Road by the name of Martin—I knew nothing of Paul—I understood he was Mrs. Allen's brother-in-law, and that he acted as trustee.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I remember an old lady coming to the office—only the agreement was written in our office—the old lady came to our office before the agreement was signed—I was told Mrs. Allen was very ill at Brighton—they brought a letter or something saying she was too ill to sign it, and her trustee could sign the agreement—I asked Mrs. Martin about it when I missed the agreement, and she said she had not taken it—I thought it had fallen down behind my desk it would not have hurt to have had another drawn up—the old lady wrote nothing in our office to my knowledge—my father was there; he is not here today—I received some other letters from Mrs. Allen; they were lost with the other documents—I had one or two subsequently to the agreement being signed—I think Mr. Rossiter had all the letters I had.

Cross-examined by MR. EDMUNDS. I won't say whether Paul said he was trustee for Mrs. Allen, or whether Mrs. Allen said it; it was said—I understood him to say he was trustee—they brought with them a letter from a doctor merely saying Mrs. Allen was too ill to come to London; she was at Brighton—I won't be certain about the exact words, but Paul said he was told by Mrs. Allen to sign the agreement for her as trustee—I cannot swear it was as trustee.

Re-examined. He came accompanied by Martin—I don't know who it was told me he was trustee for Mrs. Allen; he was introduced to me as trustee and her brother-in-law.

ELIZABETH FARRANT . I am the wife of William Farrant, a carpet planner. of 146, Sulgrave Road, Shepherd's Bush—I am an old servant of Mr. King—I was left in charge of 73, Elsham Road when it was empty—in January, 1887, Smith came to look over the house—Martin came afterwards on another day—I asked Martin if she thought she would take the house, and she said yes, she thought they would—a week after she said "Do you know we have taken the house?"—I said I knew nothing of it—in March, 1887, early in the morning, some furniture came—I had received certain instructions, and at first refused to take it in, but afterwards I did take it in—Paul came the night after the furniture came, to sleep there—he did not sleep there because when Smith came to make up a bed for a gentleman I said I could not allow it without instructions from Mr. King—he gave the name of Allen—on 20th March I gave up the keys to Messrs. Carter, the house agents—

among the furniture I saw arrive that morning was a drawing-room suite covered in green and amber, and a looking glass—I afterwards saw that drawing-room suite and the looking-glass at Studland Hall, Mr. Green's, I recognised it—I also recognised two fenders there as Mr. King's—I saw no other woman except the prisoners—Smith told me when she came to make the bed for Paul that it was for Allen—on one occasion Martin came after the furniture, and I asked Smith who Martin was, and whether she was Mrs. Allen; she said "No;" she said Mrs. Allen was at Brighton.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. When I first saw Martin she said someone had called before, and she told me the name—I could not remember the name at all, I don't recollect if it was Allen.

THOMAS WILLIAM ROSSITER . I am solicitor to Mr. King, who was interested in 73, Elsham Road—in consequence of instructions received from him I called on 20th August at 73, Elsham Road; Smith opened the door, I asked for Mrs. Allen; she said "Mrs. Allen is at Brighton;" she would be returning from Brighton that day, which was Saturday, or possibly not till Monday—she asked me what was my business; I said I wished to see Mrs. Allen personally; I left my card, and when Mrs. Allen returned from Brighton I should be glad to know, that I might call and see her—I called at the house several times between the 20th and 27th; I rang at the door but no one opened it—on 27th Smith opened the door to me, and in reply to my question said that Mrs. Allen had not returned from Brighton, she was still there and my card had been forwarded to her (that was the card I had left on the 20th), but that Mrs. Allen had replied that she did not know me or my business, and she would like to know what I wanted—I then asked Smith if she would kindly give me Mrs. Allen's address at Brighton and I would write to her; she refused, and said "If you want to write to Mrs. Allen you must write here, and your letter will be forwarded"—I then asked her if she could give me Mrs. Allen's solicitor's address, as I wanted to see her on legal business, and it might save her trouble; she declined to give me the name of her solicitor—I asked her for her own name, she declined to give it—I was not satisfied with what I had seen; Mr. King instructed me to levy a distress, and I instructed Mr. Green to levy it—about 6 o'clock on the evening of 27th August Martin called on me in the Elsham Road; she gave the name of Smith, and said she had come with reference to the distress which had been levied at 73, Elsham Road, and although she herself knew little about the matter, she was a very great friend of Mrs. Allen, and had come to see me on her behalf—she said she had just left Mrs. Allen, who was at St. Stephen's Square, Notting Hill; I said I had called at 73, Elsham Road that morning, and that the person who opened the door told me Mrs. Allen was at Brighton; Martin said the person who opened the door was only a servant, and you cannot expect servants to know the movements of their mistresses; I observed "At all events I should have thought servants would know whether their mistress was in town or out of it"—in the result, I said the distress would have to proceed—at that time a man was in possession—she told me Mrs. Allen had in fact taken the house, but that she had never lived there, and she was a great invalid, and the house was not good enough for her, and she had sub-let it to a Miss Smith, who was a lodger, and that I had levied a distress on the goods of a lodger, and

they were therefore in a very serious position—I said "If so, it would be just as well for Mrs. Allen to pay the distress out and make things comfortable for her lodger; "Martin said no, Mrs. Allen would do nothing of the sort, and that the distress must proceed; I said it would she said "Well, the distress may proceed, but remember you have not got possession of the house"—I asked Martin for Mrs. Allen's address and the number at St. Stephen's Square; she said "Oh she is not going there to night, she is going to some other square"—I asked her to give me the name and address of Mrs. Allen's solicitor; she refused to do so, and then she left—I was present at 73, Elsham Road when the goods were removed under the distress, I only saw the two female prisoners there—it was early in September, there was a great disturbance—I asked both prisoners where Mrs. Allen was; I think Smith said "Go and find Mrs. Allen yourself; do you think we carry Mrs. Allen about in our arms?"—she said they had paid their rent, and the cheques they had in their possession would show they had paid their rent promptly; I said "Where is the Mary Agnes Smith?" and she said "That is Mary Agnes Smith," pointing to her, "and I am Margaret Smith"—when the goods were being removed their manner was very riotous; they used the most disgusting, abusive, and filthy language to me, to the bailiff, and his man—a crowd assembled outside, and they addressed the crowd from the top of the steps—the goods were forcibly removed—on 8th October I was present when the prisoners were arrested; I went with the officer for the purpose of identifying them—they were arrested at 41, Talbot Road, Bayswater—Martin said a great deal when she was arrested—she said it was all a mistake; that Mary Agnes Smith had signed the lease of 7, St. Laurence Road for and at the request of Mrs. Martin, and that Paul had signed the lease of 75, Elsham Road at the request of Mrs. Allen; that was said in Paul's presence, who admitted it—she said to him "Is that not so, Mr. Paul?" he said "Yes"—I think on 8th October she said Mrs. Martin was in Dublin, and that she had only left for there a few days ago—when we first got there Paul was not there; I asked for his address and she said although he had been in the habit of calling daily she did not know his address—afterwards he came in and was arrested.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I have seen an old lady, Mrs. Smith, Martin's mother—I saw her last at the police-court—I have not been in communication with her since—I have known a good many instances of tenants being unable to pay their rent for various reasons—I cannot answer for what the Misses Smiths expect from the Chancery Court—I can not say what they claim of my own knowledge—I know proceedings are going on under an alleged deed of covenant executed by John Cornelius Parke, which is being resisted on the ground of fraud, I am told—I know the Smiths have made a claim and filed affidavits in support of it by Mr. Lomax and Mr. Micklethwaite; that is what I am told, and they have refused to submit to cross-examination in support of their claim.

Re-examined. The claim they have made in Chancery is upon a deed alleged to have been executed by a very aged man, John Cornelius Parke, of about eighty years of age, within a few years of his death—one of the witnesses to the deed was Paul, and another was a man named Micklethwaite, a solicitor's clerk, who has been struck off the rolls—an appointment was made for the cross-examination of Micklethwaite on Monday

last, and for the cross-examination of a solicitor named Lomax—the examiner waited over an hour for the attendance of Lomax and Micklethwaite to be cross-examined on their affidavits, and although served with subpœnas, neither put in an appearance—the solicitor to Mr. Parkes estate had himself served them with notices of the appointment—an appointment was made for the cross-examination of Martin at Holloway Prison some weeks before Christmas—the solicitor attended for the purpose of taking her cross-examination—I was present when she was brought into the room—she refused to be cross-examined. (MR. FULTON was proceeding to re-examine as to Paul in reference to the same matter. MR. EDMUNDS objected that he had not cross-examined to this subject, and MR. FULTON did not go into it.) I have seen the original of this deed. (MR. FULTON proposed to re-examine as to the nature of the claim. MR. CRISPE objected to a re-examination as to the contents of a written document, and the Common Serjeant held that the question should not be asked.) The deed is in the possession of Martin's previous solicitors, Cross and Sons.

By MR. CRISPE. Margaret Smith did not object to be examined in prison because her solicitors were not there—I think she said she was not represented, and she said to the examiner when he tendered the Testament to swear her, "I have had a very bad night, my head is not clear."

By MR. FULTON. Mr. Cross was sitting by her side; he was there on subpœna to produce the deed—he said he no longer represented her—he said in Martin's presence he retired from the case in consequence of what had occurred at the previous examination; he washed his hands of it.

JAMES HENRY GREEN . I am a member of the firm of Green and Sons, auctioneers, 72, King Street, Hammersmith—I received instructions in August to levy a distress on the goods of Mrs. Allen at 73, Elsham Road, for 15l. for rent due 24th June—I attended shortly afterwards at the address; the door was opened by Smith—I made a demand for the rent—she said she owed none, Mrs. Allen was the tenant—I said "I want 15l."—I walked towards one of the doors; she rushed in and commenced locking the dining-room door—I went into the back room; she scrambled up a lot of things; she said "It is not due by me but by Mrs. Allen"—I said "Who are you?"—she said "I am only a lodger here"—I said "What part of the house do you occupy, and what are Mrs. Allen's goods"—she said Mrs. Allen did not live there, she moved her goods in one day, they remained a few days, and were all moved out again—she further said that Mrs. Allen told her she might have the house, and no doubt she would be probably able to make 2l. or 3l. by letting apartments—eventually I went away, leaving a man in possession—on 30th August I was at the Studland Hall, Hammersmith, when Smith came and served this document on me. (This was a declaration under the Lodgers' Goods Protection Act, sworn before MR. BENNETT and signed MARY SMITH as to the drawing-room furniture, fender and fire-irons.) She showed me this receipt. (This was a receipt dated 73, Elsham Road, August 30, 1887. "Received from Miss Smith the sum of 2l. 10s., the amount due to 30th August for unfurnished lodgings as above—2l. 10s., "and signed W. W. Smith.) This is the copy I made of it—this other receipt is not like it:—"73, Elsham Road. Received of Miss Smith 2l. 10s. for rent due as above to August 30th, 1887, for five unfurnished rooms," the signature looks like Mary Smith—next day I went to 73, Elsham Road, and saw Martin—she told me her name was Smith, and she was Smith's sister—I was only there a few minutes—I went to

see the man who was in possession—on Monday, 31st, I was served with another document, a declaration made before a solicitor by Mary Agnes Smith, by a solicitor's clerk—afterwards I told Smith I had received another notice; it was a most unusual thing, I should have thought one was sufficient—I could not say what she said—I have seen her write—this is her signature and writing to the best of my belief. (This was a similar declaration to the last, but was sworn before a Commissioner named Davison—on 2nd September the goods were condemned by two appraisers in the usual way—the female prisoners were present, and behaved more like mad people—Smith fell on her knees and called on the Almighty to curse the whole of us; she said she had never asked for a curse to fall on anybody without its coming—Martin used very violent language, and prevented us getting to the doors to get the goods out—there was a vast amount of confusion—there were some persons outside and three constables, I think—they addressed the crowd from the steps of the house—I received this letter from Mr. Graham Gordon. (This stated that he was instructed by Miss Smith, a lodger, to apply for the restitution of goods illegally seized and that he gave him notice not to dispose of them, to any one pending the hearing of the application.) No proceedings were taken at Hammersmith Police-court as a matter of fact.

Cross-examined. There are very often painful scenes on occasions of distress, in private; people don't often exhibit them in public—no doubt these ladies came from Ireland—Smith told me she was a lodger—when she served the first notice under the Lodgers' Act she said she had paid her rent in advance to Mrs. Allen.

Re-examined. I should say this declaration made before Mr. Bennett is in Smith's handwriting.

By MR. CRISPE. The distress realised enough to pay the rent due with in a few shillings.

CHARLES DAVISON . I am a partner with Mr. Hepburn, a solicitor, at 10, Westbourne Grove—this declaration "T" was taken before me—I cannot swear to the person who made it.

W. F. KING (Re-examined). On 27th August I received this letter by post. (Miss Wright proved this to be in Paul's handwriting. This said that he was surprised on returning home after a few days' absence to find a men in possession in the lodger's room; that in consequence the lodger had given notice to leave, and asked what grounds he had for such conduct, as the rent did not become due till next quarter-day.)By the JURY. The keys were given up to Carter on the 26th March.

ELIZA FARRANT (Re-examined). I know nothing of it—after I delivered up the keys, I cannot say what day they took possession.

THOMAS CARTER (Re-examined). I think they took possession on 26th March—it must have been about that day I gave them the keys, we did not have them in our possession long.

HERBERT PRENTICE . I live at 2, Lonsdale Road, Bayswater, and am a carman, employed by Mr. Breeder, of 52, Ledbury Road—on 19th September I went to 73, Elsham Road, with a van, at 6 a.m., I backed my van to the door, I received some furniture from Smith, which I removed to 41, Talbot Road, Bayswater; I there saw Martin—I had also seen an old lady at Elsham Road—I also moved some furniture from 7, St. Laurence Road to 41, Talbot Road, a little while afterwards—I was paid

by Martin for taking the things to Elsham Road, but not for the other job.

JOHN FRANKLIN . I live at 9, Alexander Street, Westbourne Grove, and am a solicitor's clerk; I act for Mr. Wainwright, the landlord of 41, Talbot Road—I had negotiations for letting that house with Martin, whom I knew as Miss Smith—I went and saw her at 73, Elsham Road, he described herself as Smith, she wanted to take the house at 41, Talbot Road, for herself and mother—she gave as a reference Micklethwaite and Lomax—she had previously given as another reference to the landlord, Mr. Wainwright, at Dover, while I was there with him, Paul, of 7, St. Laurence Road, and Mrs. Allen, of 73, Elsham Road—I let her the house—the agreement was signed by the old lady—she said the goods belonged to her mother, who was the widow of Francis Smith, a civil engineer—they were afterwards arrested at 41, Talbot Road—I believe we have possession of the house now, it was put in the hands of a broker.

FREDERICK GEORGE NETHERCLIFT . I am an expert in handwriting—the writing on this black edged envelope is in the same hand as the writing in this book.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISP. I don't remember having made mistakes, it is a very different thing whether juries have always agreed with me—I do not think the signature of the attesting witness at the bottom of this deed or these signatures on this piece of paper (these had been written by Mrs. Ingram in Court) are written by the same hand.

JOHANNA HELINSKA (re-called). I have never handed any of the rent to my husband, he does not transact any business at all.

THOMAS DOVE (Police Sergeant F). On Saturday morning, October 8th, at half past 10, I went to 41, Talbot Road, in company with Mr. Rossiter—I saw the two female prisoners; I told them I was a police officer, and was going to take them into custody on a warrant for conspiring together with a man named Paul, to defraud; I read the warrant to them—Martin said "We know nothing about conspiracy"—Smith said nothing—later on Paul came in at the front door, I said "What is your name?"—he said "Paul, "I said "I am going to take you into custody on a warrant for being concerned with these two other persons, "and read the warrant to him, he said "I was asked to sign the agreement, "Martin said "You remember, Paul, you signed it for Mrs. Allen, "Paul said "Yes"—I sent the female prisoners to the station later on, on account of their aged mother, who looked very infirm; she said she was not safe to be left in the house by herself; I tried to get some one to take charge of her, ultimately the mother had to come with us to the station—Mrs. Ingram was sent for afterwards, and undertook to take charge of the mother—I thought the mother did not look in her right senses at the time—she was afterwards brought up before Mr. Bennett as a person wandering, and by his directions was sent to the workhouse, she is now well looked after at Caterham Asylum.

Cross-examined by MR. CRISP. She is there as a poor lunatic—I do not know what became of the things at Talbot Road after the prisoners were taken in custody—I have not been to the house since—I never had the key.

THOMAS CARTER (Re-examined by MR. MOYSES). My father is not in

England now—he has been bankrupt since this matter, and his creditors do not know where he is.

GUILTY . SMITH— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

MARTIN— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.

PAUL— Nine Months' Hard Labour.

NEW COURT.—Thursday, January 12th, 1888.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-208
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

Related Material

208. RICHARD CLARK (20), COLIN McRAE , and RICHARD COUCHMAN, Unlawfully conspiring with other persons to forge and utter a warrant for 15l. 14s. 6d.

MR. H. WILLIAMS Prosecuted; MR. GILL appeared for McRae, and MR. WARBURTON for Clark and Couchman.

NORMAN LESLIE MELVILLE . I live at 24, Elvaston Place, Queen's Gate—I engaged Clark as my servant in 1886, and in the summer of 1887 I took him to Scotland as travelling servant, and stayed in some private houses, but chiefly in hotels, and early in October I was in private lodgings in Edinburgh with Clark—I had given him notice on September 9 to leave on October 9—I asked him if he had made any arrangements—he said "No," and that he should leave service—previous to leaving Edinburgh I sent to the bank, Messrs. Williams, Deacon, and Co., for my pass book, and with it they returned my old cancelled cheques—I looked through them, found them correct, tore most of them in half, and put them in a waste paper basket, to which Clark had access, and I think he saw me do it—I always kept my cheque book in my portmanteau, among my clothes—nobody could know of it except Clark and myself—he used to help me, pack my clothes, and he always had access to my trunk when it was unlocked—my cheques are all numbered the same—he packed up my things, and we came to London on October 27—he left my service the next morning; he said he was going into Suffolk—on November 4 I received an intimation from my bankers, and went to the National Bank, and saw one of the managers—I saw Mr. Lander, and arranged with him that McRae should meet me on the following Monday morning—on the same evening I received a second communication from my bankers, that another cheque had been presented—I then put the matter into the hands of the authorities at Scotland Yard, and went with Sergeant White to the Masons' Arms—Mr. Lander, the landlord, came in, and said that McRae had come—he was shown in, and Sergeant White said "Where did you get this cheque from?" producing the one for 15l. 14s. 6d—he said "I got it on Brighton racecourse from a man who I was betting with; the horse I backed won; I remained close to the man, not knowing him, and asked for the money, he told me that I must take the cheque, in part payment, or take nothing: some roughs gathered round us, and I thought under the circumstances it was better to take the cheque"—Sergeant White asked him if he knew anything about any other cheques which had been given on Brighton racecourse—he said "No"—White said "Don't you know anything about a cheque drawn for 10l.?"—he said "Yes, I do, but I do not think that has anything to do with me"—he was asked if he knew a man named Couchman—he said "I have an appointment with Couchman at 12 o'clock to-day at the Red Cap public-house, Camden Town"—it was then arranged that Sergeant White should accompany

him to meet Couchman—in the course of the conversation McRae handed this small memorandum book (produced) to Sergeant White—we both looked at it, and I remarked to White that the writing in it very much resembled the endorsement on the cheques, and he agreed, but I do not know whether McRae heard us—I do not remember his saying anything—these cheques (produced) are not my writing or any part of them—they are the cheques which were shown me at my bank as forgeries—I kept my ledger with my cheques in my portmanteau, and I find that the last cheque I had drawn was to Mr. Whiteley for very nearly the same amount.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. Clark was idle and untruthful, and once or twice, when I sent him with telegrams and counted the words, he very conveniently forgot to bring me the change—I wrote to him "Would you be willing to accept a situation as steward on board one of the leading steamship companies?" but I did not offer to recommend him—I discharged two butlers last year—this cheque book came into my possession on August 4.

Cross-examined by MR. GILL. I do not remember saying "I offered to recommend him as steward on board a Peninsular and Oriental steamer"—I heard my deposition read, but I did not notice that—I am familiar with Clark's writing, and when I applied for a warrant I swore that the writing on the body of the cheques was his—Mr. Lander told me that he knew McRae well, and that he was a person of thorough respectability, and had asked him to pass the cheque through his bank, and was to call and inquire to see that it was all right—I told Mr. Lander that the cheques were forged, he was to see McRae, and make an appointment with him, and I went then to meet McRae—McRae said that he met a man in the train, whom he had seen before, and told him he had taken a cheque at Brighton races, and the man told him that he also had one—I do not remember White saying "Do you know where the man is to be found?" nor his replying "Yes, I have to meet him at the Red Cap, Camden Town, at 12 o'clock to-day"—I did not go with White to the Red Cap—I went with White the same day to Scotland Yard, but refused to charge McRae—I saw McRae again at Scotland Yard the same evening, the 7th—I first swore an information on Saturday, November 5, I think—there were three hearings before the Magistrate, and McRae was admitted to bail.

WILLIAM COX . I am a clerk to Williams, Deacon, and Co., bankers—Mr. Melville banks with them—these two cheques were presented for payment and refused as forgeries—our cheque books "to order "do not bear consecutive numbers.

GEORGE LANDER. I keep the Masons Arras, Kensal Green—on 2nd November McRae, whom I have known several years, came and asked me to pass this cheque, dated October 9, and signed "Norman Leslie Melville," through my bank for him—it was crossed—I fancy he said he got it for a bet—I passed it through the National Provincial Bank, Harrow Road branch, and it was returned as forged—Mr. Melville afterwards came to me, and I arranged that McRae should be confronted with him when he came for the cash, and the second time McRae came he saw Mr. Melville and Sergeant White; I was not present.

Cross-examined by MR. GILL. McRae has always borne the character a respectable well-conducted man—I believe he visits at Mr. James's house, who lives close to me—I do not know whether he is engaged to

Mr. James's daughter—he did not ask me for any money on the cheque—I asked him to call on the 7th, and he called and met Mr. Meville—I said that there was something wrong about the cheque, and he said he was sorry to hear it.

Re-examined. McRae is a customer of mine—I do not know him beyond that—he is a barman.

FREDERICK RIDLEY . I am a licensed victualler, of Taunton, in Somersetshire—in November last I kept a public-house in Church Street, Edgware Road—on 3rd November Couchman came with McRae, and asked me to cash the cheque, dated October 2nd, and signed "Norman Leslie Melville"—I did so, and paid it into my bank, and was told that it was a forgery—I told Couchman so, and he repaid me the money in two sums of 5l. each.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. He said nothing about having been in Brighton—when I said that it was a forgery, he said "Good God, you don't say so if that is the case I will refund the money at once."

Cross-examined by MR. GILL. I did not know that it was McRae who was at my house till he told me so himself.

HARRY WHITE (Police Sergeant). I have had charge of this matter—Mr. Melville first communicated with me on 5th November, and on 7th November I went with him to the Masons' Arms—I had previously seen Mr. Lander, and arranged that McRae should be confronted with us that day—he came, and I asked him where he got the cheque—he said "At Brighton races; I was walking on the course, and a man asked me what I wanted to back; I told him Spud. He said 'I will lay you 3 to 1. 'I gave him 3l. stake, and the horse won. I asked him for the money, and he gave me a cheque for 14l., and the rest in cash. I declined to take the cheque, and was pulled about by some roughs"—I said "Do you know anything about another cheque?"—he said "No"—I said "Not a cheque for 10l.?"—he said "I was coming up in the train, and met a man named Couchman whom I had previously known, and he mentioned the fact that he had taken a cheque on a racecourse. I said 'So have I. 'He said 'Mine is only for a tenner?"—I said "Do you know where Couchman is to be found?"He said "Yes, I have to meet him at 12 to-day at the Red Cap, Camden Town, and repay him 3l. which I borrowed from him the night we came up from the races. "Iwent with him to a public-house in Edgware Road where the cheque was cashed, and he lent me 3l."—he produced the book, and said "I picked it up in the bar; it is not all my writing in there"—I pointed to an entry in it, "J. Whiteley, 15l. 14s. 6d.," and told him that it strongly resembled the endorsement on the cheque—he made no reply—I returned the book to him—he then went with me to meet Couchman—we met him at 12 o'clock, and I asked Couchman how he became possessed of the 10l. cheque—he said "I was at Brighton Races, and backed a horse called Spud for 2l.; 5 to 1, in the shilling ring; the horse won, and when I went to receive my money the bookmaker, a short dark man with bushy whiskers, tendered me a cheque for 10l. and my 2l. stake money. I objected to take it. The man said it was all right, and I took it"—they then accompanied me to Scotland Yard, where we met Mr. Melville—after McRae was charged he gave me back the pocket-book—I had asked him on the 7th to write his name and address, and he wrote this

in pencil and ink as well, "Colin McRae, 112, * * Road, Bow, 15l. 14s. 6d."—at Scotland Yard Mr. Melville declined to charge them, and I accompanied Couchman to the Hoop public-house, Edgware Road, where Mr. Ridley, the landlord, handed me the 10l. cheque, and Couchman promised in my presence to repay him—warrants were then obtained against the three prisoners, and Clark was arrested at Suffolk Walk, near Woodbridge, Suffolk, and brought to town—I said to him at the police-court "Did you meet Couchman after you left Mr. Melville's service?"—he said "Yes, I was walking in Camden Town, and met Couchman by accident; I was not with him more than two or three minutes"—I said "How many days did you stay in London after leaving Mr. Melville's, and where did you sleep?"—he said "I don't know; I walked about nearly all one night, and slept with a girl, but don't know where."

Cross-examined by MR. GILL. Brighton races were on November 3rd—a horse called Spud did win a race, and the price was 5 to 1—I have been on duty on racecourses—he did not tell me that he had copied the entry in the book off the cheque, but he said "I put it in there directly I got the cheque"—he never refused to do anything I asked him to do—he gave me Couchman's name, and the information about him being at Mr. Ridley's house, and he volunteered to go with me to Scotland Yard, but I should have taken him there if he had not—I had no difficulty in finding him—he said to the inspector that he had not tried to change the cheque, but he asked his friend to pass it through his bankers—he gave a correct address, and I made inquiries about his character which were satisfactory—he was taken on a warrant and released on bail—he appeared here last session to take his trial, and the case was adjourned.

JOSEPH MARTIN . I have been steward of the grand stand, Brighton racecourse, over 20 years—there has never been such a thing as a shilling ring, or I should know it.

Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. There is no shilling enclosure or shilling stand to my knowledge—the entrance to our ring is 10s.

Cross-examined by MR. GILL. I am speaking of Tattersall's ring—there are ready-money bookmakers who do not pay for either, and bet outside.

HENRY SAMS . I keep the Eagle public-house, Camden Town—McRae was in my service as manager from February 5th to March 31s. t, 1887—he again entered my service on April 28th, and left on October 25th—he used to keep the delivery book of the Pure Water Company—this is it (produced), and this is his writing—I have seen Couchman in my bar while McRae was there.

CHARLES SAMUEL DEAN . I am a carman to the Pure Water Company, Queen's Road, Battersea—this is my signature in this book—I saw McRae make the entries opposite to it.

WILLIAM ADAMS . I am a carman to the Pure Water Company—this is my signature in this book—McRae made the entries opposite my name.

Cross-examined by MR. GILL. The entries are in numbers, small and large; one is "24 dozen, September 5th, 20 small, 60 large."

Re-examined. McRae wrote everything in the same line as my signature.

GEORGE INGLIS . I am an expert in handwriting—I have compared these two forged cheques with this piece of writing which has McRae's

name on it, and with the entries in this book opposite the names of Dean and Adams, and I believe the body of the cheques and the endorsement are in the same writing as the entries, and also the same as several entries in the men's book. (The witness pointed out to the Jury the points of similarity in the different documents.)

Cross-examined by MR. GILL I have not made any report of the dissimilarities—I make a report in every case—the body of the cheque is in a disguised writing, and the signature is disguised—the endorsement is not so much disguised in the cheque to J. Whiteley, it is an imitation of Mr. Melville's signature—I have sometimes disagreed with Mr. Netherclift—I decline to give evidence on papers handed to me in Court—I do not express an opinion without study.

Re-examined. It would not be fair to myself—I have been engaged for the Treasury in such cases since 1882.

NORMAN LESLIE MELVILLE (Re-examined). I have two cheques in my pocket-book now bearing the same numbers as the forged cheques, T. 17927.

McRae received a good character.

NOT GUILTY (See New Court, Monday, January 16th).

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-209
VerdictNot Guilty > no evidence

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209. WILLIAM HOWARD, Breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Elizabeth Martin, and stealing 4l. 2s. 6d., her money, upon which no evidence was offered.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-210
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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210. JOHN CRONIN (23) , Unlawfully attempting to break and enter the shop of William Downey, with intent to steal.

MR. DILL Prosecuted; MR. HADDON Defended.

JAMES HOWES (Policeman B 306). On the night of 26th December I was on duty in Pimlico, and about 8 o'clock received a communication, went to Ebury Street, and saw the prisoner and another man walking up and down the pavement examining the areas and doors for a quarter of an hour—I was in uniform, and concealed myself in a dark doorway and saw the prisoner attempt to force open the door of No. 61 with what appeared to be an instrument, from his movements—the other man was with him; they walked to the corner of Eccleston Street, and went into the Crown and Anchor—I followed them, and found the prisoner sitting down—I. said "What have you been doing at No. 61?"—he said "Nothing"—I said "You have been doing something—he said "My old sweetheart lives there"—his great coat pocket was bulky, and I said "What have you got in your pocket?"—he said "I have got nothing"—I said "I shall see what you have got," and attempted to feel his pocket—he became very violent, and the other man ran away—I called on a soldier who was there, to assist me, and then took from the prisoner's pocket this jemmy—he said "All right, I will go quietly with you"—I had not said anything about taking him—he said "It is only an attempt, you cannot charge me with doing the job"—on the way to the station he said "You can think yourself a lucky man, because your brains might have been scattered on the pavement by this time"—I searched him at the station, and found on him seven latch-keys, one of which is a Bramah—the Inspector said "Where do you live?"—he said "I had rather not say"—I have not seen the other man since.

Cross-examined. This was Christmas night, Sunday; it was not particularly dark—I was 20 or 30 yards from them—the prisoner was nearer

the lock part of the door than the other man—I was in the doorway a quarter of an hour, on the opposite side—I have no doubt about the prisoner—I said at the police-court "I looked at the prisoner, not being quite certain, and he turned very red in the face."

By the COURT. I did not lose sight of him between No. 61 and the public-house, but as he went in I lost sight of him for a moment.

JAMES WHITE . I am a private in the 2nd battalion of Grenadier Guards—on 25th December, about 8. 30, I was in the Crown and Anchor, and saw the prisoner and another man come in, and then Howes came in and asked the prisoner to say what he had in his pockets—he said "I shall not"—Howes tried to see what he had, a struggle took place, and Howes asked me to assist him—I held the prisoner while Howes searched him, and took this jemmy from his pocket—the other man went out.

Cross-examined. The prisoner was sitting down—I told the Magistrate he was standing up.

Re-examined. He had to stand up to give an order for drink and pay for it.

WILLIAM CURTIS (Police Inspector B). On 26th December, about 10 a.m., I went to Mr. Downey's, the photographer, 61, Ebury Street, and found a mark on the door corresponding with this jemmy, which I took with me—the marks were between the door and the doorpost, just above the keyhole—the door had very few fastenings.

WALTER KENZIE . I am porter to Mr. Downey, of 61, Ebury street—on 24th December, I saw the house, locked up securely at a little before 5 o'clock—there are two locks, two bolts, and a chain—on the Monday morning I saw marks outside the door which were not there before.

GUILTY **.— Twelve Month's' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-211
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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211. WILLIAM HOWARD (55) , Stealing a mare and cab and a set of harness, the property of Thomas Nosworthy, and a rug, a cape, and a whip, the property of Edwin Wheedon.

MR. CRANSTOUN Prosecuted.

EDWIN WHEEDON . I am a Hackney carriage driver, of 43, Harford Street, Mile End—on December 31st, between 8 and 9 o'clock, I put my Hansom's cab on the Aldgate rank, and went into a coffee-house on the rank—I was called out in 10 minutes, and missed my cab—I looked towards the City, and saw a policeman bringing the prisoner back in custody, and a cabman leading my horse and cab back—they are worth 100l. altogether—I charged the prisoner.

GEORGE PARSONS (City Policeman 885). On December 31st, between 8 and 9 p.m., I was on duty in Aldgate High Street, and saw the prisoner driving a Hansom's cab at a furious rate towards the Minories and towards me—I arrested him, and told him I should charge him with furious driving—Wheedon came up, and said "That man has stolen my horse and cab"—he was perfectly sober—I took him to the station—he gave his address at Evesham, Worcestershire, but afterward retracted that.

Prisoner's Defence. It was not my intention to make away with it.

GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Clerkenwell in February, 1885, in the name of William Restall—Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-212
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Corporal > whipping

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212. ROBERT RATTRAY, Robbery with violence, and with other persons, on Alfred Wallace, and stealing from his person 2l. 15s., his money.

MR. SIMMS Prosecuted.

ALFRED WALLACE . I am a plasterer, of 52, Deptford Road, Stoke Newington—on Christmas Eve, between 1 and 2 o'clock, I was in Bethnal Green Road, going home, and was attacked by four men; the prisoner was one of them—they seized me, and dragged me down Little York Street—they had something in their hands, and the prisoner told me to deliver up all I possessed or they would stab me to death—they took from me 2l. 15s. 8d. and a pipe—they threw me on the ground, but they first put me up against some railings, and the prisoner and another man held me there while the other two searched my pockets—I did not struggle—they had been striking me about my head with their fists—after they got the money they told me to take off my clothes and to give them my boots—I halloaed out "Murder!" and "Police!" and then the prisoner and another man struck me on my head with something heavy, and I fell, and while I was on the ground two others kicked me—three ran one way and the prisoner ran towards Bethnal Green Road—a policeman stopped him—I said "You are one of them"—he said "What is the matter, old man?"—I gave him in charge—a doctor dressed my wounds, and I have been an out-patient at the hospital ever since—I am still suffering.

ARTHUR JACOBS (Policeman H 77). I was on duty, heard cries of "Murder!" and "Police!" and met the prisoner turning the corner of Bethnal Green Road and Eton Street—I asked him what was the matter—he said "The man is mad, "and ran towards Wallace, who was running on the opposite side of the road—I ran with him, halloaed, identified him, and gave him in custody—he said "He is making a fuss; he has lost about 2 1/2 d."—Wallace was bleeding from his head.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. There was no one in the street but you and Wallace, and you were running away from him.

GUILTY . — Fifteen Months' Hard Labour and Twenty Strokes with the Cat.

For Cases tricd in Old Court, Thursday and Friday, and New Court, Friday, see Kent and Surrey Cases.

THIRD COURT.—Friday, January 13th, 1888.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-213
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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213. JAMES KENDRICK, Stealing a hat, canvas bag, and 8l., the moneys of James Mountain.

MR. GILL Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.

JAMES MOUNTAIN . I am housekeeper at 6, Hatton Garden—on Boxing Night, about 8 p.m., I went to the Black Bull, Holborn—I had this canvas bag (produced) containing a 5l. note and 3l. in gold, and some mixed silver and copper, in my right-hand trousers pocket—I saw Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan there, and had a drink with them, coming round from one of the other bars to do so—I paid for it from the pocket I had the bag in—I then sat down and went to sleep—when I awoke I found my

bag and money gone except 7d. and my keys—my pockets were three-parts turned out—on 30th December Mrs. Baker brought me the 5l. note—my brown felt hat was taken as well, and an old black felt hat left in its place—I afterwards identified the bag—there were also two friends of the Sullivans in the bar, I believe—I think Mr. Johnson was in the bar when I went to sleep.

Cross-examined. I suppose the Black Bull would be within 15 yards of Leather Lane—I went out from the private bar into the public bar, where I found Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan and two others—a person going to the bar would have to stand between the seat and the bar.

MARY SULLIVAN . I am the wife of Frederick Sullivan, of Plough Place, Fetter Lane—I was in the public bar of the Black Bull, when I saw the prosecutor in the private bar—he came into the bar where I was and treated us to some Irish whisky—he went to sleep on the seat—we remained in the bar—my husband went out with some friends for a few minutes—I observed two men come in, and afterwards saw them pulling their hands out of the prosecutor's trousers pockets, one on each side—I said "You won't do that to him, that is our friend," and with that my husband came in, and I said "Look at this, Fred, these men have been trying to rob our friend Mr. Mountain"—I did not know they had done so—my husband struck one of them two or three times—the other man came behind my husband and struck him a blow behind the ear, and in the confusion both men got away—towards the end of the week I saw some men at the police-station, but could not identify them—I know Mr. Johnson by sight, and Miss Moore, the barmaid.

Cross-examined. This was in the public-bar; it is rather large—we were talking together—Mr. Griffin was there also—he and my husband went outside—Mr. Griffin called my attention to it when he came back, by pointing to the prosecutor lying with his pockets turned out on the form; until that I had not noticed it—I saw them turning his pockets out—the men were on each side of him, and both their faces fronting me—I saw six men at the police-station, and had a good look at them, but could not identify them—at least three men ran away when Mr. Griffin called my attention to it.

Re-examined. I saw two men two out, and did not notice who went out after them.

JOSEPH GRIFFIN . I am caretaker at St. Alban's School, Baldwin Gardens, and know the Sullivans—I was in the bar with them—the prosecutor came round from the small bar, and spoke to the Sullivans, and had some drink with them—he then sat down on the form and went to sleep—we were there nearly an hour I should think—after we had been there some time Sullivan and I went out to the lavatory—before I, went out I did not notice anything with regard to the prosecutor—when I came back I noticed his right-hand trousers pocket was turned out—I said to Mrs. Sullivan "I think your friend has been robbed," and it caused a bit of a squabble between Sullivan and some men in the house that I did not know—there was a rush to the door, and the house was almost cleared in an instant—I know Mr. Johnson by sight, and saw him outside the door as I was going out—I did not notice whether he was going out or coming in—he had not been in that bar where we were—I did not notice whether anybody was with him—I said " Good evening."

Cross-examined. There were two men with the prosecutor when he

came into our bar before any disturbance took place; they were quite strangers to me—he stood the Sullivans drinks, and then sat down on the form—at the time when I pointed the matter out to Mrs. Sullivan the pockets were turned out—I suppose four or five persons left when it was discovered; there were eight or nine in the bar before, I should say—I did not see the prisoner at the police-station—I suppose we were in the bar nearly two hours, but I did not notice the prisoner.

Re-examined. I never saw the two men afterwards—I suppose the prosecutor was three or four minutes in the small bar before he came into our bar—I do not remember seeing Johnson in the house when I came back from the lavatory—it was about 7. 30 when the prosecutor came in with the two men—when he came from the small bar into the large bar the two men did not come with him.

ETHEL MOORE . I am barmaid at the Black Bull, Holborn Hill—on the night of December 26th I saw the prosecutor asleep on a form in the bar, also the Sullivans—I know them all—after the prosecutor had been asleep some time some men came into the private bar first, and then left for a few minutes and entered the bar the prosecutor was asleep in—they asked for something to drink—one of them was the prisoner, and another was Johnson—I noticed the prisoner's knuckle was dislocated—he paid for the drink—Johnson came in and had a drink, and left a minute or two after—there were six or seven in the bar—a few minutes after Johnson left I heard a scrimmage and went to see what was the matter, and found Sullivan holding the prisoner—there was a good deal of excitement, and the prisoner and another man ran out—then I heard the man had been robbed, and I saw his pockets had been turned out—I next saw the prisoner at the Snow Hill Police-station, where I pointed him out amongst other men—I had previously given a description of him.

Cross-examined. I was serving alone at the time—there are three bars—I served the prisoner when he came in and had a drink with Johnson—there were three or four others in the private bar—when the scrimmage took place four or five people ran out of the house to see what it was—I saw Griffin there—when I noticed the prosecutor's pockets turned out he was sitting facing the bar—Sullivan was holding the prisoner by the coat—they had a tussle together.

EDWARD JOHNSON . I am a licensed victualler, and keep the Robin Hood public-house in Leather Lane, which is about a couple of hundred yards from the Black Bull—the prisoner, whom I have known for some time, came to my house, about 8 o'clock on Boxing night, in company with another man that I did not know and have not seen since—he came to see me for one thing, and he said "Lend me 5s.; I will leave you my watch as security"—I took it at first, but did not intend to keep it—we then went out with him down the Lane, talking to him about his trip; he had been away in the country—I said "Will, you have a glass of wine with me? and I will leave you"—we went into the private bar of the Black Bull—I know Ethel Moore—we had a small glass of port each—we were there about a couple of minutes—we came out and said "Good night"—I said "Here is your watch; the 5s. will be all right when you get it; you can give me that back," and I gave him back his watch—he said "The missis has my money; come and have a drink with me"—I said "I don't care about any more"—he said "Come along, it is

Christmas time, and I am going away and may not see you again for some time"—we went into the public bar, where the prisoner asked for three glasses of port—while I was there I noticed a man sitting asleep on the form; his hat was on the floor, and I saw the other man touch it with his foot—I drank my wine and left, leaving the prisoner at this end of the bar away from the people, and then went towards Leather Lane—I stopped and spoke to the officer on the beat, and the prisoner passed me with the other man going home—they went into the public bar of my house—the two men then came out and went down Brook Street, when they passed me they were laughing.

Cross-examined. The prisoner had had quite enough to drink—two or three minutes elapsed between the time I left the Black Bull and their passing me—the prisoner might have been hurrying a little, but not out of the ordinary—he is a fighting man, and had been on a tour with J. L. Sullivan—he did very well on that trip—I have known him as a quiet man—it is a small bar, about 12 feet by 12—other persons were clustering around—I did not notice whether the prisoner and the other man were carrying anything when they passed me.

GEORGE BAKER . I am eight years old, and go to Prince's Street Board School—I live with my mother at 89, Great Saffron Hill—on Boxing night I was out with my brother, close to the Robin Hood public-house—I saw the prisoner and another man come up to the house—the prisoner threw a note and bag away—I picked them up, and showed them to my brother Harry—it was about 8. 45 p.m.—I saw the prisoner afterwards at Guildhall—this is the bag.

Cross-examined. My brother took me to the Guildhall Police-court, where I saw the prisoner standing alone, and recognised him—I said it was the man because he had dark eyes—he threw both the bag and the piece of paper away together—the paper was outside the bag.

Re-examined. He walked off when he threw them away.

HARRY BAKER . I am brother of the last witness—I was with him on Boxing night—he left me, and I saw him again about 8. 45—he showed me this bag, and gave me the 5l. note crumpled up.

ELIZABETH BAKER . I am a widow, and the mother of the last witness—Harry gave me the 5l. note and little canvas bag—I afterwards gave them to Mr. Terry, the prosecutor's master.

JAMES EAGLE (City Policeman). I received information of the robbery and had the description of two men on 28th December—I arrested the prisoner on the 1st January at Easton Street, Clerkenwell—I said "I am a police officer, and I am going to take you into custody for being concerned with another man not in custody in stealing 8l. from a man's pocket inside the Black Bull public-house on Boxing night"—I might add, previous to that, as the prisoner was on the second floor and I was on the ground, I asked him to come down, and he would not come down, and I went up to him—he said "I was in the neighbourhood of Holborn, that night, but I don't know the Black Bull; I went into a number of public-houses; I don't know the names of them"—it was a private house—when I went up to him I said "You can be rough if you like, but I have plenty of assistance out here, and on the least signal from me they will come up; it will save a lot of bother if you go quiet"—he said "I will go quiet," and he did—I took him to the station—I placed him amongst six men in the cell-yard, and Miss Moore picked him out immediately

—I saw scratches on his face and a lump on his knuckle—I said to him "How did you get that knuckle dislocated?" and he said "In the little mill that I have been into"—he was charged at the station—he made no reply at the time, but afterwards he said he was innocent.

Cross-examined. I had seen the prisoner before—I don't think he knew me—I am a plain-clothes constable, and for aught he knew I might be a civilian—plenty know me that I do not know—Miss Moore and Mr. Chapman came to the police-court, but the latter did not identify him—I did not take Griffin there, because he said he could not identify him, and so with Sullivan, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, Griffin, and Chapman, could not identify him—I asked the prisoner if he objected to being placed amongst others, and he said he did not—he was represented by a solicitor at the police-court, and reserved his defence.

The prisoner received a good character.


OLD COURT.—Saturday, January 14th, 1888.

Before Mr. Justice Charles.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-214
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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214. WILLIAM NYE (17) was indicted for unlawfully carnally knowing Emily Hill, a girl under 13 years of age.

MR. BAKER Prosecuted; MR. DILL Defended.

GUILTY . — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

There were two cases against the prisoner for offences against two other children.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-215
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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215. LAURENCE SULLIVAN (19) was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the manslaughter of John Hart.

MR. RIBTON Prosecuted; MR. ABINGER Defended.

FREDERICK BELCHER . I live at 37, James Street, and am assistant to an oilman—on Saturday night, 27th November, about half-past 12, I was going home, and in Compton Street, at the corner of Dean Street, I saw the prisoner fighting with another man—the police interfered and drove them away—the prisoner ran round Frith Street with his coat on his arm—when he got his coat on again he came back again to the corner of Frith Street, and they had a light there—they were again disturbed by the police, and they went on to Cambridge Circus—I followed them, from curiosity—when they got about the middle of the Circus the prisoner turned round and gave Hart a blow in the mouth, and then walked away towards the Dials with two or three more—Hart was behind him, about a foot, close behind him; he was not doing anything, only walking behind—Hart fell on the back of his head—I am quite sure that the prisoner is the man that struck the blow—Policeman Snell came up, a cab was fetched, and Hart was taken to the hospital, and the witness Borgas gave prisoner into custody—I went with them to the station.

Cross-examined. I was going home from work—I generally work till about half-past 12—I did not know the man who was fighting with the prisoner—I did not see the commencement of the fight—the prisoner ran away; the other walked away—I did not notice where he went—it was about five minutes between the first and second fight—the prisoner struck the man in the face, he returned it, and they had another fight; it was about nothing at all—the police drove them away, and they went in

opposite directions—I followed the prisoner to the Circus with five or six more, and then he turned round and struck Hart in the mouth—I did not notice whether Hart had been fighting; I did not notice him till we got into Moor Street—I did not hear the prisoner say anything when he turned round—I was by the side of Hart—the first fight was a fair fight—I did not see Hart there then—the prisoner was not sober; he was rolling about—Hart was sober—the moon was out at this time, and there were lamps around—there was light enough for me to see.

JOHN BAKER . I am an engineer, and live in Frith Street—on the night of 27th November, about half-past 12, I was in Cambridge Circus—I saw the prisoner there with three or four other men; Hart was walking behind the prisoner; I first saw him when the prisoner struck him with his clenched fist in the mouth, and he fell straight on the back of his head; he had not done or said anything that I know of—I did not see him before he was struck—after striking him the prisoner walked away—I saw him given into custody by Borgas—I am quite sure the prisoner is the man that struck the blow; I have known him three or four years.

Cross-examined. I saw the row at the corner of Frith Street, but I did not go up to it, it was a fight; when they moved away I and my brother followed on to Cambridge Circus, and three or four followed behind the prisoner; I did not notice Belcher—Hart was two or three yards behind the prisoner, he was walking alone, nobody was by his side—the prisoner turned round and hit him and walked away, and told him to lay down there—before that he said to his companions "Look at this man following us"—he had been drinking, he did not appear to be drunk—he had had no words with Hart—I could see no reason for his striking him, Hart said nothing when he was struck—I saw the prisoner arrested; he did not attempt to get away.

GEORGE HENRY PURKISS . I am a harness maker, and live at 19, Denmark Street, Soho—on the morning of 27th November, I was at the corner of West Street and Cambridge Circus—I saw Hart walking behind the prisoner, there were four or five men with the prisoner; I saw the prisoner hit Hart and then lift his foot as if he was going to kick him, I don't know whether he kicked him or not; he hit him in the jaw I believe, I would not say for certain because I was not quite close enough—the prisoner then walked away towards the Dials—Hart was lying on the ground—I Have known the prisoner for some years, and am quite sure he is the man that struck the blow.

Cross-examined. I was standing about 18 yards from the corner of the Circus—I could not say it was very light, it was not very dark, medium—I think there was a moon and a few stars knocking about—I was coming home from the Royal, in High Holborn; I had not been drinking, I am a teetotaler—I was 18 yards from the prisoner—Hart was close up behind him, about a yard away from him; the prisoner only struck him once, that was in the jaw, and he fell immediately, and he lifted his foot to kick him directly afterwards—I have never spoken to the prisoner, I have known him, I went to school with him, I believe.

WILLIAM SWELL (Policeman C 307). I was in Cambridge Circus—I saw Hart fall; I did not see the prisoner strike him; I saw him as he reeled round and fell on his head—Borgas pointed out the prisoner to

me, and said in his hearing "That is the man that did it"—Hart was taken in a cab to the hospital; I took the prisoner to the station.

Cross-examined. There was a light previously outside the Duke's Head, in Old Compton Street, and the prisoner had knocked a man down; that was where I first saw Hart—the prisoner had his coat off then, and as soon as I came up he put it on, and Hart picked the man up and walked away; I requested them to go away—the man who was knocked down did not wish to charge the prisoner—I could not recognise that man; I have made inquiries but have not been able to find him—it was more of a scuffle than a fight, they were both in liquor—I did not see any other fight, only when Hart fell in Cambridge Circus; I did not see who struck him, I saw him as he struck the wood pavement with his head, I was then about five yards off, it might have been ten—there was gas light, I did not notice the moon.

JOHN BORGAS I am a carpenter, living at Carburton Street—about half past twelve on this morning I was crossing Cambridge Circus, going towards Oxford Street—I heard some loud talking, and saw the prisoner strike the deceased, and he appeared to fall backwards as if falling stiff, that made me keep my eye on the prisoner—the deceased lay as if motionless—I pointed the prisoner out to the constable, and assisted to take him into custody—I only saw the one blow.

Cross-examined. I did not give evidence at the police-court—I did before the Coroner—I saw nothing but the blow struck, it was a very severe one—I did not see a kick.

EDWARD JOHN SMITH . I was house surgeon at Charing Cross Hospital—the deceased was brought there between 12.30 and 1 on 27th November—he had a wound on the left side of the head such as might have been caused by a fall—I did not observe any other mark at that time—I thought it was a trivial wound—I dressed it, and he went away—he returned about 5 the same day, and complained of severe headache—he was then admitted as an in-patient—he got worse, and died on 5th December—I made a post-mortem—I found a fracture of the skull, which caused meningitis, of which he died.

Cross-examined. When I first saw him the injury to the head had evidently been quite recently done—he did not complain of anything—he said he had been knocked down.

The deposition of the deceased taken at the hospital was read, in which he stated that hearing a wrangling and fight he went to see what it was, and received the blow and fell, but could not say who struck him.

GUILTY . — Three Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-216
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

216. CHARLES CHAPMAN (18) , Feloniously wounding William Kenny, with intent to murder. Second Count, with intent to do grievous bodily harm.


MARY ANN RESTALL . I am barmaid at the Norfolk coffee tavern, 3, Shouldham Street—on 24th December last, about 12 at night, the prisoner came in—there was a row outside by some females, and they kept halloaing in at the door, and using very abusive language—the governor went out to them, but they would not leave off, and he went out to them again—the prisoner had a large clasp knife open in his hand—there was a broken window, and he was knocking on it with the knife,

and he said "Either the darkey can have it, or the sergeant; I don't care which"—he had one of his mates with him—the prisoner had a mouth-organ piece which he was playing, and the prisoner ran him on the table and said "I will run you through your b——f——guts if you don't give it to me"—he put the knife in his left-hand pocket open—a police sergeant came in with my master, and he ordered the prisoner out three or four times, but he would not go—he was eventually put out—I did not see what took place outside.

Cross-examined. When the prisoner said "Either the darkey or the sergeant can have it," he was playing with the mouth-organ.

WILLIAM KENNY (Police Sergeant E). About 12. 15 on Christmas morning I was on duty in Shouldham Street, Marylebone, and was called by the landlord of the Norfolk coffee-house to assist in ejecting a number of men—on going there I saw the prisoner there, and a number of others—at the landlord's request I put them all out—when outside they were dancing and jumping about in a very disorderly manner, and making use of bad language—the prisoner said "What the b——hell right had you to interfere with us?"—I said "It is Christmas morning, and your liberty and dinner with your friends would be of more use to you than quarrelling with me, as I am simply doing my duty"—I was then surrounded by the whole of the prisoner's friends; they were about to attack me, and I took my lamp off my belt and turned the light full on, and kept it in my right hand attempting to defend myself; finding I could not get rid of them, I said to the prisoner "Civility is lost upon you; I shall have to put you away," and I shoved him with my open hand in the side of the face; he immediately turned round and took something from his breast pocket, and struck me in the chest, saying "Take that, you b——"—I felt a stab and a stunning sensation for the moment; I was aroused by some man asking if I was stabbed—at the same time the prisoner, who was standing at the corner, said "You b——s——; I have done you"—I said "I have not done yet; now you shall suffer for what you have done"—he ran away; I ran after him—he ran through Freshwater Place into Homer Street, where I saw Policeman 171 B standing—I cried "Stop thief"—I saw the constable grab at him and miss him—he gave chase—they went on about 30 yards, and both fell—I got up to them, and the constable said "For God's sake hold him; I am stunned"—I eventually secured him—on the way to the station the prisoner said to his friends "Take me away from the b——s——," and threw himself down—Beal and another constable were behind him at the time, and the prisoner threw his foot up and kicked them repeatedly at the side of the head and face—we were pelted by the mob—a stone hit my helmet plate, and bounded from there against a plate-glass window and broke it—eventually six or seven constables came from the station, and carried the prisoner in—I was sent out to execute other duties, and returned to the station about half-past 1—I then opened my coat and found myself covered with blood—there were cuts through my coat, tunic, and two woollen shirts—I felt very faint and queer—a doctor was sent for—I am still under his care—I have suffered a great deal of pain—I did not come out for 10 days.

EDWIN ALFRED GLOVER . I am a jeweller, of 46, Shouldham Street—on the night of 24th December at half-past 12 I saw the prisoner—the policeman was ordering him away—he was using awful bad language—

the policeman with his open hand smacked him on the face, and said "Do go on now"—the prisoner then ran into the middle of the road, and the policeman too—the prisoner went up to him, and said "I am ready for you now, you b——," and aimed a blow at his chest, and I plainly saw a blade in his hand, as it happened immediately under a street lamp.

GEORGE FLETCHER . I was in the coffee-house—I saw the prisoner with a knife in his hand chipping round a broken glass—there was a crowd and disturbance—I went and fetched the master—the prisoner said "Either the b——darkey could have it or the sergeant, whichever they like, I am prepared for them"—the sergeant came in; the prisoner refused to leave, and he was taken outside.

Cross-examined. The prisoner was playing with a mouth-organ, that was part of the disturbance—the master told him if he did not stop it he would have to go outside; I did not hear him say he would send for the police.

ALBERT JAMES CAPON . I am a surgeon, of 159, Edgware Road—I was called to the station on Christmas morning to see the sergeant—he had a clean cut about three-quarters of an inch transversely, penetrating through both thicknesses of his overcoat, two thicknesses of his tunic, through his vest and flannel shirt; it entered his chest opposite the junction of the fifth rib with the breast-bone, and penetrated to a depth of an inch and a quarter—the force of the blow had been arrested in its progress by puncturing the rib directly over the heart—his shirts were saturated with blood—if not stopped by the rib it would have gone right into his heart; it was a very serious wound.

WILLIAM COLLINS (Police Inspector D). I was in charge of Molyneaux Police-station—the prisoner was brought in by Kenny, charged with disorderly conduct and assaulting him—I produce the clothes Kenny was wearing at the time.

Cross-examined. The prisoner gave his age as 18, which I believe to be correct.

GUILTY * on Second Count.—Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

NEW COURT.—Saturday, January 14th, 1888.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-217
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceNo Punishment > sentence respited

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217. ANNIE JOHNSON (17) PLEADED GUILTY to three indictments for uttering orders for the payment of 22l. 19s. 10d. 35l. 19s. 10d., and 35l. 19s. 10d . MR. GRAIN, for the prisoner, stated that the prisoner was the dupe of the man who forged the orders.— Judgment respited.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-218
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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218. MARGARET DODD, Maliciously publishing a defamatory libel concerning Abraham Pitchfork, to which she

PLEADED NOT GUILTY and a justification.

MR. BESLEY Prosecuted; MR. MOYSES Defended.

The libel was a charge by the prisoner of indecent assault, in a letter written by her to the prosecutor's employers at their request, and the RECORDER there fore held that it was a privileged communication, and that the plea of justification ought to be withdrawn, which MR. MOYSES consented to do.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-219
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Corporal > whipping

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219. HENRY COWARD (18) and HERBERT ARNOLD (19) (a soldier), Feloniously assaulting Walter Harvey, with intent to rob him.

MR. GILL Prosecuted.

WALTER HARVEY . I am a carpenter, of 90, Devonshire Road, Holloway—on 3rd January, about a quarter to 1 a.m., I was walking home along the Junction Road, and was struck from behind on the left side of my head—I turned round, and saw Coward and a soldier, whom I cannot identify because he had his coat collar up—they both then struck me with their fists, and the soldier kicked my feet from under me, and I fell—while I was down the soldier kicked me on my eyebrow, and I also received a kick on my chin, and I had several bruises about my head and ear—Coward then put his knee across me here, and pulled my coat open—both coats were buttoned before—I screamed "Police," and they ran away—I became unconscious, and when I recovered, Dennis spoke to me and brought Coward back—I was quite sober—I lost nothing—I was seen by a surgeon.

Cross-examined by Coward. I did not see you before this—I did not shove against you and strike you.

HENRY DENNIS (Policeman Y 509). On 3rd January I was in plain clothes in Junction Road, Islington, and about 12.30 or 12.35 I saw the prisoners coming rolling along together arm in arm—I left that spot at a quarter to 1, and about 10 minutes after I saw them again—they had not made much progress, and were still rolling about together—I passed them, and about 100 yards from them met a uniform man—I began to speak to him, and then heard cries of "Murder," "Police," and "Stop thief"—I did not wait for the uniform man, but at once gave chase, and as I got to the corner of Pemberton Gardens the two prisoners ran towards me almost point blank—Arnold was in advance of Coward about five yards—I gave chase after Coward about a quarter of a mile, and then arrested him—he said nothing—I brought him back to where I had heard the cries, and saw the uniform man with the prosecutor, who was looking for his hat—he was smothered with mud, and blood was streaming from his face—I knew both the prisoners well—I confronted Coward with the prosecutor, who said "That is the man who assaulted me; the soldier struck me also, and when I was down on the ground these men got on top of me, and pulled my coat open and tried to get my watch"—Coward said nothing to that—I had seen Arnold during the week lounging outside public-houses with other men—on the evening of this same day I went to some coffee-rooms, saw Arnold, and said I wanted him—we went outside, and I said' "Do you know me?"—he said "No"—I said "I am going to take you in custody for being concerned with another man in violently assaulting a man with intent to rob him"—he said "I know nothing about it, I was not there, I was home at 11. 30"—I had not then told him the time it occurred.

FREDERICK SILK . I am a surgeon, of 9, Pemberton Road, Islington—I was called to the police-station on 3rd January, and found the prosecutor suffering from wounds on his head and face, and a superficial wound over his left eyebrow about half an inch long, and another at the left side of his chin about the same length, also superficial, but the edges of the cut on his chin were ragged—his right ear was slightly bruised and swollen and tender, and there was a small crack in the cartilage of it about a quarter of an inch long—his neck and jaw around

the right ear were also red and bruised—on the same evening I examined the drum of his ear, and found that it showed signs of recent injury—I am not at all certain whether he may not have some trouble with his hearing afterwards—the other wounds are quite trivial.

By the COURT. The wound with the ragged edges might have been the result of a kick by a boot; the others might have been inflicted with the fist or by the boot—I think the one on the ear must have been done with a boot, or something like that, as it is unusual for the cartilage of the ear to be cracked in that way, and it shows also very considerable signs of violence.

Arnold's Statement before the Magistrate." All I can say is I don't remember anything about it."

Coward's Defence. I am very sorry for what occurred; I was very drunk at the time; as for attempting to rob him, I am quite innocent of it.

HENRY DENNIS (Re-examined). Coward had been drinking, but he was not drunk—he gave me a smart chase for a quarter of a mile, which a drunken man could not do.

GUILTY . — Nine Months' Hard Labour and Twenty-five Strokes with the Cat each.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-220
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

220. JAMES RAYNER (19) , Robbery with violence on John Brodie, and stealing 1l. 1s. 4d., his money.

MR. PHILLIPS Prosecuted.

JOHN BRODIE . I am a horse breaker, and have no present fixed residence—on 4th January, about 10 p.m., I was in the Devonshire public-house, near Marylebone Police-station—the prisoner and another man were there, and I treated them to ale—when I left they came with me—when I had got some little distance from the house, the man not in custody pinned my hands behind me, and the prisoner put his arm round my neck, and at the same time took my purse containing my money, out of my left-hand trousers pocket—I called out "Police!" and the other man absconded, but a policeman came up and took the prisoner, who threw the money down an area—this (produced) is my purse; it contained 1l. 4s. 4d.

WILLIAM FRENCH (Policeman D 44). About 10. 20 on 4th January I was in Devonshire Street, Marylebone, and heard shouts of "Police!" in Beaumont Street—I went there, and saw the prisoner and another man running in the direction of High Street—I chased the other man, and finding I could not catch him, I turned round and chased the prisoner about 10 yards, and caught him—as I arrested him he stood with his back towards an area, and threw this purse through the railings, and the prosecutor came up and charged him with assaulting him and robbing him—he said "I don't know anything about it"—I afterwards went into the area and found this purse containing 4s. 8d., and afterwards I picked up 1s. 6 1/2 d. on the pavement—the prisoner was charged at the station—he said "It is quite right; I did steal the purse, and I threw it down the area"—he might have been drinking but he was not drunk. The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I was a little intoxicated at the time, and gave way to great temptation."

Prisoner's Defence. I might have touched his shoulder, but I never put my arm round his neck.

GUILTY of robbery without violence .— Four Months' Hard Labour.

THIRD COURT.—Saturday, January 14th, 1888.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-221
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty; Not Guilty > unknown; Guilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour

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221. FREDERICK GOLDER (17), GEORGE WRIGHT (17), JOSEPH HONEYSET (17), SARAH GOLDER (39), and JOSEPH COOK (39) , Breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Harriet Morton, and stealing a carpet and other articles, her goods. Second Count, receiving the same.


MR. BLACKWELL Prosecuted; MR. PURCELL defended Cook. JOHN RICHARDSON (Police Sergeant B). About 12 o'clock on 27th November I went to Mrs. Golder's house, 1, Sump Court, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea—I said to her "Have you got anything in your room that does not belong to you?"—she has only one room; her nephew, Frederick Golder, and Wright lodged with her—she said "I have nothing but what "belongs to me"—I searched her room, and found on the female's bed (which she was sleeping on in the earlier part of the morning, when I had gone there previously and arrested Frederick Golder) a down pillow in a case, a blanket, a comb, and other articles, all of which Mrs. Morton has identified as her property—I said to her "How do you account for these?"—she said "A sailor chap brought them here and left them; I don't know where he had them from"—I said "Have you seen a paper weight representing five or six dogs, silver or metal?"—she said "Yes, it was on the mantelpiece"—I said "Who put it there?"—she said "I don't know, one of the lads"—I also asked her about the comb, and she said she knew nothing about it—I then arrested her and told her the charge—she said "I did not know they stole them"—when charged at the station with receiving goods stolen by Honeyset and Golder she made no reply—about a quarter to 11 the same day I went to Cook's house, 6, Halstead Road, Fulham, a private house—I saw him in his back yard—I said "I am a police officer; I shall arrest you for receiving, well knowing them to have been stolen, a quantity of stair carpets, a Brussels carpet, a rug, a sealskin dolman, two clocks, and various articles of wearing apparel"—he said "From whom?"—I said "From four lads, three of whom are now in custody at Chelsea"—(I made this note just after I gave my evidence before the Magistrate; it is not a copy of the depositions, I made it from my recollection)—Cook said "What are their names?"—I said "Wright, Golder, and Honeyset, and a lad named Champ, not in custody"—he said "When?" I said "About three weeks ago"—he said "I know nothing about it"—I said "I shall search your house"—he said "You are quite welcome to do that; there is nothing there, only what belongs to me"—I searched, and found four pillow cases, two curtains, two towels, a table napkin, a piece of flannelette, a spirit bottle, a dress skirt, a toilet cover, and four petticoats—those have been identified by Mrs. Morton—they were all in a cupboard and box in Cook's bedroom upstairs, except the spirit bottle, which was in a cupboard downstairs; the bottle had this stopper in it—Cook, his wife, and two sons occupy the whole house, I think—I saw some dogs there, but my sergeant, who was with me, found the dogs there—I arrested the prisoner; he said nothing, nor when charged at the station.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. At the back of Cook's house was a stable, such as could be used by a bottle dealer for storing bottles; there

were no bottles there—the prisoner keeps horses there—these petticoats and articles were found in the bedrooms upstairs—the better articles and the articles of clothing were found in a box: the two pillow cases were taken off the bed—you might call the cupboard a wardrobe cupboard—the bottle was empty—I asked Cook how he accounted for it—he said "Oh, I buy scores of them"—I should not imagine this top was silver; it is not an uncommon sort of cork—there were four dogs.

HARRIET MORTON . I live at 6, Elm Park Road, Fulham, and am a widow—from 6th October to 12th November I was at another house I rent at Tadworth, near Epsom—I had fastened up my Fulham house, and I left it without anybody in it—when I came back on the 12th I found it had been broken into—I had been communicated with by a friend before I came back—I found it in very great confusion, and the best part of my ornaments and wearing apparel were gone—I have not since seen any of the best of my things that were taken—I identify these things produced. this comb, blanket, pillow, bottle and cork—I have never sold whisky bottles with a cork like this—I found this knife on a piano in my house—I had this bill printed with a list of the articles.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. They took Brussels carpet and other things, altogether to the value of 120l.—they had very nearly stripped my house; as a matter of fact, they would have quite stripped it if I had been away a little longer—on the evening I came back I found the house nearly empty—I screamed, and it happened some men were coming to take some more—I do not sell bottles; if they were sold they would be sold by the servants—I never find they sell things I do not wish them to—this bill was pretty well posted about the neighbourhood, so that anybody might know—if they went and told the police they might get the 10l. reward if some of the property were recovered—I did not get the bill up under the advice of the police.

Re-examined. I had this bottle when I left the house.

THOMAS MANLY (Police Sergeant B). I arrested Wright and Honeyset—I was present when Mrs. Golder was brought to the station—when charged she said "Had I known the things had been stolen I should have thrown them out"—I was with Richardson about two minutes after he had arrested Cook—I found some table napkins—in the yard outside I found a Mount St. Bernard dog with a collar; it has since been identified by Mrs. Freund—you cannot read the name on the collar now—I also found a puppy St. Bernard, a Dachshund, and a black poodle—I said to the prisoner at Chelsea Police-station "How do you account for the possession of these dogs?"—he said "I bought the Mount St. Bernard in Club Row about a month ago and gave 2l. for it; the other two belong to a Mr. Simpson of Windsor, and the puppy I bought for 15s."

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. He told me there were several other dogs hawked about for sale at the same place—he did not mention anything about the St. Bernard.

ESTHER FREUND . I am the wife of John Christian Freund—we live at 13, Clairville Grove, Kensington—this dog is my property; I value it at 25l.—the collar is worth 10s.—I had last seen it before I saw it at the police-station, on 12th November; it was then wearing the collar, and the name Hector Freund, 13, Clairville Grove, Queen's Gate, was on the collar—that name has been obliterated.

JOSEPH HONEYSET (In custody). I am a labourer—I was 17 last June

I—went with Wright, Golder, and Champ on a Thursday night a fortnight before I was taken into custody to 6, Elm Park Road, at the end of the road—Wright and Champ, who goes by the name of "Butcher," put the catch back of the front basement window with this knife, opened the window, and got in and went to the back, opened the door there, and let us in—we went upstairs and took two ivory-backed brushes, and pulled up a stair-carpet, and lifted up the feather bed, and we found in a pillowcase this sealskin dolman under the bedclothes—we took two dresses and white linen out of the drawers, and packed the things together and put them in a counterpane—we took a marble clock off the mantelpiece on the drawing-room floor, and a little clock from upstairs in the back room—we took silver-plated spoons out of a basket in the front basement room downstairs, and a silver-plated fish-slice and fork, put them in the counterpane after wrapping them in the linen, and rolled the counterpane downstairs—we put them on the side steps till Champ fetched a hand-barrow to the door; we put the articles on the barrow, and took them to Cook's, who gave us 15s., which we divided among us—next night we and Charles Cross went to the house again and took the drawing-room carpet up two bronze warriors, and a lot of little mats with gold fringe, three oil-paintings from the drawing-room, and all the linen we had left from the night before—every article of linen had a little round hole done round with red cotton—we also took three paperweight dogs; there were five in a row, all fitted together; a comb, pillow and pillow-case, a bottle with whisky in it (this looks like the bottle), and a blanket—we took the blanket, pillow, and pillow-case to Mrs. Golder on the Thursday night before we went to Cook's—she said to Champ "Where did you get them from?"—he said "He has fetched them from sea"—she said "Did you?"—I said "Yes, "and she gave us 1s.—Champ asked her 3s.—she said "I will owe you the other 2s."—she said "You b——thieves, where did you get these from?"—Champ said I had been away to sea and had fetched them—I did not say that in my statement—we then went back to the house while Champ was going for the barrow—on the second night we put all the things on the barrow and took them to Cook's—he gave us 5s. that night—the third time I did not go to the house myself—I made a statement to Inspector Berthoud at the police-station of my own accord—Wright said nothing in my presence at Cook's or at any time—when we took the things to Cook he said to Wright the first night "Don't fetch me any more of these pillows; I can't get rid of them"—Wright told Cook he got them from the house 6, Elm Park Road.

Cross-examined by Sarah Golder. You were not at home when we first came—six of us were having tea when you came in—you did not sleep in the house—you asked Frederick Golder what he did with so many persons in the place—he said "It is all right, aunt; I will send them down in a minute," and he sent them down one at a time.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Cook was not told when we took him these rags that a servant had given them to us in clearing out a room where a lady had died, nothing of the kind; I swear that—the last time I was in a Court of Justice was 18 months ago at the Middlesex Sessions—I was charged there, and got six months; I was not innocent—a door was left open, and I walked in—I came out on 23rd April—I have not been in custody since then; I have escaped the police—I was not in a

Court of Justice before then—I know Warder Tyrell, who looks after people at Holloway—I did not do four months before I did six—I swear I was not convicted before I did the six months—I have never been convicted except the once when I got the six months, or been in a police court—I know Johnny Dunn; he is called "Johnny Boy"—he did not tell me he was going to round on me—I was in the public-house when there was written up in chalk "Johnny Boy the Informer"—I was not present on 12th November when he said to me "I mean to round on you," and when Golder said "All right, Carey the Informer;" if Johnny Boy swears I was it must be a lie—Anderson said in my presence, on 25th November, about 4 o'clock, at Dunn's shop, "Where is Carey the informer?"—one of them asked Johnny Boy whether he had rounded on them, and he said "Yes"—one of them did not say to Johnny Boy "If you do round on us we mean to have you in it for fetching the barrow"—Johnny Boy had nothing to do with the barrow—one of them did not say "We will have you in for it; we will say you helped with the barrow"—I would not charge an innocent man—Johnny boy did not tell me there was a reward of 10l. out; I knew it—the first rounding was when I spoke to Inspector Bertoldi at the station—I was not in custody when Johnny Boy first rounded—I did not make the acquaintance of Wright or Golder in Holloway.

Re-examined. I made no statement to the police about this till I had been in custody myself—I was present when Cook and Mrs. Golder were brought out by Inspector Bertoldi; my statement was read over; they said nothing.

MARY EASTON . I am Zachariah Easton's wife—he is a greengrocer, of 74, Cheyne Walk—we have a barrow, which I let out on hire—on or about the 10th I let a barrow to Anderson about 6 o'clock—he kept it from an hour to an hour and a half.

HENRY ANDERSON . I live at 9, Church Street, Chelsea, and am a labourer—I borrowed a barrow from Mrs. Easton and gave it to Honeyset and Champ; I do not know what they did with it—I next saw the barrow half an hour or two hours afterwards—they gave it to me, and I took it back—I did not know what they had been doing with it in the meantime.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. When the barrow was brought back Honeyset was present with Golder and Wright; Golder gave me in Honeyset's presence 2d., and said "Here is 2d. for fetching the barrow"—I took it back to Mr. Easton.

JOHN DUNN . I live at 4, Augusta Court, Lawrence Street, Chelsea, and am a labourer, and am working for Mr. Godbeer, of 1, Lordship Place, Lawrence Street—I am twenty-five years old—I have been to Mrs. Golder's room—I slept there on 9th November; Mrs. Golder was not there—I have seen nothing of Cook.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I am known as Johnny Boy—on 12th November I saw Golder, Honeyset, and Champ in Church Street, and I said to them "Imean to round on you"—some time after that Honeyset, Golder, and Champ came into a public-house after me, and Golder in Honeyset's presence wrote on the wall "Johnny Boy the Informer"—on 25th November Honeyset and the other four came to my shop; Honeyset said "Where is Carey, the informer?"—Honeyset asked me if I had rounded on him—I told him at first no, I had not; he said

some one told him, and then I told him I had—I made him understand I had rounded—Honeyset then said "We mean to have you in it for fetching a barrow"—I swear he said that—I had nothing to do with fetching a barrow—I first communicated with the police on Tuesday, 4th November—I saw the bill offering a reward after I had given information—I saw it at the police-station when I went there—I said I thought I might get it.

Re-examined. I am sure Honeyset was the one who said "We mean to have you into it for fetching a barrow"—he was outside the shop, and he was the one who spoke—I said before the Magistrate they said it.

Sarah Golder in her defence stated that she did not come home, and did not sleep at home for three or four weeks; that when she did she saw the pillow on the bed, and asked where it came from, and that Golder said Joe, meaning Honeyset, had been to sea and had brought it home, and that Honeyset said he had brought it; that the said she would give 1s., and gave 1s. for it.



WRIGHT then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in March, 1887, in the name of George Palmer. HONEYSET** to one in October, 1886.

COOK to one in August, 1884, in the name of John White.

GOLDER and HONEYSET— Ten Months' Hard Labour each.

WRIGHT— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

COOK— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.

There was another indictment against COOK for stealing the dog collar. The COURT commended the conduct of the police.

NEW COURT.—Monday, January 16th, 1888.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-222
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

Related Material

222. COLIN McRAE was again indicted (See page 356) for unlawfully conspiring with other persons to forge a warrant for the payment of money; also on two indictments for forging and uttering life warrants; also stealing two blank cheques. The evidence in all these cases being the same as in the former case, MR. GILL offered no evidence.


OLD COURT—Monday, January 16th, Tuesday 17th, and Wednesday 18th, 1888.

Before Mr. Justice Charles.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-223
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence

Related Material

223. ROBERT GALLINGAD BONTINE CUNNINGHAME GRAHAM and JOHN BURNS were indicted for a riot, an unlawful assembly, and an assault upon William Blunden and John Martell, police-constables, in the execution of their duty.


CHARLES HUNT . I am superintendent of the G Division of the Police—I have been in the police nearly 27 years, and in the G Division six years, and have been superintendent about eight months—since I have been superintendent my duty has been principally in Clerkenwell—prior to 13th November two orders were issued by Sir Charles Warren, of 8th and 12th. November respectively, which I now produce, (Read:

Notice. Meetings in Trafalgar Square. In consequence of the disorderly scenes which have recently occurred in Trafalgar Square, and of the danger to the peace of the Metropolis from meetings held there. and with a view to prevent such disorderly proceedings, and to preserve the peace, I, Charles Warren, the Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, do hereby give Notice, with the sanction of the Secretary of State and the concurrence of the Commissioners of Her Majesty's Works and Public Buildings, that until further intimation no Public Meetings will be allowed to assemble in Trafalgar Square, nor will speeches be allowed to be delivered therein; and all well-disposed persons are hereby cautioned and requested to abstain from joining or attending any such meeting or assemblage; and Notice is further given that all necessary measures will be adopted to prevent any such meeting or assemblage, or the delivery of any speech, and effectually to preserve the public peace, and to suppress any attempt at the disturbance thereof. This Notice is not intended to interfere with the use by the public of Trafalgar Square for all ordinary purposes, or to affect the regulations issued by me with respect to Lord Mayor's Day. CHARLES WARREN, the Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, Metropolitan Police Office, 4, Whitehall Place, 8th November, 1887." "Notice. Police Regulation. In exercise of the powers vested in me under the Act 2 and 3 Vict., cap. 47, I hereby make the following regulation:—No organised procession shall be allowed to approach Trafalgar Square on Sunday, the 13th instant.

CHARLES WARREN , the Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, Metropolitan Police Office, 4, Whitehall Place, 12th November, 1887. "Those notices were very extensively posted in all parts of London on the day they were issued—on the morning of the 12th I received instructions as to my conduct on the following day—in accordance with those instructions, I went to Trafalgar Square on the morning of the 13th—I was in command of 100 constables—the spaces of the Square within the parapets and the line of posts was kept clear by the police on that day—they were so stationed as to leave the footpaths round the Square perfectly clear, and the men under my command were posted at the south-eastern corner of the Square to keep the line of posts there—during the day a very large number of persons assembled in the neighbourhood of Trafalgar Square, and as the day passed along they increased—at about 4 o'clock I estimated the number as from 20, 000 to 30, 000 collected round the Square, and the approaches—there was no disorder whatever until about 4 o'clock—of course there was considerable difficulty in keeping the crowd moving, and getting, the vehicular traffic through, but no disorder, or any attempt to attack the police—at about 10 minutes past 4 o'clock I was standing in front of my men opposite Morley's Hotel—I was looking in the direction of the National Gallery—there was considerable commotion, and I heard more commotion than I had heard before, behind me; I turned round, and I saw the prisoner Graham and also saw Burns there, in a conflict with the police who were under my special command—I had never seen Mr. Graham before; he was close to the police with his hat off—in my opinion at that time there were about 100 or 200 persons in the attack—some of the police had their staves out—I had not given any order to that effect—I saw sticks raised in the air and flourished about; in fact, there was a general scrimmage—I did not observe Graham doing anything, but I saw Burns,

who I well knew—he was then in the water table, just outside the footway, fighting with his fists violently and furiously at the police, who were repelling them—by the water table I mean the little gutters that run in the outer edge of the footway—he was facing the police, close to them, and striking out—I called out to several constables who were near him, one of whom I knew, "Hold him; that is Burns"—that was to Stapleton of the L Division, and I afterwards endeavoured to go to them, but I had some difficulty as the crowd was great, but I went up and caught hold of him by the back of the collar with my right hand, and I said to him "Burns, I was told you were coming to do this"—he replied "I am not Burns"—we then conveyed him through a cordon of the police to the Square—Mr. Graham was there at the time—Burns then said, in answer to something said by somebody else, "Well, I am Burns"—I then handed him over to Sergeant Sheppard, who was inside the Square in charge of a body of police on reserve—at this time there was confusion and disorder outside the Square—I went back to my post directly—they became very disorderly—there was shouting, hooting, and yelling up and down—the mounted police were endeavouring to break them up, and shortly afterwards the Life Guards came up, at least they appeared—there was no disorder up to the time that the attack on the police was made—after that it became very serious indeed—the mounted police tried to break up the crowd, but they failed—the Guards appeared shortly afterwards—in my judgment I think it had become necessary that they should be called out—looking at the character of the crowd and what I saw, I think that a meeting in the Square would have led to a breach of the peace; at all events, I feel convinced that had that multitude been permitted to assemble there serious consequences might have arisen to the peace of the inhabitants and to the neighbourhood generally—in my opinion there were all the elements of disorder there—I don't think they could have been dispersed or controlled without danger of a very serious conflict—I had the opportunity of observing the character of the crowd—there was a fair sprinkling of respectable persons, but the majority, in my opinion, consisted of what we term the London roughs, men of the lower class, who by their appearance and demeanour were ready for anything—in my judgment the assemblage of such persons in large numbers would constitute a public danger—if the attempt to break through the line of police had been successful I have no doubt it would have led to most serious consequences, and I had serious doubts that they would have broken through, if the men had not stood very firm—I was certainly afraid at that moment, owing to the large number of people who appeared determined to force the police ranks—a large number of persons were taking part in that attempt—my line of 100 men were four deep, extending about 30 feet—having had some intimation of what might take place, I had requested that the reserve should be brought up, and we then stood seven or eight deep, with the reserve in the Square; that strengthened my corner.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. As far as I could see the crowd of 20 or 30 persons who were gathered together in the Square when this conflict took place were London roughs—of course I saw a large number of people on the other side of the Square, and I could not define what they were—up to that time there had been no disorder, no attempt on the police ranks, only shouting and horseplay—my men were stationed

in the line of the granite pillars, on the asphalte of the Square, in a semicircular form, opposite Morley's Hotel—I think the footpath there is about six or seven feet wide—between my men and the outside would be six or seven paces, I think—I did not see the defendants advance across the street, nor did I see the first collision with the police—I could not say who struck the first blow—I did not see Mr. Graham strike anybody, I did not see him do anything—he was actually in custody when I first saw him—his hat was off; I could not say whether he was carrying it in his hand or not—I could not say whether he had gloves on; I was dealing principally with the other prisoner—I do not think he had a stick, but I really could not say—when the 100 people or so were following I saw sticks in the air—I cannot say I saw any one hit with a stick—there was a considerable crowd—I did not see any policeman hit with a stick—none of the 100 people were arrested except the defendants, as far as I am aware—the 100 people did not come to our way—I was looking towards the National Gallery—there was considerable confusion afterwards—they did not attempt to break the line of police again—the confusion consisted of shouting and yelling and rushing up and down—I heard a window broken afterwards; I could not tell who broke it; it was at the Grand Hotel—I could not tell you the number of police in the Square; I can tell you the number on duty that day preserving order; I should think there were probably about 1, 500 police in the Square, but I could not say—the conflict lasted, I think, about two minutes.

Cross-examined by Burns. I saw you struggling wildly against the police, endeavouring, I believe, to get into the Square—I could not say the effect of the blows; you certainly were striking at them—no constable complained to me of being assaulted by you—you were not charged at Bow Street with assaulting the police; you were charged with riot and inciting to riot, I think—I did not see Graham and you approach the Square at first, I only saw you after the conflict had commenced—I gave evidence at Bow Street—I did not see you and Graham arm in arm—I saw you striking out violently—it is impossible for me to say whether one man arm in arm with another could have a conflict with the police in two minutes, I could not define anything of that sort.

Re-examined. There was a very considerable difference between the character of the crowd before the attempt was made on the police and the crowd approaching behind the defendants—we were appealed to by respectable people after this attempt, to help them put of the way—the crowd behind the defendants appeared to me an organised body coming on purpose—I did not know any of those persons; Burns was the only man I knew.

PHILIP HENRY GILES (Police Superintendent F). I have been 22 years in the force—on 13th November I was on duty at the east side of Trafalgar Square, facing Charing Cross Railway-station—a day or two before the 13th I had seen copies of this notice (produced) posted at Paddington Green and at Bishop's Road Bridge, and at other places that I cannot name. (This notice was read as follows: " Metropolitan Radical Federation. A great demonstration will be held in Trafalgar Square on Sunday, 13th November, at 4 p.m., to demand the release of Mr. William O'Brien, M. P., and other Irish patriots. Contingents will march from all the Radical Clubs in the metropolis. Friends of the Irish cause arc earnestly invited

to join in the processions. Attend in your thousands to protest against the infamous and inhuman conduct of the present coercional Tory and so called Liberal Unionist Government. James Timms, 6, Queen Anne Terrace, Battersea Park, S. W.") I had not been on duty in Trafalgar Square at all before 13th November, not in connection with any of the meetings; I came there specially for the 13th—up till 4 o'clock all the centre of the Square within the posts and the stone parapet had been kept clear all day from 10 a.m.—there was a cordon of police round the Square—on the east, north, and west there are stone parapets as well—I am not quite sure whether there are stone posts, I forget for a moment—there are steps at the north-east and north-west corners—you enter at the south on the level on both sides of the Nelson Monument—up to 4 o'clock no attempt had been made to force the Square—I went on duty at 10 o'clock—a large number of people had assembled outside the police up to 4 o'clock; they had been moved on by the police in attendance—in my opinion the crowd opposite where I was stationed from 2 to 4 o'clock consisted of a great number of roughs and a great number of respectable people—it appeared to me whenever the roughs saw the opportunity of a great crowd assembled together they hustled people and came up and pushed against the police—there were police outside the cordon who were keeping the mob in order—I was inside the Square—they kept the pavement clear opposite to Morley's Hotel, and helped people who wanted to go along—up to 4 o'clock the first I saw of the defendants was that I saw Graham and Burns coming across the road arm in arm by the post-office by Morley's Hotel—I heard Graham shouting "Now for the Square," but I saw them before that, I saw them coming a short distance away—he was in the roadway when he shouted; his head was turned towards the Grand Hotel on the other side of the street, and he appeared to be shouting to the crowd, who were following, to follow him—all the people in the street seemed following him; all the heads were turned that way—I saw sticks in the hands of the people following—I heard hissing, and people shouting generally—when they got close up to the police the place was full of people, and their heads were turned towards the Square, and they appeared to me to be coming for the Square—I could not say how many were following—Graham and Burns tried to get through the cordon of police to get into the Square—just before they got to the pavement on the Trafalgar Square side Burns let go the arm of Graham and got behind him, kind of pushed him forward—I was a little distance off, and could not see if he pushed him hard—Graham and Burns tried to light their way through the police; I did not see any actual blow struck, but I saw them fighting with their fists as though to try to get through—the people were shoving and pushing behind, and were shortly afterwards dispersed by the police—they waved their sticks at the police—I saw Graham pass through the ranks, he was in custody then—I saw him afterwards at the police-station—Burns said at Bow Street, while he was waiting in the room, "We attacked you at your weakest point"—I should estimate the number of people outside the cordon of police, all the way round the Square, at 4 o'clock, at 40, 000 or 50, 000—I certainly think if that crowd of people had been allowed to get into the Square there would have been danger of serious disturbance to the public peace—they could not have been dispersed without danger to peace and property—Graham seemed excited when coming across the

Square, but he seemed calm and quite quiet afterwards, when in the Square—I noticed stones thrown before and after—I did not know Graham or Burns before—I saw the police draw their staves—I gave the order because the crowd was so great and the police were being struck at in such a manner with sticks and stones, and I thought it necessary—the police were being struck at with sticks, and stones were being thrown before I ordered them to draw their staves; it was in consequence of that the order was given—it was necessary, in my opinion, in consequence of the way the mob was behaving at that part of the Square—the mob that followed, when Graham shouted, came from the Strand.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I first saw the defendants after they had crossed the Strand and were by the post-office at the corner—I did not see them on the refuge in the middle of the street—they appeared to advance in front of the people who were accompanying them; I could see them quite clearly; I don't think there were many people in front of them; there might have been people in front of them, there were people about there—the people who hit at the police were not accompanying Graham and Burns, that was another part, lower down; they did not seem to be following Graham and Burns at that time—I cannot tell if any of the persons who accompanied Graham and Burns hit the police with sticks; there was a general scrimmage, and the people following Graham and Burns fought for three or four minutes; they did hit them with sticks—I cannot give you the name of any policeman who was hit with a stick—I am not aware that any person was arrested at that place for hitting a policeman with a stick—the police got off the pavement a short distance to meet the crowd generally—I did not see who struck the first blow; I cannot say—I heard Graham say "Now for the Square"—there was a good deal of noise and shouting going on at the time—all I heard him say at that time was "Now for the Square"—when he was crossing the road I did not hear him say "We are come to hold a meeting in the Square"—I did not hear him say "The Square is as free to the people as to the police"—I don't think Graham had got his hat on—I did not observe whether he was holding it in his hand; my impression was he threw it in the air when he shouted—I did not notice whether he caught it again—I don't know if he had it in his hand when he was arrested—I don't know if he had gloves on—I saw him pushing with his fists, but I did not observe whether he had gloves on—I did not see the police use their staves on Mr. Graham—I saw he was wounded when he was taken in the Square after, the scrimmage was over; he had a cut on the top of his head; I did not see blood flowing, I saw the doctor attend him—the people who followed the defendants appeared to come from the direction of Charing Cross Station principally—I cannot say if they were part of the crowd already collected, or a fresh contingent; they all made a rush at once; I was in the middle of the Square the whole of the day—I did not hear Graham say "You need not kill me, boys; I am quite willing to be arrested"—the scrimmage lasted three or four minutes—no attempt was made afterwards on the part of the crowd to break into that part of the Square where I was.

Crow-examined by Burns. The omnibuses and cabs were moving about and around close to the Square at this time at a very slow pace—I did not hear you declared to be separated from Graham when you were

approaching the police—you were on Graham's left side as you approached, arm in arm with him—I did not say you appeared excited—Graham showed excitement by the pace he came across the road at, and his general appearance was that of an excited man, even the shout—you were walking rather fast; not at a run—you let go of Graham's arm about 12 feet from the first row of the cordon of police—yours and Graham's approach towards the police would be a rush—what ensued when you reached the police appeared that you were determined to get into the Square beyond the police—you did not strike out wildly; it was more of a push in this manner—I could not name any policeman you struck—I saw you strike the policemen as you tried to get through—no policeman complained to me of your assaulting them—he might not have complained if you had done so; it would not be customary to complain, but to take you into custody—no complaint was made.

Re-examined. Burns struck at the police in this way (describing it) trying to get through—I should think two out of every three people who came up had sticks—in my opinion it was a determined attempt to get through the police—I have not the slightest doubt in the world of it—the police stepped some few feet off the pavement to meet the attack; that is done usually if necessity demands it—I saw a large number of people advancing, and I was afraid we might not be able to hold the corner, and to hold the corner I ordered the advance—previously to 4 o'clock there was no attempt to break through at my corner—after I had taken Graham and Burns into custody nobody attempted to break through the portion of the Square I was in.

THOMAS MAITLAND (Policeman E 308). On Sunday afternoon, 13th November, I was on duty at the south-east corner of Trafalgar Square in uniform—Blunden 100 E was next to me on my right—I was in the front rank keeping the Square to prevent any persons entering the interior—I first saw the defendants about 4, arm in arm, coming towards the Square from the Strand with a large crowd following behind them—they came to the direction where I was, from the corner of Morley's Hotel—I did not see whether Graham was wearing a hat or not—I heard him say as he approached "Now for the Square—he turned round to the crowd behind him and said it—Burns was with him, and had hold of his arm at the time—they came up to us, and tried to push their way through the line of police with their hands—the crowd followed—the police resisted their attempt to get into the Square; put out their hands to keep them back—Graham said "I have got as much right in the Square as a policeman"—up to that time I had not drawn my truncheon, nor had the other constables drawn theirs—I did not see that any one of them was drawn—they continued to try to get through into the Square, the crowd following—there was hooting and shouting—I saw sticks and stones—I saw Graham strike Blunden who stood next me with his right hand in the mouth—they, the crowd, pushed him to the right, away from me, and I saw him arrested and taken into the Square—I did not see Burns arrested, nor did I afterwards see him in custody—I did not see whether Graham was wearing his hat at the time he struck Blunden—there was a great deal of noise; shouting and hooting at the time—the police stood firm, and the crowd could not break through—Graham left go of Burns' arm a few yards before he got up to us—Graham was five or six yards off, I think, when he called out to the crowd "Now for

the Square"—I am quite sure it was Graham who said that—he commenced to run before he got close up.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. There was a great deal of noise and shouting—I did not hear Graham say "We have come to hold a meeting in the Square"—all I heard him say was "Now for the Square"—Blunden and I were standing side by side in the front rank when he was struck in the mouth—we were in the position we had been in all the morning—we had not moved forwards at all—Graham crossed the pavement on the outside of the Square before he got up to us—he was followed by people with sticks across the pavement, and the people with sticks hit at the police—I did not see any policeman hit—I know some were hit—I don't know their names—I cannot tell you whether the person who hit Blunden had a hat on or not—he had brown gloves on—none of the police had drawn their truncheons at this time; not that I am aware of—I did not see that any one had hit him at this time—I did not see any one hit him—I don't know if any one might have hit him without my seeing them—I know he was hit and wounded in the head—I don't know if that was before he was arrested—I saw him arrested—I don't know whether he was wounded then or not—I was under the orders of Superintendent Hunt—I believe Superintendent Giles was in charge of a different party.

By the COURT. Giles had nothing to do with giving me any orders that I am aware of.

Cross-examined by Burns. You tried to push through the police with your hands up—I did not see you strike any one—I did not take notice of your being separated from Graham—you were on Graham's right as you approached the square—Blunden was on my right.—I would not be sure or not whether Graham was wounded on the head after he was arrested and taken into the square—I heard afterwards he was wounded.

WILLIAM BLUNDEN (Policeman E 100). On the afternoon of 13th November, I was on duty at the south-east corner of Trafalgar Square, under the orders of Superintendent Hunt—I was standing in the line of police next to Maitland—about 4, or a little after, I saw persons advancing towards our line; they came from the direction of the Strand and St. Martin's Lane—I heard one shout out "Now for the Square; "I did not see who it was that shouted that, I could hear it shouted above the noise—I saw Mr. Graham about five or six yards from me, I did not notice Burns—Mr. Graham was coming straight for the police ranks, we were standing firm at the time they came in contact, with us; we simply kept our ground—I had not my staff drawn—I did not notice any staves drawn at that time—Mr. Graham was fighting his way, putting up his hands so (describing) to fight his way through—I put up my hands to keep him back; he said he had as much right to the Square as the police, and he struck me in the mouth with his clenched fist; it was a violent blow, it made my lips swell, and it cut my lip a little, the inside of my lip; my helmet was knocked off close to the kerb—I did not arrest him, he went off to my right—I picked up my helmet—the crowd was so great it pushed him away to my right—there was a considerable number of persons whose force was brought to bear upon the police—I saw no more of him till he was in the Square in custody—he had on brown kid gloves when he struck me, and a brown hard hat, a hard felt hat—I saw several sticks raised, coming in the rush—there was a rush on the police at the

time he came up, and he was in the front of them, pushing up against me—up to that time I had not drawn my staff—he was moving his hands about, throwing his arms about—I don't think he had a hat on—Burns went to the left of me, as they made the rush he broke away to my left, I saw him standing there—they appeared to be making an attempt to break through the police, because Graham pushed up against me, tried to get past me, the people followed shouting—I did not see Graham strike anybody, or see him struck—I saw the people with sticks striking at the police—I could not say the men's name or numbers, several were assaulted, I saw them struck, there was a stick broken up close by me.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I could not say whether I was standing between 100 and 108, I was standing near them under the command of Superintendent Hunt; Superintendent Giles's men were at the same place; I think they were nearer the column, I won't be sure; I think they were just to the west of Hunt's men, I don't think Hunt's men went quite as far as the Havelock statue, they were next the parapet at the south-east corner—I could not say how many squads there were between Giles's men and the Nelson Monument—as I was stationed there, I saw the two prisoners coming towards the police from Morley's Hotel, crossing the roadway at the bottom of the road that comes down past Morley's Hotel; they walked slowly until they came to the kerb, then they made a rush at the front line of police, of which I was one; they were followed by a crowd, several of them had sticks; Graham said "Now for the Square, we have as much right there as the police," at the same time—I am quite sure that he had his hat on when he struck me—we were standing at the entrance from the Strand, in the Square; I was about three yards from the kerb, on the pavement, I was not against the pillars, I was at the opening—I know the little rows of granite pillars that go along the Square—it might be about six or seven feet, perhaps, from those pillars to the kerb at the outside of the pavement—I was six or seven feet from the kerb—Mr. Graham had crossed the pavement before he came up to me—none of the police to my knowledge had advanced to the kerb, I should have seen them if they had, if the line had been broken I should certainly have seen it—I can say that they did not, they remained in line, as they were before, they certainly did not move forward to meet the defendants—I did not see any of the police hit Mr. Graham, I saw afterwards that he had a wound, I did not see it done—he was four or five yards from me when I first saw him; about that, of course, I did not measure the distance, it might have been two, three, or four yards, I cannot say exactly; it might have been either—he had not hold of anybody's arm to my knowledge, I mean I did not notice it, I did not see whether he had or not, the crowd was so great that I could not see—I did not see Mr. Burns there at all—I did not notice him—I was standing on the left of Martel, Maitland stood next me on my right, we three were next to one another.

Cross-examined by Burns. I did not see you on the 13th, I did not know you really.

Re-examined. I did not know anything about Superintendent Giles's men, I was at the St. Martin's Lane end.

JOHN MARTEL (Policeman E 59). On 13th November I was on duty at the south-east corner of the Square—I did not see Graham hit No. 100

—he had something in his hand as he came up, I could not say what it was, it might have been his handkerchief—I could not say whether he had gloves on, or whether he had a stick—as the defendants advanced the police did not advance to meet them—I did not see any move, they remained stationary—Graham pushed against me, he did not hit me—I did not hear him say "We have come to hold a meeting in the Square"—I did not see him hit anybody.

AUGUST ALFRED BIERLY . I am head waiter at the hotel—on this Sunday afternoon, at 4 o'clock, I was in the coffee-room over the post-office, and saw Mr. Graham who I knew by sight, in the Strand—he turned round to the crowd, raised his hand, and begged the crowd to follow him—I do not think he had a hat on—the street was full of people, but there was a good space where the mounted police were—he then turned towards the Square, and the crowd followed him—I only saw him get as far as the first row of police, and he seemed to come out towards me—this may have been about 20 yards from the Havelock statute—I saw a scuffle, but my view got blocked directly, and I went to another window facing the Square, and saw Mr. Graham being taken through the lines of police into the interior of the Square—one of the officers took a handkerchief from him, and seemed to wipe his face with it, and he took it out of the officer's hands and waved it in a southerly direction—I did not notice Burns—there was a very great crowd at our coffee-room window—it was about 5 o'clock.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. When I first saw Mr. Graham he was nearer the post-office on the same side of the Strand; about the middle of the Strand, but on our side more—there were a few persons round him; it was close to the refuge, and a good many people had gone on to the refuge—the place filled up again as soon as the police left—I did not hear Mr. Graham say anything to the crowd, but I saw him beckoning—I thought he beckoned to the crowd—I only saw the police come out by the step to meet the force that was coming—I did not see who struck the first blow—I do not think he had his hat on; that is what carried my attention to him—I can't say whether he was carrying it in his hand.

Cross-examined by Burns. There was a very large crowd in the street—50 to 100 people were following Mr. Graham, but there were other people in the street who did not follow—there were not 3, 000 or 4, 000; there would not be room for them.

WILLIAM MITON . I am hall-porter at Morley's Hotel—on Sunday, 13th November, about 4 p.m., I was at a window over the post-office on the side towards the Square, and saw Mr. Graham in the crowd opposite the window, at the south-east corner of the Square, and within a few yards of the police—50 or 60 persons were following him; they came in contact with the police; there was a scrimmage or fight, and I saw truncheons being used—that did not last more than about half a minute—I saw Mr. Graham taken through the ranks of the police in custody—I did notice Burns—there was a very large crowd round the police in the Square—I had seen the police trying to keep the footway clear to allow the traffic to pass—I had been out shortly before, and was obliged to get the help of the police to pass through—immediately after the attempt was made to break through the police there was a greal deal of confusion and noise in the Square, which went on till the mounted police arrived,

and then the Guards had to be brought out—the mounted police had been moving round before and after the occurrence, and when they failed the Life Guards were called out, and rode round the Square.

CHARLES JAMES BUCKLAND . I do not reside in England; I have been a banker in Australia—on Sunday, 13th October, I was at the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross, and was outside the window, on a ledge on the fifth flat—that is in a direct line from Morley's up to the Church, and I saw all that went on during the collision with the police—up to four o'clock I saw the police stationed in the Square, and saw no attempt to break through them up to that time—a knot of five or six people coming from the Strand first attracted my attention; they were then about three yards from the kerb-stone—I cannot identify any of them—they went towards the refuge, which is almost in the line of pavement I have spoken of, and remained 15 or 20 yards from it in earnest conversation about 20 seconds—(the mounted police had passed through and through the crowd)—they then went forward to the refuge, and I saw one man place his left hand on the right shoulder of a taller man than himself and shuffle along; it was not a decided run—they shuffled forward with a quick, short step till level with the refuge, where they halted for a second or two, followed by three or four only—the same couple then made a run across to the nearest pavement, the south-east corner of Trafalgar Square, followed by about 200 people, who came from the pavement near Morley's Hotel—they produced sticks, and there was such a clattering of sticks and such a noise; they failed to get into the Square—the sticks were brandished in the air; I was 60 or 70 feet above them—they went towards the police; there was a great scrimmage—the police held the field for a minute and a half—I cannot identify either of the prisoners as men whom I saw at the refuge, but I think I saw Mr. Graham there—I think he is the man who was pushed—I cannot identify the man who had his hand on his shoulder—I saw several attempts to pull mounted policemen off their horses, and saw some of them struck with club sticks and ordinary sticks—they did not like to attack the men, but vented their spleen on the horses—I am accustomed to crowds of 100, 000, and I am sure there were half that number in the Square and the Strand and up the Strand—I could see a quarter of a mile up the Strand, and up Whitehall and Cockspur Street, and beyond St. Martin's Church 50 or 100 yards, because I was up a great height.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. The conflicts with the mounted police were chiefly before the incident I have described—when the knot of six or seven persons got to the refuge no one was following—I did not see them turn round and beckon to the crowd—the people who followed them came from the pavement in front of Morley's Hotel; they were congregated there before.

Cross-examined by Burns. I cannot swear that Mr. Graham was the man who was pushed forward, nor that you are the man who pushed him—my attention was directed to the knot, and I saw a man with a very white face and generally of Mr. Graham's appearance—I did not notice his dress or his hat—I did not recognise you in the crowd.

Re-examined. For the half hour previous to the rushes there was a decidedly vicious mob.

CHARLES GOODMAN . I am a valet at the Grand Hotel, Strand—I was on the first floor, No. 62, on this Sunday afternoon, about 4 o'clock—I

could see across to the Post-office under Morley's Hotel—there was a tremendous crowd in the Square hooting and hissing the police—I saw several people with sticks—the mounted police rode up and down the Strand trying to disperse the crowd—the police were all drawn up guarding the Square, and at 4 o'clock I saw 100 or 200 make charge—I saw the police slightly advance and meet, and there appeared to be a kind of scrimmage; nearly 200 advanced to meet the police, who appeared to be beaten back for a few minutes—the crowd then seemed to rush up to St. Martin's Church—I only saw the mounted police drawn up—the crowd could not get through the police; soon after then I was called away—a lot of the crowd seemed suddenly to ran against the post-office and across the road—I could not say where they came from; they were so thick you could not see—when the actual meeting of the police and crowd took place there was what I should describe as a scrimmage—I could see straight across—at this time there was a very large crowd all round the Square; I should think there were 20, 000 or 25, 000 persons round about the Square—I could not identify any of the persons anywhere—it seemed to me an attempt to get into the Square.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I did not see either of the defendants.

DAVID COLLIS (Police Inspector S). I was on mounted duty on Sunday, November 13th, and about four weeks previously I had been on mounted duty in the Square, and had seen these assemblies from October almost daily to November 13th—they varied in size, but on some occasions they amounted to considerable numbers—it had been necessary to keep a large force of police either near or in immediate readiness—the assemblies were sometimes very disorderly, but I do not know many of the people who were there—in my judgment the assembling of such persons together was dangerous to public peace and order—it was necessary for the police to follow them when they moved from Trafalgar Square in other directions, for the purpose of safe-guarding the neighbourhood—these assemblies interfered with the ordinary use by the public of the thoroughfares round Trafalgar Square—on Sunday, November 13th, there was a very much larger crowd there than I had seen before—I was there from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., and between 3 and 4 o'clock we had to take action to keep the crowd back to allow the traffic to move, which was seriously impeded, and when we endeavoured to do so there was shouting, yelling and stone-throwing, and I was struck by a stone twice—I did not actually see the encounter between the assailants and the police; I was in the other part of the Square, by the Nelson monument; I saw the rush; I saw that there was action, and I saw the defendants brought inside—after that commotion I endeavoured again to keep a way for the traffic, and to keep people moving, and it became necessary for the public safety that the Guards should be brought out.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. The previous meetings were held on week days as well as Sundays—the first object of the meeting was to ventilate the wrongs of the unemployed, as I understood—I do not know whether any of them were field to protest against the arrest of Mr. O'Brien; I was on horseback, I did not listen to the speeches, and cannot say what kind of speeches were made—I saw nothing of the attack on the Square.

CHARLES SHEPHERD (Police Inspector B). I have been 27 years in the force—for many years I was in the Western District—I have been a very short time in the B Division—I have also been in the C Division—those divisions are in the west of London, Marylebone, and Piccadilly—I have been acquainted with matters in those parts of London a great many years—I was on duty in the Square daily from November 3rd to 13th, and saw the crowds who assembled from time to time when these meetings were held—I was there specially to observe the character of the meetings—they were a very dangerous class of people, and an extra police force was absolutely necessary for the public safety—I was acquainted with the riots and disturbances in 1886, and considered it necessary for the public safety for the bands of people who left these meetings to be followed over parts of the town, and this necessity for police inspection and extra precautions increased day by day; the mobs became decidedly more organised—I saw Mr. Timms' green bill (produced) put out, calling a meeting for the 13th—I found on previous occasions that there was very great difficulty in keeping the streets clear for the traffic; it engaged the attention of a very large number of men—people came on those occasions in large numbers who apparently had nothing to do with the meeting—I saw this bill exhibited at various places round London. (The ATTORNEY-GENERAL having asked the witness whether, in his opinion, it would have been safe to allow the meeting, MR. ASQUITH objected that it was not a proper question, as it interfered with the province of the Jury, and Burns took the same objection. The ATTORNEY-GENERAL contended that he had a right to put the question, and handed up two cases to HIS LORDSHIP, who declined to allow the question to be put.) I was stationed in the Square all day on the 13th, and for some time before 4 o'clock I was at the south-east corner of the Square opposite the Grand Hotel—the mob was very turbulent there, and about 3. 30 or 3. 45 I went through the crowd at Morley's Hotel, and up the Strand towards Charing Cross, and saw parties, who I have no doubt were organised parties, waiting about; they were very rough and very tumultuous—the major portion of them had sticks, and if they had been allowed to get possession of the Square it would have been very dangerous to the peace of the City—I saw the rush; it was a forcible attempt to break through the police at the southeast corner of the Square—I saw a number of sticks being waved and brandished, and there was great shouting, and immediately preceding the rush I heard a shout of "Now for the Square"—the whole place was packed, and 400 or 500 actually attempted to break into the Square—I did not see Burns there till he was inside the police lines—I spoke to him, and he admitted his name—from October 3rd I have had complaints daily of these meetings from persons residing in the Square—I have not been present when Burns spoke in the Square, not during this series of meetings.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I was present on horseback at the previous meetings a portion of each day, but I never saw Mr. Graham till he was a prisoner in the Square—the ostensible object of the meeting was to promote agitation for the unemployed, and sometimes that was the topic of the speakers—I am not aware that the object of any of the previous meetings was to protest against the imprisonment of Mr. O'Brien—none of the previous meetings were summoned by the Metropolitan Radical Federation to my knowledge—I have no doubt the parties of

men I saw in the Strand on the 13th were organised—I saw men whom I had seen on many previous occasions acting together at similar meetings—they were holding together and working together in the Strand and in the immediate vicinity of the south-east corner of the Square—I did not recognise their leaders, but I have no doubt they were acting under orders—I saw no act of any person which I can specify—I do not say that 500 people came in contact with the police, but that was the number which took part in the rush, and if it is said that 50 or 60 only took part in the rush, or even 100 or 150, I should not agree with that estimate—there were more than twice as many—when I saw Mr. Graham after he was taken in custody, he was bleeding from a wound on his head—I did not see it inflicted.

Cross-examined by Burns. I do not judge from their dress whether a crowd is dangerous, but from the conduct of the men composing it—on the days preceding the 13th a very large proportion of the crowd were professional thieves—I do not doubt that there was a large proportion of the genuine unemployed—there was a navvy here and there—I describe them as the lowest class—I am not aware of any arrest for theft at the meetings previous to the 13th—I do not agree with Mr. Howard Vincent that 80 per cent. were genuine unemployed, and for the meetings preceding November I decidedly disagree with it.

Re-examined. I am able to say by the demeanour of the people whether they are organised or not, from having seen them on many other occasions at other places, and I say that they were unquestionably acting in concert that day—I explained to Mr. Graham that it would be dangerous to take him out of the Square, but I would send for a surgeon, who came and found that there was no danger, and both prisoners remained till it was safe to take them away.

RICHARD STRINGER STARKEY . I am a chemist, and one of my shops is 7, Grand Hotel Buildings, Charing Cross, which faces the S. E. corner of Trafalgar Square—on Sunday afternoon, November 13th, I went to the Square about 4 o'clock from the Strand—I found great difficulty in getting to my shop—the mounted police were trying to disperse the crowd that choked the Strand, and as they returned, pieces of stick and a few stones were thrown at them, and there was hooting and booing at them—I got just up to my shop—my plate-glass windows are not protected by shutters, and about 6 o'clock one of my windows was smashed.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I did not see it smashed; I don't know who did it, nor how it was done.

Cross-examined by Burns. It might have been done by a patrol or constable—no one lives in the shop; it is under the Grand Hotel.

TOM TAYLOR . I am an architect and surveyor at Her Majesty's Office of Works—I have examined the plans which have been used in this case—they correctly show Trafalgar Square and the immediate streets around it; everything is shown—the Office of Works has charge of the whole of the Square, which is within the boundary of the four carriage ways surrounding it—they pave the foot pavement outside the parapet, right to the kerb, and including the kerb—they light all the interior—the lamps fixed on the outer kerb belong to the parish—with the exception of these lamps in the kerb everything is done by the Office of Works and

at their expense. (The witness marked on the plan the position of the refuge by Morley's Hotel.) The refuge is lighted in the usual way.

GABRIEL MORANT . I am a clerk in the Home Office—I produce a letter signed by Mr. Primrose, the First Commissioner of Works, 8th November, 1887. (This authorised the exclusion of the public from Trafalgar Square.)

ALFRED WILLIAM SAWFORD . I am a messenger in the department of the Solicitor to the Treasury—on 11th January I attended at the office of the Pall Mall Gazette with a subpoena, and received these three letters, one from Sir Edward Reed, One from R. B. Cunninghame Graham, and the other from John Burns.

WILLIAM HART . I am second usher at Bow Street Police-court—it is part of my duty to take bail of prisoners, and assist generally in the work of the office—I produce the security book with signatures of the two defendants—I have compared those signatures with these two letters—I saw the two defendants actually sign the security book; in my opinion these letters are signed in the same hand as signed the security book. (Read:—"Sir,—Our meeting has been a failure, owing to superior forces. I think, however, that the victory of the Government will prove a dear one to them. There is, I think, no Englishman living, of any party, that will uphold the Government in ordering the police to assault the speakers at a purely political meeting. It is only owing to the fact that some of our men did not arrive in time that the meeting was not held. As it is, this day's work will serve to open the eyes of the masses to what is going on in Ireland every day. One thing I wish you to contradict, that is, that the crowd cheered the Life Guards; the crowd hissed them heartily. Where the cheering came from—and I saw well, being a prisoner in the middle of the Square—was from a knot of loungers in the Union Club and the Grand Hotel. This, however, is to be expected, as these gentlemen have seldom seen their masters, the people, so much in earnest as to-day. The whole conduct of the Government was a scandal to a civilised country. I would have undertaken to hold the meeting peacefully with only 50 constables present. The matter shall not be allowed to drop, and I will address a meeting yet in Trafalgar Square of 100, 000 people, and the Government of the day, I care not which it is, will be too glad to allow me.—I am, Sir, your obedient servant, R. B. Cunninghame Graham."—"Bow Street, Sunday, 8 p.m.,—Dear Sir,—Cunninghame Graham and I are in custody here for attempting to speak in the Square to-day. Starting from Charing Cross just before four we reached the Square at the corner of Morley's Hotel at four. We were immediately recognised by the people, who got behind us, and we attempted to go through the cordon of police drawn up at this spot to resist any attempt. The people behind us were repulsed; and Graham and I were struck by the police of all grades, Graham being deliberately struck on the head by a constable with his truncheon, sustaining a scalp wound of an inch and a quarter long, and receiving several blows from the clenched fists of others. My injuries simply consist of several bruises on the head, but no cuts. We were kept in the Square for half an hour, and kept our pledges to speak in the Square by formally announcing to those present, police and men in custody, that we spoke in maintenance of the right of free speech and public meeting. From the Square we were taken up the steps through the Guards stationed at the top into St.

George's Barracks, and thence to the police section house in Leicester Square, from there by cab to Bow Street, where we both are in good spirits, and in no sense regretting the duty we have discharged to the best of our ability.—Yours truly, JOHN BURNS. Graham is charged with assaulting the police. This is untrue."

PETER LAVINGSTON (Police Inspector E). On the afternoon of 13th November I was stationed with some men under my command in the Strand about the end of Waterloo Bridge, where Wellington Street crosses the Strand—I had 70 men and 4 sergeants under me—I drew my men up in line across the Strand, on the west side of the crossing that goes from Waterloo Bridge north—about 4 o'clock that afternoon I saw a procession approaching me—as far as I could judge, there were about 5, 000 in that procession, but they extended farther than I could see—they were marching all over the road, and covering the roadway and the footway as well—there was one banner in front and some more behind; there was a van drawn by two horses, and a man was walking in front of the horses—as they approached I told that man they could not pass along the Strand as a procession; he held up his hand for them to stop; having first stopped for a time he beckoned for them to come on again, and they came on towards our line; I took hold of the bridle of one of the horses and turned it towards Waterloo Bridge, and then I went up to the men with the banners and told them they could not come along; thereupon I was struck by Joseph Ellis, one of the men in the procession, and upon taking hold of him I was struck by some one else from behind—I kept hold of Ellis, and we both went to the ground—the procession forced itself on against the police; I don't know much of what happened after that, I was seriously hurt and was taken to the station—I could not swear what I was struck by, I thought the man had something in his hand; it was sworn he had a handkerchief with a stone tied in it; I cannot swear positively to that; both my nose and right eye were very seriously injured—Ellis was afterwards tried and convicted—I was off duty seven weeks in consequence of the injury.

EDWARD CROSS (Policeman E 282). I was in uniform under the command of Lavingston—I was there when the procession was stopped from coming along; it seemed a long way along the Strand, as far as I could see—after Lavingston was assaulted I saw this iron bar (produced) picked up by one of the roughs along with the crowd in the procession, and I took it away from him; it is a solid iron bar—I did not see it used; I took it away to prevent its being used.

WILLIAM BATEMAN (Policeman E 379). I was on duty at Wellington Street on 13th November at the time the procession was stopped in the Strand—the peopled turned and came up Wellington Street, and an attack was made upon me—I was knocked down, and when I got up I was kicked in the stomach—I succeeded in apprehending the man—he was prosecuted and convicted.

ROGER HONEY (Police Sergeant M 19). On 13th November I was on duty in Kennington Road—between 3. 45 and 3. 50 I saw a procession coming over Westminster Bridge—at the Westminster Bridge end of Parliament Street the police were drawn across to stop its going to Charing Cross and down King Street—I estimated that between 3, 000 and 4, 000 people came over the bridge—they were stopped by the police—in Bridge Street I saw one of the men with this piece of iron gas-pipe (produced) rolled up in a piece of paper, like a scroll of paper—I saw a

man in the procession named Harrison strike Wiliamson with it—Harrison was arrested and convicted at this Court—this other weapon (An oyster knife) was picked up just on the same spot.

GEORGE HANLEY (Policeman). I was on duty in Bridge Street on this afternoon when the procession was stopped—I saw one of the persons in the procession drop this oyster knife; I immediately picked it up—that was Harrison, who was tried in this Court last Session for stabbing Woodhouse.

EDWARD DAY (Policeman L 166). I was on duty on Sunday 13th November, about 4. 15 p.m., in Bridge Street—I saw the attack made on Williamson with the gas-pipe, and afterwards near that place I picked up this piece of iron like a poker with a hole at one end and a piece of string through it to go over the wrist (produced)—that was after the police had stopped the procession trying to get down to Charing Cross.

HENRY BURGESS (Policeman B 162). I was on duty on 13th November at the corner of King Street and Great George Street, Westminster—part of the procession that had come over Westminster Bridge tried to turn up King Street—the police were on duty there to prevent that, and the procession tried to force its way against the police—in the course of the conflict I was knocked down by this stick (produced)—the person who struck me was arrested and afterwards convicted.

GEORGE LEPPINGS (Policeman L 302). I was on duty at Bridge Street, Westminster—the crowd attempted to make its way against the police—I was struck with a stick on my chin, which was cut open—that person was arrested and convicted.

ALFRED HANSON (Police Inspector E). I was on duty on 13th November, about 3. 30 p.m., in St. Martin's Lane with 30 men under me—a procession came up to make its way down St. Martin's Lane—I prevented its passage—the people attempted to force their way through very fiercely, and a conflict in consequence ensued—one of the persons in my view struck a constable on the head with this ordinary walking-stick (produced), which made him stagger—I arrested him—he was afterwards prosecuted and convicted—I should think there were from 1, 000 to 1, 500 in the procession.

WILLIAM AYRES (Policeman ER 16). I was in the corner of Long Acre on 13th November, about 3. 45 p.m., when the procession was stopped, a conflict ensued—the procession was coming along in an organised way, a large body—the police were drawn up across the street; they were told they could not come, and then they tried to come on, and made their way through—a body of about 20 or 30 got round and set on me—I was thrown to the ground—a constable came to my help—one of the men took a belt off, wrapped it round his hand, and struck a constable with it—he was arrested, prosecuted, and convicted.

WILLIAM STEVENS (Police Sergeant C 32). On 13th November I was in charge of the police in Cranbourne Street—I saw a procession coming from the north and going towards Trafalgar Square with banners and a band, about 4 p.m.—there were about a thousand making their way towards the Square, and I saw some one in the procession with a stick, with which he knocked a constable down—he was taken in custody, and afterwards convicted—the police stopped the procession from getting down to the Square as well as they were able—part of the procession forced its way through so as to get down to the Square.

CHARLES ROACH (Police Sergeant), I produce a return of the names of the 77 constables injured on Sunday, 13th November.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I cannot say whether any of then were injured in Trafalgar Square, but they were all injured in that immediate neighbourhood.

Re-examined. There were 12 injured of the A Division, 3 of the B, 5 of the C, 16 of the E, 1 of the G, 1 of the H, 1 of the J, 11 of the L, 5 of the M, 4 of the N, 5 of the P, 2 of the K, 1 of the S, 3 of the V, 1 of the W, 4 of the X, and 2 of the Y—I have got a list of the names and numbers of the 77—they each had to go off duty—some of the injuries were slight and some serious—all those men were on duty in the neighbourhood of Trafalgar Square on that Sunday.

HARRY GREENWOOD (Policeman E 97). On this Sunday afternoon I was on duty at the end of Adelaide Street, Strand, about 4 o'clock, when a procession coming down Adelaide Street from Covent Garden was stopped by the police—it endeavoured to push on, and there was a struggle—I was struck with this stick (produced) and with a fist on my mouth, by a man named Coburn, who came out from the procession, and who has been convicted of the assault—the stick has nails in it.

SIR CHARLES WARREN . I am the Commissioner of Police for the Metropolis; I have held the office since 1886—I have had the matter of the meetings in Trafalgar Square in October and November under my personal notice and consideration—I attended personally from time to time, and saw the character of the people attending the meetings, and I also obtained in the course of my duty, information from my superintendents and inspectors with reference to the meetings—before November 8th the character of the people attending the meetings was such as to require extra precautions—in my judgment those meetings were a source of danger to the peace of the neighbourhood—it was with my knowledge and authority that the bands of people who left the meetings were followed by the police—in my judgment that was necessary to preserve the peace and to protect property and persons—before November 8th the mobs of people attending the meetings became more and more organised every day—that, in my opinion, very much increased the danger and risk to persons and property—we had always to send sufficient police to prevent their doing damage; it always increased the number—I issued the proclamation of November 8th with the sanction of the Secretary of State and the Chief Commissioner of Works, Public Buildings—the proclamation was issued with a view to preventing disorderly proceedings—that notice was posted all over London—it had come to my knowledge that on November 13th processions were intended to converge on Trafalgar Square—in my opinion, having regard to my experience on the days immediately preceding November 13th, there would have been most serious danger to the public peace—having regard to the character of the people who attended the meetings in the past, I think it would have more than taxed the powers of the police—with the sanction of the Secretary of State I issued this proclamation prohibiting processions passing through the streets on Sunday—on the Saturday night I also took steps to insure the attendance of a Magistrate in case the Riot Act should have to be read; I also arranged with the authorities for the attendance of troops if necessary—having regard to what had passed on previous days in connection with the meetings, in my judgment these

precautions were absolutely necessary—on Sunday morning I attended in Trafalgar Square—there was a large police force there, about 2, 000 round the Square, and in the immediate neighbourhood considerably more; the Square proper was entirely cut off by a solid row of police all round—I made the dispositions myself, and I went to see that they were carried out—in excluding persons from the Square after 10 o'clock the police officers were acting under my authority—I was present in the Square up to three o'clock—I received communications almost every minute from all sides, of processions approaching—at three o'clock there were 10, 000 people present, perhaps more—it would have been a most decided danger to the public peace to have allowed them to take possession of Trafalgar Square—in my judgment it would have been most hazardous to allow organised processions to approach—up to three o'clock the people were kept moving on—mounted police were required to prevent the obstruction becoming permanent—when I left the Square my arrangements for the cordon of police being maintained were still being carried out—shortly after four o'clock I received a communication from Trafalgar Square, in consequence of which I communicated with the military authorities, and the military were called out—the Riot Act was not read—the disorderly crowds, requiring police superintendence and control, remained in the neighbourhood till about 6. 30—the people were most disorderly till about 6. 30, when they gradually quieted down and I ceased to be anxious—a considerable number of police in the neighbourhood of Trafalgar Square were injured.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I was not in Trafalgar Square when anybody was wounded—the hollow of the Square was empty; it was surrounded by police—I was not there after three o'clock—all I have told you subsequently is from reports which have come to me—I have no personal knowledge after three o'clock, but I do know what I have stated with regard to calling out the military—I was present at some of the earlier meetings; I cannot say whether they were held with a political object—I should not say that they were held with reference to the alleged grievances of the unemployed working-men of London, I should say that they were meetings of roughs; the topic of the speakers was sedition—it was not in my hands to prosecute them for that; several cases were brought up before the Magistrate, but I do not know of any prosecution for sedition—I cannot say what a political meeting is—other things were mixed up with seditious speeches, and I cannot say whether the meetings were political or not—they were generally held on Sundays—the placard of November 8th is still in force; it has not been withdrawn, nor has another proclamation been substituted for it—an additional proclamation as been issued; I have not got it here—it was issued, I think, on the 14th; I am not quite certain. (A proclamation of November 8th was here produced) This is it, I thought it was the 14th. (Read.)—I issued that under to Special Act; the other was under the common law, I suppose.

Cross-examined by Burns. I cannot say whether I was present in Trafalgar Square at a meeting of the unemployed on Nov 5th or 6th with Chief Constable Howard; I may have been—I cannot say that I have heard you speak; I think I should remember it if I had—I cannot say whether the people who were there were the same class whom you see on Lord Mayor's Day, or at Lillie Bridge running ground, but there was a riot the other day at Lillie Bridge—by their disposition there appeared a

greater proportion of professional thieves than is usual on such occasions, and I am satisfied that they were so, and the statements of my officers led me to believe that—there were cases of theft, window breaking, and so forth; I cannot give you the dates—some were arrested in Trafalgar Square for breaking windows; I don't say for stealing purses—a great number of watches changed hands on that occasion—I am satisfied that the men were organised; they could be got together very suddenly; they could get together in 10 minutes something over 1, 000 men—they began to wheel in turning, in an organised manner, and I say that that showed an organised disposition—I do not think that was due to the fact that among the unemployed there are a considerable of Army reserve men—it was a disciplined organisation with a view to looting shops—no shops were looted, because the police prevented it, and surrounded them so that they could not—I believe there was an attempt to loot a shop in Oxford Street, but not in Trafalgar Square; it would be impossible with the police round them, but I was not there—the officers have made no statements to that effect—I proclaimed a meeting on Lord Mayor's Day, 1886, by placards, as I did on this occasion—I did not forbid the meeting—there were a great many meetings, and some persons were put upon other persons' shoulders in the middle of the Square—there was a large crowd in Trafalgar Square on that day, that was certainly not forbidden—I don't recollect whether I took any action after the meeting of November 9th against the persons who spoke on that occasion—I gave orders that at certain points no speeches were to be allowed, and those speeches were not delivered—the plinth of Nelson's Column was not one of the prohibited places—after the proclamation of November 8th registers were left at all the police-stations for the unemployed; it was never given out publicly—it did not appear in the papers, and I don't thing it became a matter of public notoriety—I opened registers, but I said nothing about it—a considerable number of the unemployed registered themselves at the station—I don't think any of those were the same individuals who had been beaten or knocked about by the police prior to the opening of the registers—there was no unusual distress at that time that I know of—I cannot say now my particular reason for opening the registers; I may have had a dozen reasons—I thought it might be advantageous to the really unemployed it was represented to me by several different persons that it was well that we should distinguish between the really unemployed and those persons who called themselves the unemployed—I don't believe there had been exceptional distress amongst the poor and unemployed—the people who slept in Trafalgar Square had increased during the winter, because people brought food there—they had not before food was brought there—it was not entirely on one ground; it was the whole circumstances that led up to this meeting that led me to suppose a serious riot would occur—I deny that it was a political meeting throughout; I believe it was seditious throughout—I saw the placards, but I don't believe all they say—it is my duty to read the placards about any of the meetings I prohibit, and I form my own conclusions upon it—there might be a little politics in these meetings—whenever there was any disorder the Square was cleared; when they were orderly no notice was taken, and matters took their usual course—when the meeting was disorderly, and a breach of the peace had been committed, we dispersed the meeting, and perhaps where a breach of the peace was imminent—I

don't know that on Sunday, November 6th, you were allowed to speak from the Nelson Column and not any other.

Re-examined. I do not pretend to be a lawyer—by the proclamation of November 8th, I prohibited meetings in Trafalgar Square, and also the delivery of political speeches—I considered that the proclamation of the 8th November was absolutely necessary—both proclamations are equally in force now, but the 13th has a wider application than the 8th; it is more full—I do not think that danger to the public peace and order depends solely upon what is contained in the placard calling the meeting—I gave directions that these thousands of mobs of people were to be followed and surrounded so that they could not loot—I thought that was absolutely necessary—in my opinion, having to deal with people who attend such meetings, it is not safe to wait until a breach of the peace has been committed—I should not like to take the responsibility to do so.

INSPECTOR GILES (Recalled by the SOLICITOR-GENERAL). I was on duty in Trafalgar Square on the day in question—the divisions of police were represented by large contingents that day, the F, A, B, H, M, E, S, T, V, W, Y, K, C, and I Divisions, they were all in the Square.

Cross-examined by MR. ASQUITH. I have not seen this return (produced)—I am not in a position to tell you where any of the men whose names are included in that return were stationed on this Sunday.

Witnesses for the Defence.

SIR EDWARD J. REED , M. P. for Cardiff. K. C. B. I was at Morley's Hotel on the afternoon of November 13th from shortly after 3 till about 5 o'clock—during the whole of that time, with the exception of a very short interval, I was looking on to the Square—the crowd was very large, but showed no signs of any disposition to disturbance—it consisted of surprisingly young men and very big boys—a few minutes after 4 I saw Mr. Graham—he was standing on the pavement in front of Morley's Hotel—the other defendant was near him—they were arm in arm, and they rushed across the carriageway towards the opposite pavement, there being a great many omnibuses and vehicles moving past at the time—when they reached the pavement the police rushed forward, and before Mr. Graham stepped on the pavement he was struck by the police, and before he reached the position which the police had occupied his head was bleeding—I saw him strike no one, but his arms were thrown up as if in self-defence—after he was secured, and when he was perfectly helpless in the hands of the police, two policemen in succession stepped up from behind and struck him violently over the head, for no cause that I could see—not more than a dozen persons seemed to be associated with the defendants, but after they had moved forward a score or two of other persons pushed after them apparently through curiosity—then there was a large movement in the crowd, as there had been previously whenever the police made a movement—I have no doubt whatever that it was the police who struck the first blow—Mr. Graham had come up to the pavement, but had not stepped upon it when the police came forward and struck him—I did not see any one with Mr. Graham strike the police with sticks—as compared with other crowds this was most Certainly not a disorderly crowd—there was a great deal of movement, but it was mainly occasioned by little bodies of the mounted police galloping about to disperse the people—there was no violence—when the military came

up the crowd cheered the display, and seemed in the best of tempers—they thought it was part of the play of course—there was, in my opinion, no occasion for calling out the military, and I was never more astounded than when I saw them brought out to such a crowd—omnibuses and other vehicles were plying about the Square continually at this time—it was while I was at the hotel that the window was broken; at the very end of the time, I should think an hour after this incident—I did not see how it was broken.

Cross-examined by Burns. I have never seen a London crowd that I know of, but the proportion of big boys and young men was very large, much larger than any crowd I have ever seen before; very much larger than I have seen in a provincial town—I can hardly see how there could be a riot by a crowd of people let in to an open space with no buildings—I think the resistence by the police to the people who wanted to get into the Square accentuated any desire to commit disturbance; at the same time I thought that the police were acting in accordance with their instructions, and were trying to keep people out of the Square—I saw you arm in arm with Mr. Graham—I did not see you strike the police or make an assault upon them; in fact, from the moment the police pushed forward on Mr. Graham and yourself you both, and he in particular, seemed to me to be treated with most astonishing brutality by the police—the police advanced as you approached; they were arranged at the back of the pavement by the small pillars—they advanced quite across the pavement, and the first blow was struck before Graham or yourself were on the pavement—their act anticipated any assault, even if you intended it.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I was called for the defence at the police-court—I was a member of the last Government—on the afternoon in question I was out walking with my son and a foreign gentleman—a friend of mine had been staying at Morley's Hotel a long time; I was not quite sure if he had gone, and I went to call to see if he had—there were windows on both sides of the room I was in—the particular incidents of Mr. Graham's movements were observed by me from the western window—the number of persons in the room varied very much—perhaps there were a dozen sometimes, including waiters, but never more than a very few—I cannot tell you who they were, I have no idea—I saw the manager of the hotel—I think at the very end of the afternoon I saw a gentleman with a note-book, but I am not sure about that—I saw no one taking notes; if there had been I must have observed him, because there were so few persons in, the room—my friend was not there; he had just left—I went in to see if he was there—I had so much difficulty in getting into the hotel that I preferred waiting till the mob cleared away before I got out—when I went in I naturally went upstairs to the coffee-room—except my son I do not know the names of the other gentlemen there, nor of the ladies—there were one or two ladies occasionally—when I say I had not seen a London crowd before I mean I had not seen any crowd for the mere purpose of a meeting, only on Lord Mayor's Day—I saw young lads with thin sticks in their hands touching the horses; I saw no other sticks—I can't say there were no others—there were about 50, 000 people there—I saw no one with any other kind of stick—I have not the slightest doubt that the police struck the first blow—I have not said that I made

no complaint of the actual arrest of Mr. Graham, only in the sense that I presume the police on the spot were bound to arrest anyone trying to get into the square; I don't think I have said anything of the kind; I cannot have said that—I describe the way in which Mr. Graham and Mr. Burns went across as a rush towards the police—the mounted police cleared the way dozens of times—I can't say that they had cleared it just before they crossed, I did not notice; I may say this, that the clearing of the road simply resulted in the moving of the people; as the horse-police advanced the people were bound of course to get off in front of others and closed in behind them—I should not think the roadway had been cleared a few seconds before the defendants crossed, but I am not positive about that—I knew from the newspapers that Mr. Graham was coming there that day, in no other way; I was very sorry to see he was going—I did not know that Burns was going there; I never saw Burns till he was a prisoner in this case—I cannot give the names of any of the persons who accompanied the defendants—I do not know Mr. Hyndman by sight—I think the eight or twelve persons accompanying the defendants seemed to be a little more intimately associated with those persons than the mass of the crowd, more than the score or two that followed them, it seemed to me to be so—they came from the crowd about in front of the hotel—all of them came from the pavement just in front of Morley's Hotel—I did not notice the score or two of persons until just about the time of the defendants' presence; there was nothing to distinguish the smaller number from the others; I merely thought it was a personal indiscretion of his—there were some 10 or 12 more intimately associated than the score or more who appeared to be connected with them, and then a general following of the crowd, a general movement, not so much a following—the number who actually crossed the road was not 200 or 300—I don't think a considerable number followed behind—in that case, as in many others during the day, where ever there was a point of excitement there was a general movement—I could not give an estimate of the number who joined in the general movement towards the point of excitement—I have said it was my opinion that the police on the spot were bound to resist the rush in which Mr. Graham joined, and to master and arrest him; I have said so now—the defendants headed any rush there was—at the time Graham started from the refuge he had his hat off—a stone parapet comes down the east side of the Square, and running in a line with the kerb there is a line of stone posts, about 4 feet high—the left wing of the police was next to the end of the stone parapet—they formed a cordon in front of the posts following the curve of the pavement, about 6 feet or 7 feet back from the gutter—the rush came from the corner between the refuge and Morley's Hotel—the first ten or fifteen files of police next the south-east parapet stood, firm, and the men next to them towards the Nelson Monument were advanced across the pavement—I think the police at that time were six or seven feet deep—100 men would be about 12 or 13 files, each man being in the front rank—my complaint is that after he had been arrested violence was shown to him, and in the arresting him too—I think Burns was struck—I think he could not have escaped—I think the scrimmage hardly lasted so much as a minute and a-half or two minutes—I think it was certainly net more than a minute before they were at the back of the police—I should not think it was

from two to three minutes before the blows were over—all blows were over when they were through the police, because when the men struck him behind they were through the police—they did not strike him after he was through—when the men from behind struck him they were actually captured—there was not very much yelling and shouting at this time—I have had experience of riots where the shouting was very much worse—I saw the 10 or 12 people from the first moment of their moving, when they were just by the pavement of Morley's. Hotel, or near it—I did not recognise any of the other body that appeared to be connected with them—I took no interest in them at all—I was there by accident—my attention was particularly drawn to Mr. Graham by my son exclaiming "How they are giving it to that poor fellow!"

Re-examined, I am not a lawyer—I had no opinion as to whether the police had a legal right to arrest Mr. Graham to prevent his entering the Square—I thought the police on the spot, who were acting under orders, as a matter of discipline, were bound to obey orders—Mr. Graham was in the middle of the police when the blows were struck from behind—more than two policemen then had hold of him—two held him—he was entirely incapable of movement, or of raising his arms—I did not say I make no complaint of the mode of his actual arrest.

By the COURT. I watched Graham across.

By the JURY. Hooked from all windows; I moved about, but at that particular time I saw Graham's arrest I was looking from the southernmost window of the west front on the first floor.

HENRY SMITH . I live at Crosby House, Lewisham, and am a merchant—on 13th November I was in the Strand on a retreat in the middle of the street between the Grand and Morley's Hotels at from five to ten minutes past 4 to the best of my recollection—I saw both defendants passing down towards the Square arm in arm—Graham had his hat in his left hand—to the best of my belief his right hand was through Burns' arm—they went towards the Square—they came from the direction of Charing Cross—I stepped from the retreat to go towards St. Martin's Lane—just as they were coming up I passed close in front of them—they walked fast across the street with a few followers behind them—Graham said something; I did not hear what—the police closed round them, and I lost sight of them—I got pushed away by the crowd—I did not see Graham strike the police, or attempt to strike—at the time Graham came in contact with the police he was about a yard from the kerbstone, I think; on the asphalte road—there was a very large crowd indeed there—it was a usual London crowd that you see at open air meetings, but there seemed a large preponderance of boys between 16 and 20—they appeared to be sightseers—I saw no organisation whatever—the only element of disorder I saw was hooting the mounted police while they were charging different sections of the mob.

Cross-examined by Burns. I am almost positive Graham's right arm was linked in your left—I am certain he had his hat in his left hand—I did not see you strike the police—I could not say I saw the arrest, because I was lost in the crowd; I was down below the pavement, and was not tall enough to see that—I think the actual number of people that followed immediately behind you from the refuge towards the cordon of police was 10 or 12.

Cross-examined by the SOLICITOR-GENERAL. I came up from Lewisham

that day alone, arriving at Charing Cross about 3.45—I was endeavouring to make my way to the front of the National Gallery when this happened—I knew Graham and Burns by sight previously—I had seen Burns once, and had seen Graham often in the House of Commons—I do not belong to the same club that he does—I had never spoken to him in my life—I only knew him by sight—I did not know any of the 10 or 12 persons who were with them; I did not recognise a single person—when Graham came in contact with the police, about a yard from the kerbstone, I was three or four yards off him—I was not among the persons who had followed him across; I had crossed from the retreat towards St. Martin's Lane—I should think the 10 or 12 persons were followed by 30 or 40, but they were further behind; they did not seem to belong to them—I was in St. Martin's Lane when the contact took place between Graham and the police—I saw no blow struck by Graham or Burns, or by anybody—I saw truncheons raised, but I was too far off to see what they were being used for—I saw no truncheons used—I saw no truncheons till I got further up the road, being pushed away by the crowd—directly that rush was made across the street the crowd surged across the roadway, and swept me up towards St. Martin's Lane; that was when the prisoners crossed the street—it was a lot of people standing about there that surged after them—directly the rush was made they surged towards that spot—I did not expect to see Mr. Graham there that afternoon—I was not looking for him when I saw him—I had read in the paper that he was coming.

CHARLES EDWARD WARD . I live at Montgomery Street, Hammersmith, and was formerly for seven years and five months in the Metropolitan Police Force—since then I have been for between two and three years in the Newcastle Borough Police—on 13th November I went to the Strand, as my daughter, who is in service in the Strand, was coming home that afternoon, and knowing of this meeting I thought it would be advisable to escort her home—shortly after 4 o'clock I was standing opposite Morley's Hotel at the south-east corner of the Square—I was just on the path, just at the corner of the granite stone parapet where you turn to the right to get on the Square—I was on the same side as the police, and was being passed along by them when I saw the defendants come from the direction of the Strand arm in arm—Mr. Graham had his hat in his hand; I could not swear which hand—he had his gloves on—when they got within two or three yards of the police that were protecting the Square a portion of the front-rank men sprang out, one constable struck Graham across the head with his truncheon, several others struck him with their fists—I noticed Burns throwing his arms about a good deal in protecting himself from the violence of the police—when Graham received the blow on his head he put his arm up apparently to hold his head—up to that time he had not struck at or attempted to strike the police, if he had I should have been bound to see it—I received a blow on my hat from a policeman's fist at the same time of the occurrence; they did not seem to care who they knocked about that day—I was just close up to Burns then; I was glad to get away from it after receiving the blow—I had great difficulty in getting away from the police—I was being passed along by the police there before the defendants started—I don't think it was possible for anyone to hear what was said, the noise was so great at the time; there was shouting and cheering—I should think between 50 and 70 persons were following the defendants across the road; it might

be 100, but there was a large quantity of persons that turned their heads in the direction of the Square when Graham and Burns got near the place—those people seemed to come from the direction of Charing Cross, from the Strand—I could not say they were following Graham and Burns—I did not see anyone strike at the police with sticks—there were walking sticks, small canes, and some of them larger perhaps, in the hands of several persons.

Cross-examined by Burns. I went to the Square because, knowing of this meeting, and that there would be a large crowd, and no doubt a disorderly affair, I thought it would be advisable to escort my daughter home, as she was coming home—I don't hold with your or Graham's views at all; I belong to the Primrose League, and am a Conservative—I was in a position to see if you or Graham struck the police or committed an assault—I was on the opposite corner to Morley's Hotel, just past it from the church, I had come to it from that direction—you were arm-in-arm as you approached the Square till you got to the kerbstone, when the police sprang out upon you—I did not hear the police say "Here is Burns" before you reached the police—I have said I don't think it was hardly possible for anyone to hear what was said that day—I am positive the police advanced two or three yards to the kerb, and other men from the rear took their places—I did not see my daughter at all; she was too afraid to come out; she could not get out of the house, in fact, I think she went to bed.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. The house my daughter was too afraid to come out of is on the left-hand side of the Strand, near Charing Cross, as far as Dent's; I don't like to give the name of the house, it is a business house, for fear inquiry might be made, and injure the girl's character—I resigned the Metropolitan police of my own accord in 1878, and started business in Staffordshire—after that I went into the Newcastle police—I was injured on duty there, and got 30l. and left—I have been a joiner lately—there was a great deal of noise and cheering; I thought the cheering came from all directions, not one particular place—the great many people who had their faces turned to the south-east corner after Graham and Burns came did not also advance—I think they cleared away from it, a portion came through—I think all who could get away tried to get away—they came very steady, some had to go fast because of the mounted police galloping up and down—there were no police between Graham and Burns and the crowd—as soon as Graham and Burns had passed a body of mounted police passed and divided those who were following the defendant, cut them off—there was no rush—I don't call it a rush, they were walking fast—I did not see sticks raised, they were in gentlemen's hands, and I noticed them like this (describing), but not raised up—I noticed several had sticks on that day, not a special number—the people at the south-east corner were not waving their sticks, I did not notice it—I could not say who the people were yelling at; the excitement was so great they seemed to be enjoying it a great deal—I could not suggest who they were yelling at if not at the police; no doubt a good deal of the yelling was at the mounted men—I was passed along because the police allowed no one to stand still; they did not even respect an ex-policeman, I got a blow on my hat—they respected no one—I did not notice others passed along—there were some thousands of persons there—the police passed the people

along to keep the way clear—the persons that were passing backwards and forwards in the road seemed to open the way for them to get across.

Re-examined. I left the Newcastle police about two years ago; I was injured on duty, and the Watch Committee gave me a gratuity of 30l.

ALBERT PACHERT . I am an engraver, of Gordon House, Newnham Street, Whitechapel—on 13th November I was in Trafalgar Square—I had an appointment to meet a friend at Waterloo House—I arrived there about half-past three, and went to the corner of Morley's Hotel at the top of the Strand—when I got there I saw a large mob—the mounted police were charging the mob, putting their horses on to the pavement—I did not see the defendants at the time I was at Morley's Hotel—I met a friend there, and the police charged, and I ran across the road, and got side by side with the police drawn across the Square, facing Morley's Hotel—I stood there, looking towards St. Martin's Church, then I heard some police at the back of me call out "There is Burns;" that was about seven or 10 minutes past four, as near as possible—when the policeman said that there was a nasty expression used, and I looked round and saw a crowd coming towards the Square—I saw Graham walking with Burns towards the Square, coming towards the spot where I stood—at that moment the police rushed from the front rank, put their hands to their truncheon cases, and rushed at them—several policemen had their truncheons out, and I saw one blow delivered on Graham's head with a truncheon; there were other blows, but they missed him—Graham had not his hat on; it was impossible for Graham to strike or to attempt to strike the police, for the police rushed on them before they had a chance, even if they wanted it—after that I jumped on a' bus driving round from the direction of Charing Cross towards St. Martin's Church.

Cross-examined by Burns, You and Graham were arm-in-arm, I swear—at the time you crossed over I did not see your arms moving about, but I saw some arms going up, but I could not say whether yours or Graham's after the blow had been struck—I did not see you striking out wildly and furiously; had you done so I should have observed it—I saw arms go up afterwards; I could not say whose arms, the kind of movement a man would make if he were dodging a truncheon.

Cross-examined by the S OLICITOR-GENERAL. I came to Trafalgar Square from Aldgate along the Strand, and was going to Waterloo House—I did not get there at all that afternoon—I had an appointment with a friend, and could not get there in time—I could not get past the policemen and people facing Morley's Hotel at the Strand corner—I met a friend I had met at tea sales in Mark Lane, and stopped speaking to him for a minute or two—I should say I was five or six yards from the defendants when they actually came in contact with the police—I did not notice that the crowd appeared to open and let them through—I had not noticed Graham till I heard the police say "That is Burns," and looked round—there was a good deal of crowd there—they swayed about each time the police charged them, of course; they seemed more lookers-on than anything—the police were dashing at the people right and left—I only saw one blow fall on Graham's head—other mows were aimed; they missed him; they may have hit him on the shoulder; they did not hit him on the head—he was only hit once, as far as I saw—Burns was not hit at all, as far as I saw; many of the police were aiming at him—it is difficult to say how many were actually behind Burns and Graham when they met the police—when

they went others joined in; there may have been 30 or there may have been 70; I could not say; there was cheering—it was not a rush—it was quite casual my being there that day—I am a Conservative, and I worked hard for Mr. Carden, who was on the Bench yesterday, at the last election after business hours—I am proud of being a Conservative.

BLOOMFIELD STEVENS . I live at Stebbington Street, Canning Town—on the afternoon of 13th November, about 4 o'clock, I was in front of the Grand Hotel—my attention had been attracted by the repeated charges by the mounted constables up and down the Strand—about 4 o'clock my attention was attracted by hearing cheers, and looking in the direction from whence the cheers came, the easterly direction, I saw Graham and Burns walking arm-in-arm in the direction of the south-east corner of Trafalgar Square—Graham had no hat on—when the two defendants arrived at the kerbstone of the south-east corner of the Square, about a dozen or so constables immediately sprang from the ranks with drawn truncheons and attacked the crowd, and used their truncheons indiscriminately, making more particularly for Graham and Burns—Graham's right arm was linked with Burns's left, and, as I say, directly they set foot on the pavement they were immediately surrounded and wedged in by constables, and I saw Mr. Graham repeatedly struck heavy blows on the back of the head, on the top of the head, and on the face—Graham never even attempted to strike the police either in defence or in retaliation; as a matter of fact, where there was a chance for either of the defendants to strike a blow at the police was when they arrived at the kerbstone, but neither of them lifted a finger either in their defence or retaliation—after they got on the pavement it was a matter of impossibility for them to strike the constables, as they were completely wedged in, and I saw constable after constable, whose services were in no way required for the arrest of the two defendants, step out of the ranks and deliberately strike Graham particularly thunderous blows on the head, a sight that made me almost sick to witness.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I am an engraver by trade, at the present time working in the employ of the London and North Western Railway Company—I know Burns by sight; I have only seen photographs of Graham—I had never seen him before 13th November—I had seen Burns at promiscuous meeting places—sometimes I have gone to hear him at Hyde Park and Regent's Park while promenading round there—I had heard him speak on two or three previous occasions—I had put questions to him in opposition to socialism at the end of his lectures—I was standing in front of the Grand Hotel—there was an out burst of cheering when Graham and Burns came up; that was what first attracted my attention to them—the cheering came from the eastward, which would be the Strand—I could not say if the people appeared to recognise them—they cheered them; that is all I can say—I did not cheer them—I should say 100 to 150 people followed them—my reason is that just prior to my seeing the two defendants the mounted constables had charged in the direction of the Strand, and therefore had left the roadway clear, and when the defendants were recognised a considerable number of people on both pavements surged into the road, coming up behind them—I should say 150 people would be a very fair estimate of the number of people that followed them at first—Graham and Burns were not exactly in front—a few stragglers were in front; they were

nearly in front—Graham had his hat off—the cheering seemed to grow smaller by degrees and beautifully less as they went across—I saw no sticks waved—I saw sticks in people's hands—they went across at a sharp walk, not a sharp trot—I did not see other people leading with Graham and Burns; people were following them—they did not give the police much opportunity to strike with their truncheons, because directly they saw the police intended to resist with truncheons they ran away from the police—I did not see Graham and Burns hit with truncheons; I saw truncheons used apparently with the object of hitting them—the thunderous blows that nearly made me sick were with fists, and what I should describe as sledge hammer fists—I should say the scrimmage lasted two minutes—I could hardly say it was between the followers of Graham and Burns and the police—there was no scrimmage really; the crowd did not give the police time to engage in a scrimmage with them, they ran away—I arrived in the vicinity of the Square about half-past 3, and had been standing looking on at the general conduct of police and mob until the outburst of cheering attracted my attention—I knew Burns was coming from notices in the papers, and I knew Graham was coming because his name was linked with Burns's—I had no idea what time they were coming; I did not expect them about 4 o'clock.

JOHN EUSTON TURLE . I am an engineer, of 37, Walbrook—on 13th November I was in Trafalgar Square and its vicinity from 3. 30 to 8 p.m.—I went to take observation for journalistic purposes—I walked round the Square several times, and at the south-east corner I saw a number of police drawn up under Superintendent Hunt—I was touching them on the pavement—I noticed a crush among the police, and looked and saw the policemen drawing their truncheons when Superintendent Hunt's back was turned away from the men—seeing them draw them without his orders he said "No. no, put them away," but they did not do so; they said "Oh, all right, Sir, we will hide them," or words to that effect, and some put them under their arms and some behind them, and then I walked on because it struck me as showing that the police were not under the control of the officer—there was no occasion for the staves to be drawn; there was nothing particular going on at the time, though there were skirmishes going on all the afternoon—a little while after that I was in the middle of the road in front of Morley's Hotel, in the middle of a crowd of people, and saw Mr. Graham and Mr. Burns arm-in-arm; they came by me; Mr. Graham had his hat off—I did not recognise them as Graham and Burns—I turned towards the Square to notice some incident, a charge of the police, and I did not see the conflict between Mr. Graham and the police—I went in another direction, thinking there was nothing going to take place—Mr. Graham was not followed by the crowd when he passed me or I should have noticed it, and I should have followed, to see what was going to take place—there was nothing unusual in Mr. Graham walking by with Mr. Burns—it was a very mixed crowd; there were a number of women, and apparently some gentlemen and tradesmen, and a great number of sightseers; I suppose more respectable sightseers than anything else; it certainly was not an organised mob of roughs—I heard afterwards that Mr. Graham and Mr. Burns had been arrested—I did not notice any particular change

in the temper of the crowd after this, it was about the same all the afternoon.

Examined by Burns. I thought the police were particularly cold and calm, the officers particularly—I do not know that the men were calmer than their officers; they were very wild all the afternoon, it did not want much to upset them—I could not see the centre of the Square, I was not sufficiently elevated—I did not see any officer strike any of his men with his clenched fist, nor did I hear that it was done, but I have seen them act very excitedly and ridiculously sometimes—I should not be surprised if Superintendent Shepherd struck one or two of his men with his clenched fist because I have seen that officer act in a very excited manner on many occasions in the Square, but not in Hyde Park.

Cross-examined by the SOLICITOR-GENERAL. I say that the officers were very wild, but the only one I can specifically speak of was Hunt, and when he saw them drawing their staves he told them to put them up—I was not representing any newspaper; I should have decided afterwards to what paper I should send my report—I sent it afterwards to Lloyd's, and The News of the World, and The People; that is all I can remember, but I will think of the others—I am not on the staff of any of those papers; I am an engineer—none of the paragraphs I wrote appeared in print, they were too late—on the whole, my journalistic purposes were not successful.

WILLIAM ARCHIBALD CULLEN FERRALL . I live at Canterbury and at Barrow-in-Furness—on Sunday, 13th November, I got to Trafalgar Square about 3 o'clock and left shortly after 5—I was standing on the steps of Morley's Hotel, at the main entrance, at a few minutes past 4, and saw a slight scrimmage on the pavement, by the cordon of police which extended round the Square; it was caused by the mounted police charging down the crowd at that part, and the scrimmage was very nearly over—I saw the defendants after they were arrested and taken inside the cordon—I did not see them advance to the police, I was looking at other things in the Square, and if they had been accompanied by a crowd or were leaving a crowd I should certainly have noticed them—I was on the top of the steps, so that I was overlooking the corner—I was struck by the respectability of the crowd; it was certainly more respectable than I should have expected on the occasion of a London meeting and it certainly was not all that was most worthless of the London lower classes, as the Times called it, very much the reverse—I did not see confusion and disorder on any occasion, except when the police charged the crowd—it did not appear to me that the demeanour of the crowd changed after the defendants' arrest—there was a little disturbance, but I do not think the majority of the crowd were aware of the arrest having taken place.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. The main entrance to Morley's Hotel is about 15 or 20 yards from the post-office corner—I have not lived in London within the last few years—Morley's Hotel on the ground-floor does not go so far as the corner—the entrance is some little way up, about a quarter of the distance between Duncannon Street and the post-office corner; I should guess it at 100 yards—my attention was attracted by a slight scrimmage, the mounted-police charging the people, clearing the road and making them move on—I heard a dull

noise, but no cheers—my attention was not directed to the defendants till they were being arrested.

CHARLES BRADLAUGH , M. P. I sit for Northampton—I have known Trafalgar Square about 30 years; during that time the public have passed freely over it and used it as a thoroughfare in every direction—I have never seen any notice exhibited in Trafalgar Square to the effect that it was no thoroughfare or private—I have never known the public excluded from passing freely over any part of the Square—I have held about 30 meetings in the Square, from about 1860 to 1884; I have only attended one or two except those held by myself—none of those meetings have been prevented or dispersed by the police—there has been one slight interference, that you can scarcely term an interference, and one serious interference with the holding of the meetings on the part of the police—until 1880 the meetings were on general public questions, after that they were solely with my own right to sit in Parliament; a controversy had arisen as to whether I was entitled to sit without taking the oath—all the 30 meetings I have mentioned have been perfectly orderly—several of the meetings have been attended by as many as filled from the National Gallery to the Grand Hotel and the buildings facing—it has not been found possible at those meetings to make provision for ordinary foot traffic across the Square, I have occasionally arranged for passing people who wanted to pass through the square; I always had a very powerful body of stewards for such meetings—I found it possible to organise and control meetings of that kind without disturbance to the public peace.

Cross-examined by Burns. (Burns proceeded to ask a question as to interference with one of Mr. Bradlaugh's meetings. The ATTORNEY-GENERAL objecting, MR. JUSTICE CHARLES ruled that he could not allow this evidence to be continued further than to allow Mr. Bradlaugh to state that meetings had been attended by a large number of people, and that none of them ended in violence or disturbance.) The only occasion when I took special precautions was at the request of the police, who asked me not to allow speaking off the pedestal as other persons got on the lions—I thought that a reasonable request, and had a small movable platform made to go between the projections—I have not been present at a disorderly meeting at Trafalgar Square; I never attend meetings, with very slight exceptions, in the open air, except those convened by myself—I have never been present at a meeting which the police suppressed.

BENNET BURLEIGH . I live at 31, Orlando Road, Clapham, and am engaged on the staff of the Daily Telegraph—on 13th November I went to Trafalgar Square for the purpose of taking notes and writing; I think I arrived in the neighbourhood about 1 o'clock and remained there till about half-past 6—I was all round the Square, but I think I was chiefly on the south side of the Square, and near the south-east corner the whole day long—there was a very large crowd; as the afternoon went on the streets became very crowded; it was an ordinary London crowd, good-natured and orderly—I noticed no instance of the spirit of retaliation; it was full of chaff, except one instance, about half-past 3, near or at the south-east corner of the Square, a mounted constable knocked against a man, knocking him down, and the man gathered himself together and seized the reins of the horse; he was buffeted about and he held on the reins very steadily for some little

time, and then he was turned adrift—he fell right over, prone on his hands and knees—I saw no retaliation on the part of the crowd till that time—I could not say if the man was knocked down accidentally, I saw him fall down—the crowd consisted chiefly of the working class—about 4 o'clock the mounted police from time to time were riding in among the people, and going on the shelters and on the pavement, and breaking up groups of people here and there—there was an incident of that kind more violent than others under the windows of the Grand Hotel, and either then or shortly after there was some procession and a band came down from the neighbourhood of St. Martin's Lane—that was almost on the strike of 4—there was a rush of people, as many as could get past on the east side of Trafalgar Square towards the National Gallery, and over the front of the Square, so that the front between the south side of the square and the east side were almost completely denuded of people except on the opposite side of the street under the Grand Hotel, where they were being dispersed by the Police—I noticed nothing further on the south side of the Square except the mounted police charged the people on the pavement by the Grand Hotel—a moment or so after that I saw a few people streaming from the direction of the post-office in a transverse or diagonal direction to the east side of the square opposite Morley's Hotel, at almost an angle of 45 across the road towards the Square where the police were standing four and eight deep—there were very few people at first—I suppose from first to last there were not more than 50 people; a number of them were women—I was rather round the corner—they seemed to me to be going towards the Square—what took place as far as I observed was that a number of policemen who had been moving up and down the pavement, and were then drawn up on the Square, advanced a few paces to meet them, a scuffle ensued, which attracted more people, and the mounted police went to the assistance, I presume, of those on foot, and the people were dispersed, the whole affair only lasting a few seconds—the scuffle must have been less than a minute from beginning to end—I saw the police nearest the south-east corner advance to meet this knot of people—my range of vision did not carry me very far—I observed a collision between the police and the people, and I observed the people dispersed—the ranks of the police regained their ordinary formation, drawn up in line, in half a minute—after that some of my colleagues told me there had been arrests, and I tiptoed and saw two men on the inside of the Square whom I believe were the prisoners, although I could not say—after that there were encounters between, the police and the people of the same character as I have already described, the mounted police riding among the people, occasionally assisted by bodies of foot police, dispersing the people from the corner at Northumberland Avenue towards the Strand, and on the north and west sides also—I saw the military come from the Horse Guards, I did not know for what purpose; I thought they were changing guard—I could not believe it was for anything else—I was very much surprised to find them riding towards the east side of the Square—I thought they would have gone off west towards their barracks. (MR. ASQUITH proposed to ask the witness whether, in his judgment, calling out the military was necessary. The ATTORNEY GENERAL submitted that this question could not be asked. MR. ASQUITH contended that the witness was capable of and in a position to form an opinion on

well as the police officers. MR. JUSTICE CHARLES considered that the objection went more to the weight than to the admissibility of evidence, and that he would not exclude it.) In my judgment calling out the military was not necessary—I have never seen any disposition on the part of an English crowd to come into contact with the authorities at a political meeting so far as I ascertained, and it was my object to ascertain the desire of the meeting—I saw no evidence on that day of any desire on the part of the people to come into personal contact with the authorities.

Cross-examined by Burns. I was frequently assigned to the duty of attending the meetings held in the Square before November 13th—the meetings prior to that were meetings of the unemployed as I understand it—they were attended by meetings of all classes and conditions of men and women—the majority of people looked like men out of work, and some as if they had been out of work a good long time, and out of food too—it did not impress me that there was the average sprinkling of thieves, and so forth—I thought they were mostly poor people, unemployed men who did jobbing work; not regular mechanics, but unskilled labourers—I think the percentage of unemployed would be nearer 70 than 80 at the general meetings—there were speakers at the meetings who harangued the people on the necessity of finding work and employment, and suggested the manner in which work could be found—they sent deputations to the Local Government Board and the Lord Mayor—the men as a rule were generally attentive; there was a fringe of boys and youths who were noisy at times and indulged in a good deal of horseplay, but the men, as far as I saw, tried to stop it, and the speakers asked the assistance of the police to drive away the lads who clamber over the lions and run round the base of the pedestal—so far as I observed I found no difficulty in moving from the outside to the inside of the crowd—I moved among them, and conversed with them occasionally—there was no attempt to pick ray pocket; if there had been they would have found a gold watch and a sovereign or so when I had money on me—in my opinion the conduct of the crowd did not justify police interference and the subsequent prohibition—in my opinion if the police had shown forbearance there would have been none of this conflict—I have seen you in the Square, and heard you speak—I have heard you order lads off the lions and off the plinth of the monument, and ask them to keep order—I have never heard you suggest in any manner that you wished any one to loot shops, create riots, or generally act furiously with the view of making a riot—there have been no disorders in the Square at any meetings I have been at convened by you—there was a meeting convened by the Sugar Bounties people, not by you; there was a disorder at that—I have seen you talking to the police—I don't remember Superintendent Dunlop saying to you "For God's sake, Burns, keep this crowd in order, I cannot"—I have heard it so stated—there was no disturbance then—I should not describe you as a loose, idle, disorderly person—I should rather describe you as industriously inclined.

Cross-examined by the SOLICITOR-GENERAL. I heard no such appeal made to Dunlop—when I have been in London, which has been a good deal within the last seven or eight years, there have been very few meetings in Trafalgar Square at which I have not been present—I could not say how many have been convened by the Social Democratic Federation; it might be half a dozen; it might be more certainly—half a dozen probably

—I remember some of the meetings of February, 1886—I recollect and I was present on the occasion on which there was a procession through the West End and a great deal of mischief done, shops broken into in Piccadilly and the like—I did not attend the first meetings in Trafalgar Square, October last year, but all the meetings afterwards I attended—I was not present at the meeting early in November, or at the end of October, when the crowd left the Square and went up to Hyde Park—I was not present on Sunday, 23rd October, when the crowd went to Westminster Abbey, and on another Sunday when they went there—I was not in London at the time—there were processions through the streets after the unemployed meetings I was present at—I accompanied nearly all the processions—there was a body of police in attendance at the processions—I should not call it a strong force; the force strengthened as the processions went on, and the streets were well guarded through which they passed, not all of them, but as a rule the more busy thoroughfares were well guarded—doubtless greater precautions had to be taken from day to day—on 13th November when the actual conflict took place between the defendants and their followers and the police I was a few yards, it might have been five or ten, from the south-east corner towards the west, nearly opposite the Grand Hotel on the pavement in front of the police—I was at the east side of the Nelson column—I was facing the Grand Hotel if I put my back to the Square—I did not identify Graham or Burns; I knew them very well, and was looking for them, but did not see them, but I saw blows interchanged between the police and the people—I saw the police cuffing the crowd—I saw blows interchanged; I did not then recognise the defendants, nor had I seen them advance—my attention had not been called to cheering in the Strand, but only to the two things, the scene under the Grand Hotel windows and the band by the National Gallery, until I saw the people streaming across diagonally—there were not so many loafers in the crowd as on week days—the Sunday crowd was a very respectable crowd taken all through, a very much better crowd than it had been on week days—I am speaking of the whole day; I had been moving freely all round the Square, occasionally going a little way down the Strand and Northumberland Avenue and Parliament Street—I noticed the police were always breaking up masses of people—after 4 o'clock there was more excitement and noise; I think there was after the military first came on the scene—I noticed more excitement among the crowd who moved round after the military—the crowd cheered the soldiers very much.

JAMES TIMMS . I am honorary secretary of the Metropolitan Radical Federation, which consists chiefly of the Radical Clubs in the metropolis that federate—the object of the Federation is to carry out the Radical programme, and to hold public meetings and demonstrations whenever they deem it advisable—we have a duly-elected executive council of 25, which consists of delegates duly appointed from different clubs—there was a meeting of the council on Wednesday, 2nd November—I have the minutes of the meeting—we discussed about the meeting in Trafalgar Square for about quarter of an hour, and this resolution was passed unanimously: "That a demonstration be held in Trafalgar Square on Sunday, November 13, at four p.m., to demand the release of Mr. William O'Brien, M. P., and other Irish patriots"—that was passed at the club at Tower Hamlets; the council meetings at different clubs in the metropolis

shift from month to month—this poster was drafted the same evening, the order for printing was given next morning, and it was issued to all the clubs on November 5, and placarded all over London—our Federation had no connection whatever with the meetings held in Trafalgar Square by the unemployed; we had not held a meeting in Trafalgar Square for over 12 or 13 months; I had taken no part in convening or holding those meetings—on and off for a long time the clubs have held political meetings there—I have attended many political meetings there over a lapse of years—none of those meetings have been attended by or ended with violence or disorder—Graham is not a member of our Federation; he could not possibly be under the conditions of our membership unless he belonged to a London Radical Club, nor Burns either; they never took part in this movement—on 10th November I received this telegram (produced) from Graham "Please put my name down as a speaker in Trafalgar Square on Sunday, 13th November"—it comes from Birmingham, New Street—that was the first communication I had from Graham—it was not directed to me, but to one of the secretaries of a Radical Club, and it came into my hands some hours afterwards—about 10 or half-past 10 on 8th November I became aware of this proclamation of Sir Charles Warren—I wrote to him or to the commissioners on the subject; I think to the commissioners—we resolved to hold our meeting notwithstanding the proclamation—we had a minute in our book of January 5th, 12 months before, long before these disturbances, that we would uphold the right of public meeting in Trafalgar Square at all times—I had not received the proclamation when I drafted the post-card to say the meeting would positively and definitely be held; that went to the printer's hand the same night—I received the proclamation next day—we resolved to hold the meeting notwithstanding; we had never been stopped, and I could not conceive we were going to be stopped. (The post-card was read as follows: "November 9th. It is positively and definitely decided that the demonstration, to demand the release of Mr. William O'Brien, M. P., and other Irish patriots, on Sunday, November 13th, will be held. Do not fail to attend.") I wrote that on the evening of the 8th, but as it could not be issued till next day I dated it 9th November; that is what I always do—I was at Trafalgar Square from 3. 30 till past five—I saw the aggressive nature of the police from the start—I did not see the particular conflict between the police and Graham at the south-east corner, but at half-past three I saw mounted police charging the crowd in all directions, and I saw a man taken away and locked up at 20 minutes to four opposite the Grand Hotel—at four o'clock, after seeing the batoning, I went to the cordon of police and asked to be allowed to pass through—I said I did not come there to be batoned; I came to take charge of the meeting that was fixed to be held; I asked to be allowed to be let through—I was referred to the sergeant; the sergeant referred me to a mounted inspector, who sent me to Scotland Yard, where I saw Chief Inspector Cutbush—I told Cutbush the nature of our peaceful demonstration, the same as on other occasions, and would he allow some of us to hold one, and allow some of us to go inside the Square, but I was practically ordered out of the station.

Cross-examined by Burns. I had no communication with you in connection with the meeting of the 13th—I did not know you were going to attend—you are not a member of the Metropolitan Radical Federation or

of the Council—no concerted arrangement or design was made between me on behalf of the Council and you.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. On January 5th, 1887, we determined to uphold the right of public meeting—we have always held meetings in Hyde Park, and should do so—our association had not expressed by resolution or otherwise the same decision with regard to the right of meeting in Hyde Park; I can tell you why we did so in this case—I was told verbally of this proclamation on the night of the 8th, I had not seen it, I was told by one of my members it was out—the card drafted on the 8th was printed next morning, and was in the post by 12 o'clock next day, the 9th—I did not think the proclamation applied to us—we intended to hold our meeting in defiance of what the police might do—if the processions had not been stopped 60, 000 or 70, 000 persons would have assembled; that is our usual number that attended the meeting the next Sunday—we met in Hyde Park perfectly peaceably and orderly—at the meeting next Sunday in Hyde Park there was no interference by the police; it was peaceable and orderly—Mr. Hyndman is not a member of my association, from his opinions he would not be—I knew nothing of how Burns and Graham met together till I heard it at Bow Street—I fix the times, and they are agreed to by the Council—the processions were timed to start at certain moments, so that they might all arrive at Charing Cross at a certain moment; they began at 12 minutes past 2 from Hammersmith Broadway, 47 minutes past 2 Paddington Green, and so on, and they were all timed to arrive at the same time, so as to begin the meeting punctually—our usual time of meeting is not 3, we have met as late as 5 in Hyde Park and other places in the summertime—I saw none of the processions, they never reached the Square—I have been in Court about an hour to-day, I could not get here yesterday—I have only been told by the police that people in the processions had sticks and pieces of iron and other weapons—we gave instructions that they were not to even bring umbrellas if it was raining—I have not got those instructions; they were verbal, and were given on Saturday night by the organisers, Ellis, of Peckham, Sterne, of West Marylebone, Harris, of Hackney, Suter, of Southwark and others—60, 000 to 70, 000 is the usual number of people we have—the orders were given at a quarter-past 10 or half-past 10 on Saturday night to the meeting of organisers to make the final arrangements—the arrangements would be conveyed to the thousands by each of the organisers, who would appoint a steward—I should think there were 20 organisers; that is the central body that meets, and they distribute it to others—the 20 organisers would communicate to their lieutenants, who would communicate to the thousands who were going to join the processions—notices of the meeting would be up in the clubs long before Saturday night—I did not send a post-card to every delegate to make his arrangements till we settled it—I did the times of starting at my house on the Thursday—they would be in the hands of the different clubs on Friday, and would be seen by the members on Saturday afternoon—the directions about no weapons were at a meeting on Saturday night about 10, and it was to be carried to the members between 10 and the time of starting—there were not 50 or 60 different starting-points, because the processions would pass through various places—there is only one starting-point for the south-west district, and two for the south-east, one from Bricklayers' Arms and the other

from Peckham Rye, and they would start, picking up contingents—I had not heard on Saturday night that there was any probability of weapons being taken, nothing of the kind—it is quite an unusual thing to pass these special resolutions—the executive council, because of the rumours in the newspapers that there would very likely be a terrible scene on that day, passed this resolution that men should come defence-less on this occasion—I arrived on the scene at half-past 3—that was my usual way of organisation—I went to Scotland Yard, and did not see what happened at 4 o'clock—I saw repeated rushes of the people away from the mounted police, who were moving them on all the afternoon—they allowed omnibuses to move round the Square, and people got on the omnibuses and got round the Square on them cheering; it was a most ridiculous thing—I was present at the meeting in February, 1886, when the riots took place—I heard Burns speak—he was speaking at a different part to that at which the riots originated—he was a speaker at the meeting; I was a speaker myself—the riot commenced with the Sugar Bounties people—Burns was speaking by the National Gallery.

Re-examined. Sir Charles Warren's second proclamation was shown me about 7 o'clock on Saturday night; it bore date of that day—I saw the newspaper; I saw no proclamation itself, it was not out on the walls—the occasion of the minute of 5th January, 1887, was that the newspapers reported that a meeting of tradesmen had taken place in Trafalgar Square to abolish the meetings there, and before tradesmen came there we had held meetings there, and we determined to hold a meeting in spite of a few selfish tradesmen—it took place about that particular time with reference to this agitation.

Witness for Burns.

MR. J. G. LORRAINE. I am a member of the Society of Telegraph Engineers and of the Institute of Mechanical Engineers and several other learned societies—I have offices at Norfolk House, Norfolk Street, Strand; also a laboratory and workshop at Gray's Inn Road, Holborn—I have had that laboratory for 12 months—during that time you have been in my employment as an engineer—I have always found you sober, very steady, reliable, and of good conduct as a workman, and possessed of moderate ability as an engineer—I believe you are an abstainer from tobacco and so forth—I have found you willing to do any work you are asked to do, not objecting to wheel a truck one day and make a piece of delicate mechanism the next—I should not look upon you as a professional agitator, or one who is improperly interested in riots, tumults, and disturbances—I should think you lose materially in health and pocket from devoting your spare time to public questions—you were in my employment up to the day of the trial, and when the Jury acquit you I shall allow you to resume your work.

Witnesses for Graham.

HENRY HYNDMAN . On 13th November I met Mr. Graham at the underground railway station, Charing Cross—I intended to take part in the meeting which was proposed to be held that day—Mr. Graham had no umbrella or anything with him, but I had the umbrella I have here—Mr. Graham suggested that I should leave it in the tobacconist's shop at the bottom of Villiers Street, in case it should he said that any of us had assaulted the police with it—I left it at the tobacconist's shop, and went up from Charing Cross to the Strand with Graham and Burns

from the underground railway station, and went through Buckingham Street—I got separated from Graham and Burns opposite Morley's Hotel—I had been with both of them from the station—after I was separated from them I saw them proceed together, and Mr. Graham's arm was linked in Mr. Burns's, or Mr. Burns's left arm was linked in his right, and Mr. Graham had his hat when I lost sight of him in his left hand—they were coming on at a very fast pace—that was the last I saw of them.

Examined by the defendant Burns. I noticed policemen following you up Villiers Street, particularly a sergeant about three yards off—he walked behind you till we reached Morley's Hotel—I do not think there was any large number following—here and there a straggler, and I heard one or two say "There is Burns"—when we separated there might have been 30 or 40 people gathered behind—they were the people to cut me off in the first instance—I did not see Graham, and when you approached the cordon of police you were dressed as you are now, and had nothing in your hand—from my knowledge of you if you had assaulted the police there would have been evidence of it if you got a fair chance—I did not see you assault the police, and I know you expressed to me your full intention of not taking any notice of what they did—I have never known you assault the police—I have frequently known you protect them, undoubtedly in Trafalgar Square—you were undoubtedly arm-in-arm with Mr. Graham when I lost sight of you.

Cross-examined by the SOLICITOR-GENERAL. I arrived at Charing Cross Metropolitan District Station—Graham, Burns, and myself walked up Buckingham Street—there were no others with us—I met Burns by appointment at the station—about five or six speakers were appointed by the Social Democratic Federation—they were working men, and it would injure them if their names were published—they were published in the papers at the time—I have spoken in Trafalgar Square a good many times before—the speakers were to speak on behalf of the Socia Democratic Federation—that was not the body who called the meeting, but the meeting was under the control of the Metropolitan Radical Federation—our secretary mainly made the arrangements for speakers on that afternoon, Mr. H. W. Lee—we notified to the organisers of the meeting that we should require two speakers for each platform, or more—one occasion on which I spoke in Trafalgar Square was in February, 1886—I then represented the Social Democratic Federation—I mean I was a member of the Social Democratic Federation—we did not hold that meeting, and if Mr. Burns says I did not there represent the Social Democratic Federation, my memory may have failed me, and possibly I did not—my impression was that I did, but when I come to recollect it I think we went there practically without any formal organisation as a body—I was then a member of the Social Democratic Federation—that fact was commonly known—the meeting was not one called by the Social Democratic Federation, but by other persons and for other purposes to which we objected—as they called the meeting we took advantage of it to come and make speeches—it was proposed to make an amendment—we informed them of it, and that led to rioting, therefore we held a meeting at some distance in another part of the Square—Burns had a red flag in his hand—I think I heard him make a speech—I do not remember whether I made reference to what happened in France at the time of the

revolution and the sacking of shops—possibly something might have been said about that—we stood our trial here, no doubt, and evidence was given—I do not remember Burns calling upon the people who were willing to go west to hold up their hands, but I remember at the end of the meeting in the Square those in favour of going to Hyde Park were directed to hold up their hands, and they did—Burns went along Pall Mall with them—some were in front of him and some were behind—I think he still carried the red flag—I think he did get upon the pedestal in front of the Carlton Club to address them—the windows of the Carlton Club were broken after the members of that Club had thrown missiles at the mob—the other windows in Pall Mall were not broken until after missiles had been thrown at the mob—as to other windows being broken, I presume, having begun, a certain fringe of the mob broke through, and no constables being there to take them into custody, they may have enjoyed a little fun for once—that is what they considered it—I endeavoured to stop them—they went up St. James's Street and broke windows there—it is all in evidence—they went along Piccadilly and the shops were sacked there, and Burns and others endeavoured to check them; meanwhile Burns and I were going on to Hyde Park—we went to the Achilles statue and made speeches there—after those speeches I believe houses in Audley Street were sacked—it was proved in evidence—I have no idea that mischief follows our meetings by people who attend them—I was not in Audley Street with the crowd—I was in Pall Mall and St. James's Street, and Piccadilly—probably mischief was done by men who attended the meeting in Trafalgar Square of Peters and Kelly—Peters and Kelly did not come with us, but a large portion of their mob did, I am sorry to say—since February, 1886, I have spoken in Trafalgar Square four or five times certainly, and no disturbances ever followed any more than on other occasions when we held meetings—this is mere conversation, and I should like to point out, though I am sure Sir Edward Clarke does not wish to get more than the absolute truth, that what we claim is that no meeting under our control, or under the control of the Radical Federation, has ever been attended by disorder—we took the people away from the Square, as was proved here, to avoid worse trouble—I should think that if Peters and Kelly were leading the crowd there would be great danger to the shops—they have a magic spell to bring bad people together, which consists of 5s. and a pot of beer—I have no magic spell by which to keep bad people away from our meetings, but from experience our meetings have not been attended by disorder—meetings called by others have—on the Sunday referred to we were going to attend a meeting called by somebody else, but we were not in harmony with them—if you bring two crowds together who don't happen to agree there might be a disturbance—there was no intention to fight anybody—I do not think there was any intention to rob the shops, and I venture to appeal to you that this is entering into a discussion—I have called it a conversation—it is all in evidence what they did, and that we endeavoured to stop them—I had not spoken at any unemployed meeting—I had been at one meeting in Trafalgar Square, on a Sunday, when five of the unemployed addressed the meeting—that was about a week or a fortnight before our meeting—it was not on the Sunday they went to Westminster

Abbey—that is all I have seen of the unemployed meetings—Burns has been with me about a dozen times—that we have attended meetings together in the Square about four or five times since February, 1886, is correct.

Re-examined. Our meetings in the Square have never been attended by disorder—Burns and I were indicted in this court in connection with the meeting of February, 1886—what the charge was I never could make out—evidence was gone into at great length and we were acquitted by the Jury. (The learned ATTORNEY-GENERAL read the verdict in the case against Hyndman, reported in sixth volume of the Sessions Paper, 1886.) On that occasion Burns and I did everything in our power to restrain the men from acts of violence; the meeting was not called by us, and we were not in sympathy with its objects—on 13th November two speakers were to attend at each platform—the first topic was in reference to the imprisonment of Mr. William O'Brien, and the second with regard to the right of free speech in Trafalgar Square—I met Burns by appointment—if I remember, I was rather surprised to find Mr. Cunninghame Graham at the station, as I did not appoint to meet him—I had only made his acquaintance two or three days before—I met Burns by appointment at the station—Graham was there, too, and the three walked up Bucking-ham Street together—the five or six people who were with them then straggled off into the crowd.

BENJAMIN SYKES . I live at 1, Ferndale Road, Clapham, and am a journalist and a novelist—on November 13th I was engaged in Trafalgar Square for the National Press Agency—I arrived there about 2 o'clock for the purpose of making a report—I walked round the Square several times—from my observation it seemed to me to be a goodnatured crowd that had met there more to amuse itself than otherwise, and they seemed to treat the whole thing as if the police had taken too much trouble about it, and they were laughing about it; that is only my impression, of course—they did not appear to me to have any riotous intention—I remember being opposite Morley's Hotel about 4 p.m.—there was a cry of "There they are," which I think proceeded from the police who were standing as part of the cordon at the south end corner of the Square—the police rushed across the parapet a few steps, and then the whole thing resolved itself into a melee—I saw Graham and Burns, but they were certainly not at the head of the crowd—a little knot of about 20 or 30 came across from Morley's corner, but the police did not give them time to reach the cordon, but rushed along the pavement, and I had to do the best I could to get out of it—the police had been hitting right and left, and I got one or two blows myself—I distinctly saw the police advance to meet this knot of people—I did not see them use their truncheons—they were hitting with their fists right and left—I did not see them strike the defendants—accidentally a mounted policeman's horse backed on to me, cut my shoe, and grazed my toe—I was on the pavement between the policemen who were on foot and the policemen who were mounted, who sidled down to protect the unmounted police.

H. W. MASSINGHAM. I am a journalist—I was at the windows of the late National Liberal Club in Trafalgar Square on 13th November from 2 p.m. till about 4. 45—during the whole of that time I watched the demeanour of the crowd very closely—it was a perfectly orderly crowd, composed very largely of the lower and middle-class tradespeople

—there was no appearance of disorder, no organisation, and certainly no attempt at anything like riotous conduct—there were many sightseers, but the London rough was not there in large numbers; I did not see him in fact—I did not see the collision between defendants and police distinctly—I was too far off to see it clearly, but I saw it—I was then at the window mentioned—the club is on the west side of Northumberland Avenue—I had the west corner of the station straight in front of me—the premises are to let—they were vacant at this time.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. The view is quite clear of the Grand Hotel—the club is on the west side of Northumberland Avenue.

JOHN CHARLES DURANT , M. P. I live at Clement's House, Clement's Inn Passage, and am a printer of a newspaper—I was in Trafalgar Square on the afternoon referred to—shortly after 4 till about 6 p.m., I found a very large crowd assembled, but was remarkably struck with their demeanour, as being one of great good humour and conversation—conversing with many groups in the Square, I was very much struck with their intelligence and general bearing; their unaggressive character—I did not see a single person of the public attempt to defend himself against the police—I saw the policemen continually charge parts of the crowd; the mounted police especially riding them down, but I did not see one man attempt to strike back during the whole time—they seemed to fear it would be ridiculous to attempt it, being entirely unarmed—I saw the soldiers arrive—I did not see any occasion for it, and did not think it was necessary or desirable.

Cross-examined by the SOLICITOR-GENERAL. I did not see the attack on the corner of the Square.

Cross-examined by Burns. I did not see you at the meeting on November 13th in the Square in company with the defendant—I arrived there shortly after 4 o'clock.

Re-examined. I was there when the military was called out.

STUART GLENNIE . I was in Trafalgar Square on the afternoon of 13th November from about 4. 5 till about 6 p.m.—I arrived at Waterloo Station at 3.57, and by quick walking got to Trafalgar Square five or six minutes after 4—I had come up to the new station from Wimbledon, and I think it is about eight minutes' walk—I walked across Hungerford Bridge—I saw a very orderly crowd—seeing no row and nothing of any interest towards the south-east corner of the Square, I went by Duncannon Street to the upper part of the Square—I saw the guards riding round—they were coming up on the west side—I saw no appearance of any disorder at that time.

Cross-examined by Burns. I did not see you.

By the COURT. I did not see the incident at the corner of the Square—I must have arrived a few minutes after the arrest.

EDWARD JAMES CARPENTER , M. A. I come from Sheffield—I was in Trafalgar Square on Sunday, 13th November, shortly after 3 till 4.20 p.m.—I was standing at the mouth of the Strand on the south side chiefly, the south-east corner of the Square, a little below Morley's Hotel—I should describe the crowd as an extremely peaceable, good-humoured crowd, consisting in the main of the lower and middle classes, the better class of working people, and but comparatively few roughs—I saw no violence offered to the police by the crowd—I saw nothing in the nature

of a riot on the part of the people—about 4 o'clock I saw a Slight convergance of people towards the Nelson Column—I saw no great number of roughs in the crowd.

Cross-examined by the SOLICITOR-GENERAL. I went there because I thought that something would happen; I expected that some attempt might be made to get into the Square, and I went to see it.

MR. ALBERT DAYRES . I a student, of Dalmene Road, Holloway—on 13th November I was in Trafalgar Square from about 3. 30 till close upon 5 p.m.—about four I was in front of Morley's Hotel facing it—I saw Burns first, and I afterwards saw one whom I have since learned was Mr. Graham, walking arm in arm with him from the direction of the Strand—about six or seven persons were following who seemed to recognise Burns more than Graham; Mr. Burns was on Mr. Graham's right; they were crossing the road in the direction of the Square—I heard the police say "Here is Burns," and some other expression was used I am not certain about like "Now for him"—five or six of the police seemed to be anxious to get at Burns—one seemed as if he was going to draw his truncheon to strike him—Mr. Burns and Mr. Graham seemed be coming forward to get into the Square—I did not see them actually in contact with the police—I only saw them at the corner on the road to Morley's Hotel—there were scrimmages going on all round; there must have been a hand-to-hand encounter with the police, who were the aggressors in the first instance—in my opinion, if the police had used more forbearance I do not think any possible disturbance could have taken place—the crowd was very orderly, more so than ordinary.

Cross-examined by Burns. I did not notice any constables drawing their truncheons from down their overcoat sleeves or out of their right-hand trousers pocket, but the one I have alluded to would have drawn it from his right-hand side from the case.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I did not see the actual scrimmage with the police, but I saw scrimmages all round—the crowd was an orderly one engaged in a general scrimmage through the police entirely.

GUILTY of an unlawful assembly .— Six Weeks' Imprisonment without Hard Labour.

OLD COURT.—Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, January 19th, 20th, and 21st, 1888.

Before Mr. Justice Charles.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-224
VerdictGuilty > unknown; Not Guilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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224. LEON SERNÉ (38) and JOHN HENRY GOLDFINCH (30) were indicted for feloniously setting fire to the dwelling-house of the said Leon Serné, persons being therein.

MR. GEOGHEGAN on the part of Serné put in a plea in bar that the matter had been previously tried and determined by a former Jury.

MR. POLAND submitted that the plea was wholly bad, it was not a plea of autrefois acquit, and that although the prisoners had been acquitted of murder, they had not been acquitted of arson. MR. BODKIN took the same course for Goldfinch. By the permission of the COURT, MR. POLAND put a special replication upon the Record that the prisoners had not been acquitted of arson, and praying that the matter be enquired of by the Country.

HENRY KEMP AVORY (Examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN). I produce the indictment upon which the prisoners were tried for murder before Mr. Justice Stephen, also the caption and the minutes; the verdict was Not Guilty against both prisoners.

MR. POLAND then submitted that there was no evidence in support of the special plea.

MR. JUSTICE CHARLES ruled that the acquittal of the prisoners for murder was no bar to the present trial, and, an to the plea, directed the Jury to find a verdict for the Crown.

MESSRS. POLAND and CHARLES MATTHEWS Prosecuted; MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and BODKIN appeared for Serné, and MR. FULTON for Goldfinch.

The witnesses in the former trial were examined from the Sessions Paper, as reported at pages 122 to 147, and the following additional witnesses were called.

FREDERICK WILLIAM LANCE. I am a clerk in the North British and Mercantile Insurance Office—it is part of my duty to survey premises then proposals are made for insurance—in consequence of an application by Serné I went to his shop—I did not make a detailed valuation, I only roughly guessed the value I roughly guessed that there were between 2, 500 and 3, 000 tins of capuala, they were in the top floor front room, I took up one or two to see whether they were full—Serné gave me the telling price at 2s. 6d.—I do not think they were in a bedroom, I do not remember seeing a bedroom—I saw no articles of clothing except what the people were wearing—I saw no drugs or stuff for making the ointment—I valued the stock in the hairdresser's shop at 20l., and the fittings at 80l. I think—I asked Serné how he lit the premises, he said with gas and paraffin lamps—there was a place for heating water for use in the business, that appeared secure to me—I reported it to the office, and the insurance was taken for 700l.

Cross-examined. I was not examined at Bow Street or on the last trial here—I was first spoken to about the time the prisoners were tried for murder—Inspector Conquest spoke to me first before the trial began—I gave the police my statement before the trial.

Re-examined. I was in attendance at the last trial on one occasion, but went away on some business.

CHARLES KURD (Policeman E 176). I was examined before the Coroner—on the night of 17th September I was on duty in the Strand, and at 1. 35 on the 18th I saw No. 274 on fire; I was one of the party who went to 275—I afterwards went to 277, and rescued the prisoner Serné and his wife.

Cross-examined. I was the third constable on the scene, the other two were Burt and Grimwood; Blunden, Ross, and Johnson came up pretty well together, and Burt and Grimwood shortly afterwards—I saw one fire at the back on the ground floor and heard screams, that was at the back of the ground floor, the ladies' room, the back of the shop—I saw the fire through the window—I only saw one fire.

Re-examined. That was in the left-hand corner, at the back—I then heard screams and went to 275, and was one of the constables who burst the door open.

JOHN GRIMWOOD (Policeman E 397). On 18th September, about 1. 35 a.m., I was on duty in the Strand, and saw smoke issuing from the top window of 274, I came from the east, from Temple Bar; I ran for a fire-escape and called the firemen—the escape came about three minutes afterwards—I assisted the constable in trying to force the doors open,

and rescue the inmates—I went to 275, and had to come back—I then went to 277, where Mrs. Serné was rescued.

The witnesses called for the defence on the former trial were examined from the Sessions Paper (see pages 147 to 153), and the following additional witnesses were called.

ARTHUR MILLS DRIVER . I am No. 255 of the Fire Brigade—on this night I was on duty at St. Clement's Church, which is a night fire station—a civilian brought an alarm of fire—I went there; there were very few people in front of the fire—the house was burning from top to bottom at the rear.

Cross-examined. I arrived at 1. 41, almost at the same time as the fire escape; I followed it round the corner with the hose cart along the Strand—I had no chance of getting to the back of the premises, but I could see from the front when I arrived that the rear was alight—the front part was well illuminated, and the glass was broken through the heat—I ascended the fire escape with the escape man.

Re-examined. The station is about 40 yards from the fire, about six houses.

EDWARD HENRY DAVIS . I am in the employ of Messrs. Smith and Son—on 18th September at night I heard a policeman's whistle, and about three minutes afterwards went into the Strand, and saw No. 274 on fire—there were not many people there; the shop only was on fire—the escape was just coming round the corner.

Cross-examined. It was about 1.30 when I heard the whistle; there may have been four policemen there when I got there—I did not see McGore—when I got there the shop was in names, but I did not see smoke coming out—I got near enough to look; I was on the pavement in front of it—there were shutters, but I looked over them, and there was hair oil or something in the window—it was the back part of the centre which was alight; I could see the flames.

HENRY BURTON . I am manager to Messrs. Partington and Co., advertising agents—Serné came to me, and proposed that I should take the side of 51, New Oxford Street, for advertising—he asked what I would give for it—I offered him 150l. a year, and he left—that was in the middle of last year.

Cross-examined. I cannot tell whether it was July, August, or September—I had the front of his premises in the Strand for advertising, and paid him 30l. in advance from April till October.

SERNÉ— GUILTY . — Twenty Years' Penal Servitude.



Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-225
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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225. JOHN FRASER (29) was indicted for an indecent assault on Eliza O'Donnell.

MR. BURNIE Prosecuted.

GUILTY . — Twelve Months' Hard Labour ,


Before Mr. Justice Charles.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-226
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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226. ERNEST ALBERT VICKERY (23) was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the wilful murder of Robert Maxwell.


HARRIET VICKERY . I am a widow, of 9, Arthur Street, Deptford—prisoner is my son—my daughter was married to Robert Maxwell, who was a working foreman to an engineer—he was 35 years of age—on 20th November he was out of work from the Wednesday previous—he and my daughter lived in my house—they occupied the front bedroom, first floor, and the back parlour, furnished; they had one child—the prisoner occupied the back room, at the back of the front bedroom—my daughter was confined about quarter to two between the Sunday, 20th November, and Monday—Mary Kingston, the monthly nurse, came on that day—on Monday, the 21st, Maxwell came home between four and five in the afternoon; he was in a drinking state—he went up into his wife's bedroom—she called to the nurse for help; the nurse was out at the back, and I went up with the elder child in my arms; he was a boy of about two-and-a-half years—Maxwell took the child out of my arms and threw it on the bed, and struck me in the mouth with his fist, and then threw me out of the room—my hand and wrist were hurt by his blows—I called out to my youngest daughter, and my son then came up to my assistance—Maxwell swore at him, and said he would knock his head off and throw him over the banisters—I and my son then went to the police-station and saw the inspector, and made a communication to him—we then came back—Maxwell got some money, and went out and got more drink—he kept drinking next day and causing words and unpleasantness—he slept a little time in my son's bedroom that night, but not for long—my son gave up his room to him and slept in the kitchen—I heard Maxwell go out about live a.m.—he came back about 10 minutes or quarter to eight, and went into his wife's bedroom, and then into my son's room, which is two or three steps down; we call it the ante-room—shortly after eight I heard a scuffling noise in my son's room as if there was a quarrelling; it did not last very long—I heard a mumbling sort of talking noise; the door was shut—I dressed myself and went into my daughter's room, the front room—Maxwell was there; he was just coming out—I saw he was bleeding at the forehead and about the head—he sat down by the fireplace on the floor; Mrs. Kingston was bathing his head—I think the prisoner then went after the doctor—Dr. Jarvis came, and the deceased was taken to the hospital in a cab, which the prisoner fetched—I went into my son's bedroom that morning—I saw a little blood on the sheets, not much—the deceased was only lying on the bed; he never got into bed—I did not notice any blood on the wall, only a few spots—I saw the doctor take them off—I spoke to the prisoner in the middle of the day about this—I said "It is a very bad job"—he said he would soon get over it; it would cure him of his drunkenness; he had led such a wretched life—there was evidence of a struggle in the room; the carpet was all knocked about—this weapon (produced) was kept in different parts of the house, sometimes in the washhouse, sometimes in the yard; it depended upon who used it—I used to

put it on one side; they used to throw it down anywhere—my husband used to use it some years back for the purpose of repairing boots; it was not always put away properly; it laid about—the iron ferrule at the end was loose; it used to come off at times.

Cross-examined. The deceased was a very strong, powerful man, especially when in drink—on the 21st and 22nd he had been drinking nearly the whole day, and when in drink he was a very quarrelsome, irritable man—I got so frightened of him that I and my son went to the station to ask for protection on the day this occurred—he threw the child on the bed where his wife had just been confined, and he wanted to take the money from the purse under her pillow to go and get drink—my son's room is a small, dark room on the first floor—it was just about eight when I heard the scuffle there—my son appeared very much surprised when he was told that the deceased had to go to the hospital; he did not think it was so serious—the scuffle lasted about two or three minutes—the bedclothes were not disarranged—my son is a very affectionate son and a quiet young man.

Re-examined. The carpet was a long piece, not nailed down, it was all rumpled up as if they had been kicking it up; I saw nothing else disturbed.

FLORENCE MAXWELL . My husband's name was Robert Maxwell—we lived at 9, Arthur Street, with my brother (the prisoner) and mother—my husband had been out of work a few days—on Monday, 21st November, he came into my bedroom; I was in bed—he was under the influence of drink—I had my purse under my pillow; he asked me for some money—I said "No, I want it at a time like this"—he said if I did not give it him he should take it—my mother came in with the eldest child in her arms—he took it from her arms and put it on the bed rather roughly. and he pushed my mother; I heard the prisoner outside my room, and I heard a quarrel on the landing between him and my husband—I did not hear what it was about—on that same day the prisoner advised me to get a separation from my husband, as he was no good to me—between 7 and 8 on the Wednesday morning the prisoner came into my room and said "Has he cone to work?"—I said "I think so"—he said "Not him, he will be back directly"—he then left; he had nothing with him that I saw—my husband had been in my room all night; he came in about 3 in the morning, vomiting, and was rather ill; he lay on a pillow in front of the fire-place; he left between 5 and 6, taking the pillow with him—he came back about half-past seven—I went to sleep—the next I heard was heavy blows and a short scuffle; I heard no words—the scuffle seemed to come from downstairs somewhere—after that my husband came into my bedroom bleeding very much from the head; the nurse was there—the prisoner came in shortly afterwards—I said "Who did it?"—the prisoner said "I did it, I did it out of revenge"—I said "Oh Erne, how could you, what did you do it wit?"—he said "A piece of wood"—he went for the doctor; he came, and my husband was taken to the hospital—I did not see him afterwards—this piece of wood used to hang in the washhouse as a rule—I have seen it at odd times—I never saw it used, it might have been used when my two brothers were mending their boots—they were living in the house at the time—the prisoner is a butcher by trade; he was out of work.

Cross-examined. There was a room between mine and the one above—

the prisoner slept—when my husband went out with the pillow he shut my room door—he was sick in front of the fire for a good part of the night—when he came back at half-past seven he was slightly under the influence of drink—he went out to get drunk—when he returned he went into prisoner's bedroom, and about half an hour afterwards I heard blows and a slight scuffle; it lasted two or three minutes—the prisoner seemed very much frightened when the doctor was sent for, he did not think it was so serious—my husband had been slightly intemperate after our marriage, but he got worse since he was raised in his position—he was rather quarrelsome when in liquor, but he would forgive directly; he pawned things for me; that was the money I had under my pillow.

HARRIET VICKERY (Re-examined). My son's room was two or three steps below the level of the other rooms—the window was opposite the door, the bed was on the right as you went in between the door and the window, lengthways to the wall, with the head to the door—it is rather long slip of a room—there was a short blind to the window and a long one of calico.

MARY KINGSTON . I live at 62, Friendly Street, Deptford, and am a monthly nurse—I attended Mrs. Maxwell in her confinement on Sunday, 20th November—on the following day (Monday), between four and five, I was in the wash-house in the yard—I was called and went up to her room—I heard nothing of the dispute—next day I saw the deceased—he was unconscious from drink, in fact he had not been conscious while I was there—he had been drinking a little; he was walking about—on Tuesday night he went into the prisoner's room for about half or three-quarters of an hour—he afterwards came into our room and slept there in front of the fireplace—he got up about a quarter past five and went out—while he was out the prisoner came into the room and asked where he was—his wife said he had gone to work—the prisoner said "No fear, he will be back presently"—he did come back about half-past seven and laid down again in front of the fire for about half an hour; he then got up, took the pillow, and went again to the prisoner's room—he had been there about half an hour lying down when I heard a confusion like a batting up against the wall; I did not hear any voices—Mrs. Max-veil said "Look the door, nurse"—when I opened it the deceased came in in a gore of blood—the prisoner came in about ten minutes afterwards—he said "I have done it, now I have had my revenge"—he offered to go for a doctor; the doctor came and the deceased was taken to the hospital—two days afterwards I went into the prisoner's room—I saw some blood on the sheet and likewise on the pillow at the head of the bed—I did not notice any blood on the wall then.

Cross-examined. The prisoner appeared very sorry when he saw the state Maxwell was in—he did not think it was so serious till he was told to go for a doctor.

JOSEPH ERNEST JARVIS . I am a registered medical practitioner of 97, Aveling Street, Deptford—on Wednesday morning, 23rd November, the prisoner came to my house between eight and nine and said "I want you to come and see my brother-in-law, who is bleeding"—I said "Bleeding from what?"—he said "Well, it is like this, sir; a few days ago we had some words and he struck my mother, and I have had my revenge this morning; I hit him over the head with a stick"—I told him I would follow him on directly—he told me the address

and I got there in about five minutes—I went to the front room up stairs and there saw Maxwell bleeding from the head—he was lying down—I attended to him—I saw he had wounds on the head and had him removed to the hospital—I afterwards said to the prisoner "Who did this?"—he said "I did"—I said I thought it was a very cowardly act—he said "You call it cowardly, don't you think it cowardly to strike my mother?"—I did not see Maxwell again alive—I was present at the post-mortem on 30th November made by Dr. Bleaker, the senior medical officer of the Miller Hospital—there were three wounds on the head, two apparently incised wounds on the forehead, each about an inch in length, and one contused and lacerated wound about three and a half inches long over the posterior part of the left side, that was the severest injury it laid the flesh open to the bone—when the scalp was removed there was a V-shaped fracture of the skull corresponding with that injury, that had injured the brain; inflammation followed, causing death—I think the injuries were such as might be caused by blows from the instrument produced—there were three separate blows; there was a mark on the left wrist and the back of the left hand, and the fingers were much bruised; those were such injuries as this instrument would cause after the post-mortem I went to the house and examined the bedroom; I noticed stains on the wall at the immediate head of the bed and about a foot above it—the bed was close against the wall, in a corner; if a man was lying on the bed with his head in the ordinary way and the blow were given in that position, that would account for the marks of blood on the wall—I did not notice blood anywhere else, the sheets had been removed; some of the stains were almost like splashes of blood, and some were spots—you could pick them off—I did not notice any anywhere else—the splashes I saw would not be caused supposing the man was standing up when struck.

Cross-examined. I only examined that part of the room where the bed was—the wounds on the forehead were serious; there was no fractnre corresponding with those—when the prisoner came for me he asked me to come at once—he did not describe the matter as serious as he did afterwards—when I said the man must go to the hospital he manifested more anxiety than he had previously shown—the bedstead was a small iron one—I only noticed blood on the wall—if the man was first struck on the forehead when standing, and then knocked on to the bed and struck again, that would explain the splashes on the wall.

EDWARD SPENCER BLAKE . I was senior medical officer at the Miller Hospital, Greenwich, at the time Maxwell was brought there, about half past 9 on the 23rd November—I found three wounds on the head—he smelt very strongly of drink—during the day he brought up a lot of fluid smelling strongly of alcohol, and he had an attack of delirium tremens on that same evening—he died on the 29th—the post mortem examination was made in Mr. Jarvis's presence—I have heard his evidence; it is correct—Maxwell was a very strong, powerfully built man—I do not think that the more serious wound could have been inflicted with this instrument without the iron top to it—the two on the forehead might have been done with the wood alone—I should say that blood would not splash from the two in front; only from the one behind.

Cross-examined. I do not think that the V-shaped wound could have been caused by the wood without the iron—the fracture might, but not the injury to the scalp—the splashes on the wall would not be caused by

the wounds on the forehead—if he was knocked down on the bed blood might spurt up—I did not go into the room.

FRANCIS SHAY (Detective R). On Wednesday evening, November 23rd, about 5 o'clock, I saw the prisoner at 9, Arthur Street—I told him I was a police officer and should arrest him for violently assaulting his brother-in-law, Robert Maxwell—he said "I done it out of revenge"—at that time Mrs. Vickery had given me this piece of wood with the ferule on—I showed it to the prisoner—he said "That is what I did it with; the iron came off at the first blow"—he was taken before the Magistrate next day and admitted to bail, and again remanded on bail till the 26th—on the 29th I heard of the death, and again took the prisoner into custody, charging him with causing he death of Maxwell—he made no reply—on 30th November I went to the back room of the house and cut off some of the splashes and gave them to Dr. Jarvis for analysis.

The prisoner received a good character.

GUILTY of Manslaughter .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-227
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

227. HARRY THOMAS WEIR (24) , Unlawfully sending to Mary Elizabeth Turner a letter demanding 20l., with menaces.

MESSRS. BESLEY and GRAIN Prosecuted; MR. DICKENS Defended. R. H. B. MARSHAM (Magistrate, Woolwich Police-court). After hearing a portion of this case I received this letter (produced)—an application had been made for bail, which I refused, and I refused it again—on the receipt of this letter I communicated-with Messrs. Wontner, and handed it to them.

Cross-examined. It came on a Monday, and it was remanded till Thursday—the letter is dated Tuesday—the post-mark is the 21st—I left Woolwich about 5 o'clock on the Wednesday, and it must have arrived after that.

Re-examined. I believe he was arrested on a Saturday and brought before me on Monday, the 19th—I remanded him till the following Thursday without bail. (The letter was addressed: "Mr. Marsham, Woolwich Police-court. Important. December 21st, 1887. Dear Sir,—Very sorry Mr. Graham is in trouble, and I have no doubt that this will relieve him. Love to all.—E. W.")

MARY ELIZABETH TURNER . I am the wife of Mr. Henry Turner—we have been married seven years, and have two children—up to April last we lived at Priory Road, West Hampstead; we then moved to 3, North Bank, Regent's Park, Raleigh Lodge—letters used to come addressed "Burleigh Lodge," but we got them—I sometimes went with my sister to All Saints' Church, Margaret Street, where a little over three years ago I noticed the alto singer in the choir; I was struck by his voice—the prisoner is the person—he spoke to me first outside the church as we were leaving; I was alone—he gave no name, but the second time I met in he said his name was Harry Graham—I let him know I admired his voice, and he suggested I should hear him sing in private—he described some rooms in Newman Street, Mr. Harris's, which he said were used for singing purposes—I agreed to meet him there, and I used to do so very regularly between 4 and 5 o'clock on Fridays for a year—there was a piano there, and he sang secular and sacred music to me—he plays without notes—after a time I gave him 5l. to pay for the rooms, I sent

it to him voluntarily, and wrote to the address he gave, Glen Villa, Chestnut Road, Plumstead—I have written several letters to him and received several from him at 82, Priory Road, but he only came there once—that was in the afternoon—my husband was not at home—that was after I sent him 5l.—he knew from me that my name was Mrs. Turner, and I think he knew my husband's Christian name—he wrote me a letter, which I have destroyed, saying he had signed his name to a bill for a friend, and was unable to meet it, and was responsible for it, and asked me to send him 25l.—I afterwards gave that sum into his hands—that was a year after he had spoken to me—he did not tell me the name of his friend, or show me the bill—that was after his visit to my house—I gave him the 25l. just inside St. James's Hall, Regent Street—the visits to Harris's fell off in number after I moved to Raleigh Lodge—he again wrote me a letter, which I have destroyed, applying for 30l., as he was in debt; he said he had asked his father for it, who declined to help him—I declined to give him the 30l.—that was not long before Christmas and before I moved to Priory Road; it was shortly after the autumn in which I had given him 25l.—I went to Harris's rooms three times after that—I knew of his leaving the choir of All Saints' and going to the choir of St. Mary's, Bayswater; that was after he applied for the 30l. and about the time I left Priory Road—I went to St. Mary's, Bayswater, to hear him sing, and as I was coming out he spoke to me—I had not then been to Harris's rooms for some months, and had not heard him sing except at church—he asked me to go to Harris's rooms again, and I thought I had better go, as I had a certain amount of fear—when I went there the room was more filled up, there were six or seven pianos there, and he complained—he suggested we should find some other room, and afterwards said he had found one at an hotel near London Bridge Station—the first time I went there he met me; he was waiting where the omnibuses stop, and conducted me to the Brighton Hotel, Duke Street, London Bridge—I went there three times—I think there was a piano in the room, and he sang to me—on Sunday, 4th December, I saw him outside St. Mary's, Bayswater—he spoke to me and said "I have found out that some one has been following us; he passed through Newman Street when I was singing to you and heard me, and he wants money, and says he will tell every one about you"—he said he had to supply him with a certain sum every week—I asked him if he had given him money—he said "Yes"—I said "Why?"—he said "Because he threatened to say all sorts of things about you"—he then said that he had not the money to supply the man with, and I must—I said I had not got it and did not think I could get it, but I would do my best—he said "The man wants 20l. within the week, and it is to your advantage to let him have it, and if I go abroad it will be all right for you"—I said "Why?"—he said "He will not demand anything of you when he knows I am out of the country"—I asked him how much he would want to go away—he said 20l., but he could not go without paying some debts first, and required money for them—I asked him how much the amount would be—he said "40l. will clear everything"—that was inclusive of the 20l. he was to give the man—I said I would do my best—the service was over at 12. 30—I asked the name of the man—he said he could not get it out of him, he hardly spoke at all, he simply said he wanted money—he showed me a letter which he said he received

from the man—he also said that the man had certain information about me, and he would use it if I did not give him a certain sum—after that conversation I called at my mother's house, and from there walked home with my husband—I told him nothing going home—we went home by omnibus, which took 20 minutes, and when we got home I told my husband what had happened—that was about 4 o'clock—I then wrote this letter and envelope at my husband's dictation. (Read (B): Kelly's Library, Vigo Street, from the witness to the prisoner, post-mark December 8th, 1887: "Dear Harry,—I am very sorry that I cannot get the money by to-morrow, but be assured I will do my best to settle this matter. Please let me know what amount will satisfy for the present, and the earliest it must be found by." Signed "M. E. T.") That letter was posted on the 8th, and soon after I received this letter; the postmark is the 8th—I must have got it on the 9th—it is the prisoner's writing—I had had many letters from him before. (Read (E): 'Dearest Lily. Your letter has quite upset me again, as I am sure I shall have a hard job to satisfy him this afternoon. He distinctly said if he did not have the 20l. this day he would sue H y at once, as he was very hard up, &c. If you leave it later he is sure to want more, and I more than tremble for the result, it will be so very disastrous for you; ruin, nothing else, is all I can see ahead unless he is satisfied and I clear away, &c. With fondest love, your loving but unhappy Harry."Addressed:"Mrs. Turner, Kelly's Library, Vigo Street.") I fetched that from Kelley's Library, Vigo Street, and gave it to my husband the same evening—I found this other letter at Kelly's at the same time—I had been there on Saturday the 10th, and they said there were no letters—I went again on Monday the 12th, and found these two. (Read (F): "Dearest Lilly. I have seen him again this afternoon, and he is in a frightful temper at my not having the 20l. I had managed to borrow 5l., &c. I gave him that. He says on account of the delay I must let him have the 20l. all the same, &c. I really cannot stand much more worry; I am so unwell. Can't you do something to stop it. Be sure, dear, to see me on Sunday, &c." Signed "Harry.") I gave both those letters to my husband—I afterwards received this anonymous letter (G) at my residence—I do not remember the date: "Mrs. Turner, Burleigh Lodge. Time your fooling was over. Decide at once what you intend to do. I will not wait much longer. W. E. "Ihad not told him my address after I left Priory Road, and I am positive he did not get it from me—I then asked my husband for the letters from Vigo Street—we compared them with this, and came to the conclusion that this was in the same hand—my husband always hunts on Wednesdays in the season, and on Wednesday, December 14th, about 3 o'clock, some one called, and my parlourmaid gave the name of Mr. Eastman—Raleigh Lodge is written up, not Burleigh Lodge—he was shown into a room—I went in and found the prisoner—I guessed who I was going to see—I took him into the breakfast-room, and asked why he had come—he said "You must know"—I said "I feel quite sure you wrote the anonymous letter to me"—he said "I know nothing about it, and I am much hurt that you should think such a thing, and I don't know what to do about it"—I said he need not do anything, for I had told my husband all, and if he required money he would not get a farthing—he said "You know best about that"—I said "If you did not write the anonymous letter, why have you

given the man money; it is the worst thing you could do for me"—he said the man had threatened his people about it—I did not ask him how he got there—I had never put any address to the letters I wrote to him after I moved to Raleigh Lodge, and I never wrote from Kelly's Library till I wrote the letter which my husband dictated—I received this letter (produced)—it bears the postmark of December 17th, and I received it by the first post that day—I compared it with the letters bearing Harry Graham's signature, and have no doubt that the writing is the same; the envelope was torn in opening. (Read (H): "Mrs. Turner. I am greatly amused at your message, which I received from my young friend, &c. What a good, kind, accommodating husband you have, &c. A man who can forgive his wife so easily; forgive her for the worst of all offences; forgive her when she confesses having committed adultery; forgive her when the doubt will arise 'Am I the father of her two children,' &c. Now, madam, listen to my terms. If I do not receive an answer in the shape of 50l. within three days, I will do as I have said, and then who will save you? I shall communicate with your young friend within three days, &c." Not signed.) I went to the theatre with the prisoner, but only once; my cousin was with us; she remained all the time—the statement that I have committed adultery with the prisoner is absolutely untrue—I received this letter last Tuesday morning: "Monday. Dear Mrs. Turner,—Before I drop from your path I wish to thank you for sparing me the trouble of doing what you have done so ably for me. I trust you will remember the present lesson, and curb your passion for music in the future. I would advise you to do justice to the foolish boy whose head you turned, and whom you are trying to ruin morally and socially. 'E. W. 'I have written to the Judge who will try your case."

Cross-examined. I had attended All Saints' Church about two months before I knew the prisoner, and after that I attended regularly—I had never been to St. Mary-the-Angel at that time—the first time I met the prisoner I walked with him from the church door, and after the second Sunday we went to Harris's rooms—we went there very often; we went at 4 o'clock, and stayed an hour and sometimes longer—I may have stayed with him till 5. 30, but never till 6—I used not to walk to Newman Street with him; I may have once walked there from Oxford Street with him, but we did not usually enter together; he was there first and opened the door to me—we sometimes walked together coming out there are very few persons about in Newman Street—we went there together for about two years on and off, but not so often as once a week—there was an interval when I did not see him for some time; that was when I was annoyed at being asked for the money—I went there once when he did not meet me—I don't think I said that I was annoyed at that—he told me the reason he was not there—I did not scold him a little—it was after that I first saw him at St. Mary's—I did not then suggest to him that we should take another room together to hear him sing; he suggested it—I did not write to him, and appoint to meet him in the Burlington Arcade—I have never been there with him—after the interval when I did not see him for some months I saw him at the church, and I saw him after that in the Burlington Arcade—that was in consequence of a letter which I had written to him—it was not arranged when I saw him there that we should take another place—I was to sec him at

Harris's rooms next, and I did so—it was not I who suggested that we should go to some other rooms—I was not very annoyed at having to pay the 5l.; I gave it voluntarily—it was about 4 p.m. when we went to the Brighton Hotel—we stopped there an hour or an hour and a half—we left Harris's because the room was dirty and full of furniture—there was only one chair, but there was a music stool; another chair was not required, and there was no room for it—I went by omnibus to London Bridge—he used to meet me—he walked with me to the omnibus, they stand 100 yards off—I thought that Harry Graham was his right name, and and that Weir was the name in which he sang—I cannot say whether he knew my Christian name—I did not sign my name Lilly to him; it was Liz—he mentioned in a letter the 25l. which I gave him, but not in any interview, nor did I allude to it, nor did I when he offered to repay it put my hand over his mouth and say "No, no"—he wrote in the letter that he hoped to be able to repay it very soon, but nothing was said about it afterwards—I. wrote him many letters and he wrote me many—I destroyed his letters, and asked him to destroy mine—I wrote him two letters to Kelly's Library, but I did not give that address to anyone but him—I did not give him my address at St. John's Wood, but he said the man had found out where I lived, and if he liked he would tell him—he did not say that the man had told him—it was the Lyceum Theatre that we went to—we only went once, and that was with my cousin—we did not go to Drury Lane—when I accused him of writing the anonymous letters, he said—he had not done so—I did not ask him how much the man wanted—I said I did not believe there was such a man, and that as I had told my husband he need not trouble further about it, he could do nothing to hurt me now, and the next time he saw the man he was to come to me straight, or else introduce him to my husband—he made no appointment for me to meet him for him to show me the man—it was after I told him that I had told my husband all, that I got the several anonymous letters—he said on the Sunday that he had given the man as much as he could—he said he should like to go away, but could not go without a certain sum—that was after he said if he was out of the way it would be all right for me—I had said nothing before that about his being out of the way—I have no doubt that the anonymous letter which I received two or three days ago is in the same writing as the two other anonymous letters, and the same as to these letters to Mr. Marsham and to the Recorder, I find the same characters in each.

Re-examined. I have not looked to see whether every letter forming each word and syllable is the same—I speak generally from my knowledge of the prisoner's letters which I have destroyed, as well as from the letters to Kelly's Library—before telling my husband, I never wrote from Kelly's Library, and then only one letter—it is quite true that after moving to Raleigh Lodge my letters bore no address, nor did I ever tell him my address, but he told me on December 4th that the man had followed me to my address—the conversation about not knowing my address was on the 4th, and on the 14th he turned up at that address—I did not ask him how that was—my address is in the Blue Book and the Court Guide, but whether it was so last year I do not know, because we only removed in April—letters misdirected Burleigh Lodge, 3, North Bank, St. John's Wood, have been delivered at our house—on the occasion

sion when he failed to meet me he said that he had been to a garden party singing, and had not got away as soon as he expected, and had to come by a later train—I never referred to it afterwards—after he asked me for the 30l. the visits became markedly less frequent, because I did not care to go, I thought I had better not—in the letter he wrote about the bill of exchange he said that he hoped to repay the money on an early day—he never talked about repayment after he got the coin.

By the COURT. On December 14th the prisoner swore that he had not written the anonymous letter; I told him I did not believe there was such a man as he was alluding to; I have no doubt he said "Yes, there is," but he did not go into any description to enable me to trace the person—I said "Next time you see him tell him to come to me or my husband," he said "That is easily done."

HENRY JOHN TURNER . I am the husband of the last witness, we have been married seven and a quarter years, and have two children; the age of the youngest is four and a half; we have lived on happy terms—on Sunday, December 4th, at 3 or 4 p.m., my wife made a statement to me, and she wrote this letter "B" at my dictation—I put it in the envelope and posted it; my wife afterwards brought home two letters from Kelly's Library and showed them to me—the next incident in the case was the arrival of the first anonymous letter "G"—she opened it downstairs, and brought it into the dining-room—I do not know whether this was Saturday or Monday—I compared the writing with the letters "E" and "F "which my wife showed me, signed "Harry," and my opinion is that the same hand wrote all three—I afterwards consulted Mr. Netherclift, and got a report from him—I consulted Mr. Wontner—when the second letter came, on Saturday, December 2nd, my wife gave it me at once—I then got the services of two detectives, and went with them to Glen Villa, Plumstead—that was the first time I saw the prisoner; he implored me not to arrest him—the officer had this paper memorandum in pencil, and also this card; the letters were not produced before the prisoner, but they were in my possession—he said "I wrote two letters to Kelly's Library, but I deny demanding any money; I am the agent of the man."

Cross-examined. I have not said that before, but the officer stated all that—I don't think he was taxed with writing the letters, he was charged with demanding money with menaces, and he volunteered writing the letters to Kelly's—my memory is not very hazy, he was arrested at the address he had given my wife—I found it out from her.

Re-examined. That is his father's residence—I had no warrant; I had the letter demanding 50l. in my possession.

WILLIAM TURRELL (Detective Sergeant). I went with Sergeant Birch and Mr. Turner to Glen Villa, Chestnut Road, Plumstead—Mr. Turner asked for Graham at the door—he went in first, and then I knocked and was admitted and saw the prisoner—I found that it was his father's house, who is a respectable man—Mr. Turner said "These are police officers; I am going to give you in custody for sending a letter to my wife, Mrs. Turner, demanding 50l. with menaces. I have the letter here, "and I believe he took it from his coat pocket—the prisoner said "I am innocent. I never demanded money. I know Mrs. Turner, and I admit writing two letters to Kelly's Library, but I did not write demanding money. I am the agent of another party. I do implore you

not to charge me, for the sake of my people," addressing Mr. Turner—I said "You will have to go with me to the station, but before doing so I should like to see what papers and correspondence you have"—he said "I have none," but he took me into his room, and took from his coat two letters in envelopes, and said "These are two letters from Mrs. Turner"—he took from the same pocket this card with "Harry Graham "on it in pencil—I said "Whose writing is this card?"—he said "It is mine"—he then gave me this piece of paper, bearing the address "Burleigh Lodge, 3, North Bank, St. John's Wood," without any name—I said "Whose address is this?"—he said "That of the man who employs me"—I said "There is no name"—he said "I don't know his name"—I took him to Woolwich Police-station—the charge was read over to him—he made no reply.

Cross-examined. I asked for Mr. Graham—I believe it was the prisoner's mother who came—she said "Walk in," and she called him to the door—it is Mr. Turner's address on this paper—he was not upstairs when I found it—I did not know it was his address—I mean to say that the prisoner said "That is the address of the man who employed me," and not "This is the address given to me by the man who annoys me"—I did not ask Mr. Turner what his address was till after the prisoner was charged, therefore it was utterly unaccountable to me.

FREDERICK GEORGE NETHERCLIFT . I have made handwriting my study for over 40 years, and have been examined and cross-examined on innumerable occasions—my business is to point out to the Jury the foundation of my judgment—the first letters shown to me were "E.," "F.," and "G."—Mr. Turner called on me with them—I studied them all, and afterwards letter "H."—the subject of this indictment was put before me beginning with the words "I was greatly amused with your message"—these were the only anonymous letters put before me up to the time of my examination at Woolwich—I afterwards received the letter to the Magistrate—the anonymous letters were before me to compare with the prisoner's admitted writing, two letters sent to Kelly's Library, and the card with "Harry Graham" on it, and the pencil address, and I say that letter "H." was written by the prisoner in disguise—I have examined every one of the letters connected with the case, and am positive they are all written by the prisoner. (The witness here pointed out to the Jury the similarity in numerous letters in Exhibit "H." and the same letters in the prisoner's admitted writing.) My judgment is in no way affected by the pencil writing of the address and the card of Harry Graham—they are the same writing; there is no disguise about them—I have no doubt about any of them, and I include the letter which the Recorder has received—I have not seen the writing of two persons, only of one.

Cross-examined. I am very positive—I generally am, but I consider I am always right—I was right in Davis and May's case—I did not swear that the will was a forgery—an expert is called upon to say according to his conscience, not to swear—I gave evidence according to my conscience that the will was a forgery, and I believe it still—it was not my fault that Jury and the Judge were of an opposite opinion—I believe the Jury stopped the case after Mr. Seamer got into the box and swore he saw the will signed—what the Jury said went in at one ear and out at the other—I believe the Judge made observations on my recklessness and presumption,

but that applied to Mr. Chabot as well—I was not in Court—I believe Lord Coleridge, who gave judgment, agreed with the Jury, but he was wrong; Mr. Sain and he confessed it afterwards, when the case was tried in the House of Lords—he said that the action had no business to be brought; it was a privileged matter—you are alluding to something 20 years ago—there was a verdict for 50l. against me for slander—I heard Lord Coleridge give judgment—Mr. Inglis is going to support me to-day—we are sometimes opposed to each other; we cannot both be right—Dr. Patience was indicted for libel—I gave my opinion that he wrote certain documents, and Mr. Inglis swore the other way—the Magistrate did not dismiss the charge-letters "G.," "H.," and "J.," and the Recorder's letter, and Mr. Marsham's letter, are all in a feigned writing, and they all present the same characters exactly—it does not strike me as curious that a man can imitate the same writing exactly—they are not all written in the same way, but they are the same character—I formed that opinion before I minutely examined the letters—I do not find any similarity between the "p "in "upset," in letter "E," and the "p" in "played out," in the letter "H"—he was successful there—wherever you point out any letters that are not alike there is the the awkwardness of the disguise; there ought to be nothing to betray him, but there is—there is no likeness between "hard up" in letter " E," and "played out" in letter "H"—he has not been clever enough in the "p 's;" he has betrayed his writing sufficiently—there two "g's" are different—I don't find a "g "like this again—he has used that as a disguise—that is what an anonymous letter-writer does—the letter "w" in the word "will" is like the one in the other letter, and it is the same in the word, "worry," "wait," "want," "way," the "w" begins with an upstroke; the two "t's" are not alike; one is grotesque for the purposes of disguise. (The witness pointed out similarities in other letters.)

Re-examined. The "t" in the letter sent to Mr. Marsham is the same as the others; the "t' s" are improperly crossed—he has made a mistake in the word" doubt, "and has blotted it, and I cannot make out whether it is crossed or not—the monogram is imperfectly written and blotted—the capital "M's" are invariably the same—in letter "H" the "r" and the "d" in "absurd" join together, and the same thing occurs in the "r" and "d" in "hard" in letter "E"—since 1876, when somebody swore that he saw a dead man write, I got discredit, but I am not satisfied that I was wrong; we are quite satisfied with the evidence we gave—I have been cross-examined about it seven times running, and that book is a regular bequest to the Bar—I never lost a case at the Old Bailey last year; I mean the Jury never dissented from what I pointed out.

GEORGE SEITH INGLIS . I have made handwriting my study since 1882—the Treasury have employed me ever since the death of Mr. Chabot—I produce my report of the result of the comparison of these documents, and have made tracings on a sheet of paper of certain words in the anonymous letters, and in those admitted to be in the prisoner's writing. (The report and tracings were here put in, and the witness pointed out the similarities to the Jury.)

Cross-examined. It would be a bad thing for me if there were no disguises; I am generally successful, but a Jury yesterday did not agree with me—I made a report to the Treasury in Reg. v. Jones, and gave it as my opinion that certain anonymous letters were in the writing of a

prisoner who was in gaol, and the Treasury withdrew from the prosecution—I was not a little bit put out—I was positive in Dr. Palmer's case, and still am; it is not finished yet—the Jury found against me—I do not remember a case at Maidstone.

Witnesses for the Defence. ALBERT EDWARD PILLING. I am a warder of Holloway Prison—I searched the prisoner on 19th December when he was brought there, and took everything away which was upon him—his clothes were taken away, and a blanket was put on him—he was not in my custody after that night.

Cross-examined. I know what cell he was in on the subsequent nights—I was not the warder to attend on him—forty warders might go to his cell in three weeks—he would see friends in a wired place—I have hardly ever heard of a letter being taken out surreptitiously.

Re-examined. There is not five feet between prisoners and friends when they come, but a warder sits in the centre the whole time.

LIEUT.-COLONEL EVERARD S. MILMAN . I am Governor of Holloway Gaol, where prisoners on remand are kept—prisoners' letters are written on blue paper with the name of the prison, and every letter that goes out bears my initials in the corner, "E. S. M."—prisoners cannot get paper without permission—warders are liable by Act of Parliament to fine and imprisonment for taking out a letter for a prisoner—I should not allow a letter written by a prisoner to be sent to a Magistrate or Judge—I should direct the prisoner to write to the Clerk of the Court.

Cross-examined. I have had 14-years' experience of prison discipline—there is not quite such strict discipline before trial as after conviction—fines have been imposed in numerous cases for taking out letters or for bringing in spirits or tobacco, or trafficking with prisoners' friends, or posting letters—the Treasury prosecute the warders whenever they detect them—there are about 50 warders at Holloway—sometimes they are there for a very short time; sometimes they are brought here temporarily only during the Sessions, but they are the same men.

MR. EHRENFELDT. I have been a facsimilist for the last 30 years—I have not done much business in criminal cases—I have seen these these letters "G," "H," and "J," and in my opinion they are not in the same writing as "E" and "F"—"G," "H," and "J" are written by the same person, and in a natural style, not disguised; they bear no comparison whatever with "E" and "F"—a man cannot disguise his writing in the same way on three separate occasions with intervals between. (The witness here put in a written report, giving his reasons for stating that letters "G," "H," and "J" were in a different writing to "E" and "F") I have heard Mr. Inglis and Mr. Netherclift examined and cross-examined to-day, and my opinion is not altered by their evidence, because I have noticed that little peculiarities will crop up, especially in the legal and medical profession.

Cross-examined. The last time I was examined in a criminal case was at Swansea in November, 1885—I do not attach much importance to what Mr. Netherclift has stated is to be found in these letters—peculiarities will crop up in a variety of ways, such as the last limb of the letter "l"—in "F f" and "G g" the last limb of the "n" is the same in turn and twist and everything—the only difference is that one is wider apart—I find two little dots under the "m," and in each they. are not formed in the same way, but there is a habit of making them under the

abbreviation—I do not see any similarity between the capital "L" in "Lodge" and "London"—I was born in Liverpool I am a lithographic writer.

Re-examined. I write facsimiles, and have been doing so every day for 30 years—that gives me an opportunity of judging of a person's writing—I have only given written evidence in civil cases.

COLONEL MILLMAN (Re-examined). The same regulations apply to Newgate, and in my absence the chief warder, Ward, puts his initials—I am also Governor of Newgate.

LEONARD WARD . I am chief warder of Newgate, and have charge there when the Governor is absent—the discipline is strict as to a prisoner writing letters—they are not allowed to have paper without permission, and that is blue paper with the name of the prison at the top—letters are brought to me or Colonel Millman before they are sent out.

Cross-examined. While prisoners are here I am at Newgate; it is not a prison for detention; prisoners are only here during the Session, but if Holloway is crowded they are brought here on the Wednesday before—I have heard of warders being dismissed for irregularities with reference to prisoners, but not frequently.

Re-examined. Where I have heard of it the warders have been punished.

The prisoner received a good character.

GUILTY . — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-228
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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228. WILLIAM CARTMEL (44) , Indecently assaulting Alice Mary Ford, a girl under 13 years of age.

MR. GILL Prosecuted; MR. HUTTON Defended.

GUILTY . — Eight Months' Hard Labour.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-229
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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229. JAMES WILLIAM BUSH, Feloniously wounding Harry Tindall, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm.

MR. HUTTON Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended. HARRY TINDALL. I am a baker, of 42, Molesworth Street, Lewisham—I went to see the prisoner occasionally—my wife lives with him—I saw him at 3. 30 p.m. on the 27th December, at the Greyhound Yard, Eltham, where he works—we went to the Crown Inn courtyard—we came out and he left me to change a horse in the Eltham 'bus that came up then—I went with him to his house about 5. 30, where I saw my wife, and we had tea—about half an hour after I said "Good-bye, "and ascended the steps for the purpose of leaving the house by the side entrance—I had got about three steps into the passage when I received a very severe blow on the top of my head from the prisoner with a chopper, a second one on my ear, and a third across the nose—he was about to deal me a fourth blow when I struggled with him for possession of the chopper, which I got and kept in my right hand—he then seized me with both hands by the throat, and then my wife came out with a lamp in her hand—the prisoner said "Let's pitch him down here"—I managed to get away about as far as the front garden gate but could not get out there—the prisoner overtook me and dragged me back to the front area, and said to my wife "Let's pitch him down here," which he did, partly by a blow

and partly by a push—it was not very deep; I still had the chopper; I did not hit him with it—I partially lost my senses for a few seconds—I then got out over the garden wall into the road—I saw a crowd of people there and offered the chopper, which some one I could not recognise took—I staggered about the road, and called for assistance for somebody to take me to the surgery—the prisoner then came up and put himself in a fighting attitude—a man took me by the arm and led me away to the side of Park Place, and then Cotton, the postman, came, and the two took me to Dr. Ford's, who attended to my injuries—I afterwards went to the police-station—when the prisoner struck me the third blow he said "You thought you were going to get the upper hand with me, didn't you; you have come to Eltham for something"—this is very much like the chopper (produced)—I cannot say whether he struck me with the back or front of it.

Cross-examined. Sergeant Graves was on duty at the station and took the charge—I charged the prisoner—he is living with my wife, and has been, I think, a little better than three years—she left me when I was living in a street off the New Kent Road—I guessed perfectly well where she had gone—I heard rumours of it, and knew it for certain when I went to Eltham on the 27th December—I came to London on the 12th—I knew where the prisoner was working from what I was told—I had been to Chislehurst to see my old master; I did not go to see the prisoner to have a row but a friendly chat; I last saw him at the Lewisham Albion Hotel over four years ago; I meant if I found the rumours correct to come away contented—it is very likely that a number of persons saw the chopper in my hand, and that no one saw it in the prisoner's—the prisoner did not take me to the surgery; he came afterwards; I heard him tell several people that he struck the blows in self defence—I did not deny it—I don't mean that I said it was a lie; I don't see why he had any reason to strike me; it is not true that I struck him first; I told the sergeant it was untrue; we had only been into one public house, the Grown; we went to an eating house about 5.20, and had tea—we had tea again at the prisoner's house about ten minutes after—I did not go to the prisoner's house to fight him, he asked me to go—he left me alone with my wife—there was no jealousy on my part, I did not care a bit about her living with another man, I was rather pleased than otherwise.

Re-examined. When I got over the garden wall I had lost nearly all my strength, and my senses were none of the best—I was almost helpless when I got to the police-station—I wrested the chopper from the prisoner after the third blow.

By the COURT. He tried to strangle me—I bled a good deal—I had been on bad terms with my wife before we parted, which was by mutual consent.

By the JURY. The prisoner paid for the refreshment we had at the public-house and the eating-house—I hardly know what his occupation is.

JOHN BLANCHARD . I live at 1, Jubilee Cottages, Eltham—I heard screams outside the prisoner's house at the time in question, and went near—a young man gave me this chopper, which I gave to the prisoner—I asked him whether it was his—he said "No, but I will take it."

Cross-examined. I know the prisoner as having been employed at the Greyhound, Eltham, for about two years, looking after Tilling's horses—

he seems to be a peaceable; quiet man—I had a good look at the chopper—I never saw it with the prisoner before.

JAMES FORD . I am a surgeon, of Eltham—the prosecutor was brought to my surgery between six and seven o'clock on the 27th December by Cotton, the postman, and Manley—he was bleeding very much from the face and head, and was much exhausted—there was a wound across the nose, dividing the cartilages and exposing the nasal passages, a wound on the right ear, a portion of the rim of the ear being shaved off, a scalp wound of about an inch in length on the right side of the head, just above the wounded ear, and two superficial wounds, one on the top and one on the back of the head—I dressed the wounds, and he was afterwards taken to the Cottage Hospital—he has been an in-patient up to last Monday he has nearly recovered, except the wound on the ear—the wounds could be caused by such a chopper as this—they would not be caused by falling on the ground—it must have been some sharp instrument—they were all of an incised character.

Cross-examined. If he had fallen on a sharp area step I should expect to find more contusion and bruising—whether they were caused by indirect violence would depend on the thing he fell against—it must have been of a sharp, cutting character.

Re-examined. To have caused those three wounds he must have had three distinct falls against something sharp.

By the COURT. There was nothing sharp in the area that I know of—I examined the chopper the next day or the day after, and found nothing on it.

WILLIAM TIDY (Policeman R 274). I was called to Dr. Ford's surgery, where I found the prosecutor—the prisoner was there—the prosecutor charged him with assaulting him, and I took him to the station, where the charge was taken by Sergeant Graves.

Cross-examined. The prosecutor said he would charge him with violently assaulting him with a chopper in Park Place, Eltham—the prisoner said "I admit I knocked him down the area in self-defence, because he had a chopper"—that is all that was said—the prosecutor did not deny it.

GRAVES (Police Sergeant). When the parties came to the police-station—I asked the prosecutor what he charged the prisoner with—he said "I will charge him with violently assaulting me"—I then took the charge—the prisoner showed me a slight bruise on his thumb, which he said had been done with the chopper—it was bleeding a little—he added "And I struck him in self-defence, and afterwards knocked him down the area"—I did not say that before—I was waiting to be asked—the prosecutor was there at the time—the chopper was handed to me by the prosecutor's wife—I went to the house for it.

Cross-examined. If the wound on the thumb were done with the chopper I should expect to find a cut, but it looked as if it had been knocked against something and the skin rubbed back—the prisoner had his handkerchief tied round it—I made no note of what he said, but trusted to my memory—I have related all the conversation—the prosecutor did not deny what the prisoner said—he said he did not strike the other man with the chopper—I was examined at the Eltham Police-court on 2nd January—I can't say how often I have given evidence—I know in doing so I should tell everything that is material—I did not mention before the Magistrate

the prosecutor saying that he did not strike the prisoner with the chopper—I did not know whether the prosecutor heard all that the prisoner stated—I understood the prosecutor to mean that he did not have the chopper—I did not mention that—I did not make a written report to the Inspector—I have not mentioned to any one until to-day a word about the prosecutor denying the prisoner's statement, and when Mr. Hutton asked me twice whether that was all the conversation it did not recur to my memory.

By the JURY. The prosecutor appeared to be weak from loss of blood—he appeared to talk rationally.

HARRY TINDALL (Re-examined). I left the house by the side entrance—I had a hat on—the steps were outside—the hat was never found.

GUILTY of unlawfully wounding .—The prisoner received a good character.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.

Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-230
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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230. MYEE ABRAHAMS (56) PLEADED GUILTY ** to unlawfully and maliciously breaking glass, the property of Henry Gidney.— Three Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-231
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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231. PATRICK SCANLAN (55) , Feloniously stealing a watch, the goods of John Trant, from his person.

MR. E. BEARD Prosecuted.

JOHN TRANT . I am a labourer, of 2, Victoria Place, East Greenwich—about 10 o'clock on 2nd December I was in the British Queen public-house, Trafalgar Road, East Greenwich—the prisoner came in after me—I treated him to two half-pints of ale—we left together about half-past 10—I asked him to see me home—he said "I will just see you home, come along"—he took me in the wrong direction about five minutes' walk from the British Queen public-house to where there was a lonely road with no houses built—he asked me to walk up there, that he wanted a private conversation with me—I refused to go, I said that was not my way home—he closed me up very close, and grasped the silver Geneva watch out of my waistcoat pocket, and gave it a rough drag and broke it off the chain, and ran up the fields—I shouted out, I lost him, and the minute I came to West Combe Park Station I gave information to the police, and went with Sergeant Holt to the spot again where the robbery was done—I there found the bow of the watch-my watch was safe up to the very minute the prisoner committed the robbery—I saw the watch in his hand after he gave it a rough pull—I was as sober as I am now, only I had had, I dare say, two half-pints of ale—I have not seen the watch since, it has not been found—I next saw the prisoner about 11 o'clock the same night—I knew where he lodged, and I went to his lodging with the sergeant, and pulled him out of his lodging—it was half-past 11 the same evening.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I was not very much in drink—I never said a word about how many square feet there were in a square yard of ground—I did not say I would go home to get the money to pay the wager—you said you would see me home—I went in the Queen at 10 o'clock—I was looking at you up to the time you pulled the watch out of my pocket.

RICHARD HOWELL (Police Sergeant R). On the night of 2nd December,

about 1.30, I was at West Combe Park Station, when the prosecutor came and complained of being robbed, in consequence of which I went to the prisoner's lodging—I found him in bed—I said "I am a police officer, I shall take you into custody for stealing a watch belonging to Trant to-night"—he said "I have been in bed three-quarters of an hour"—I said " In a new road in the Lower Road by Shepherd's"—I went to the spot indicated by the prosecutor, and found there this bow, which the prosecutor identified as belonging to his watch—the prisoner said nothing further—he was taken to the police-station, and the charge read to him; he made no reply—it is about three minutes' walk from the place where the prisoner was in bed from the place where the robbery was said to have taken place.

The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate said that the prosecutor had lost his watch three times before, and that he (the prisoner) had picked it up; that he did not know if the prosecutor had his watch with him on this occasion, and that he (the prisoner) went home and knew nothing about it till the constable came and took him in bed.

The prisoner in his defence asserted his innocence.

GUILTY *— Six Months' Hard Labour.


Before Mr. Justice Charles.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-232
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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232. HENRY BOWLES (53) was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the wilful murder of Hannah Bowles.

MESSRS. BESLEY and H. AVORY Prosecuted; MESSRS. H. C. RICHARDS and E. BEARD Defended.

GEORGE FREDEDICK ROUMIEU . I am one of the Coroners for the County of Surrey—on the 24th of September I held an inquest, which was afterwards adjourned, upon the body of Hannah Bowles—on the 24th of September the prisoner voluntarily came before me and gave evidence as a witness, and I took his evidence down in writing—this is the original deposition, that correctly represents the evidence he gave.

FREDERICK TURNER . I am a medical practitioner, and live at Grafton House, Buxton, in Derbyshire—I know a man named Thomas Torr Wager, of Glutton Grange; I have been attending him recently—he is now ill in bed; he is suffering from a cavity in the right lung and consolidation in the left lung—it would be very dangerous, in my opinion, for him to travel here to give evidence—I last saw him last Friday.

Cross-examined. He has been ill for several years, but on his return after attending in London he became worse, and has been confined to his bed and house ever since—his illness is likely to be of very long duration and I don't think he will be able to travel to London for months—he has been worse since he was before the Magistrate, and he has been in bed ever since.

ALFRED BRACKNAL . I am a gardener, living at Park Street, Camberley, that is in the parish of Frimley, in the county of Surrey—I have been employed as under-gardener at Crosby Hall, Camberley, by Dr. Muller—the prisoner was in the same employment over me as head-gardener—I had been in the service about 10 months—I did not know

Bowles before I entered the service—I was in Dr. Muller's service before Bowles came, he first came there as head-gardener two months last November—I was not twice in Dr. Muller's service—it is 15 months now since I entered the service of Dr. Muller, I meant 10 months when Bowles was apprehended—I knew the deceased woman Hannah Bowles, and also a youth of 17, named Edward Bowles—I first knew him when the prisoner came to Dr. Muller's as head-gardener—they lived in a lodge about 100 yards from Crosby Hill—to my knowledge no other person slept in the house except the two deceased persons and the prisoner—I had been in the habit of taking my meals with them for about nine months, I took my own food and they found me in vegetables—I took two meals a day, 8 o'clock for breakfast and 1 o'clock for dinner—I had an hour after noon for the midday meal—the youth Edward Bowles was also employed by Dr. Muller—the prisoner never spoke to me about his relationship with Hannah Bowles, he spoke of her as his wife and of the youth as his nephew—I did not go there on Sundays, only on the six days—Hannah Bowles was a very quiet woman—I can give you no further description of what struck me about her during the time I knew her—she had not any hasty temper at all—I never saw her the worse for drink—she used principally to drink cold tea with her meals—I don't know what she would drink when she drank anything but cold tea—I never saw her with spirits—I never saw any liquor in the house at all—she was on very good terms with the boy, and she seemed on very good terms with the prisoner too—Edward Bowles had been in the service of Dr. Muller a shorter time than his father, the prisoner; he had been there only three months—I remember the prisoner going to London, he was away two days, that was from a week to a fortnight before the death of Mrs. Bowles—when he came back he told me he was going to Rivera's nursery, to order some fruit trees; Rivera's nursery is somewhere beyond here in London—no trees came from there—I remember the day of the deaths, Thursday, 22nd September—I had my two meals there as usual—that was the daytime before Mrs. Bowles died at midnight, and the boy after midnight; that was the 22nd September—I went there to breakfast and dinner—the prisoner and Edward Bowles and Mrs. Bowles were there—there was nothing unusual at the breakfast to attract my attention in the manner of Edward Bowles, Mrs. Bowles, or the prisoner; everything was as usual—I went in to dinner at 1 o'clock—Edward Bowles had been working with me that morning—he appeared in a very good state of health when he was working with me that morning, and the appearance of Mrs. Bowles's health seemed very good; the same as usual—the vegetables we had that day at 1 o'clock were runner-beans and potatoes—we all four ate from the same dish—those were all the vegetables—I carried bread and meat with me—they had some meat besides the vegetables—I cannot remember what the meat was—after dinner I left the lodge and went about my work as usual—in the afternoon Edward Bowles was with me up till half-past 5—the time for knocking off is half-past 5—Edward Bowles was with me up till then; still in the same state of health, making no complaint at all—I don't remember in the afternoon between 1 o'clock dinner and the time of knocking off work seeing anything of Mrs. Bowles at all, but at night when I left off I stood talking at the door of the lodge, which is on a by-road—the prisoner, his wife, and Edward Bowles, were there; all four of us again—that

would be 20 minutes to 6, within 10 minutes of knocking off work—I did not see any difference in the condition of mind of Mrs. Bowles and Edward Bowles then to what they were at dinner time—they seemed in good health—I did not see either Hannah or Edward Bowles alive after that—that was the last I saw of them alive—I next saw the prisoner after this time about 20 minutes to 6 the next morning at the lodge—Mrs. Deverel was there then—the prisoner came out and told me that his wife was dead and his son—he came out and asked me if I had heard what had happened, and I said yes, I had heard just before I got to the lodge; I met Mr. Evans—he told me Mrs. Bowles and Ted had died; nothing more—I had no further conversation with him; he passed on, and I went to my work—I did not see him every day after that up to 8th October, when he was taken into custody—I saw him on several occasions—he slept in the big house I believe after that; that was Dr. Muller's—he did not say a word to me on any occasion I saw him before he was taken into custody about the death of his wife or son—he did not speak to me on the subject—I had breakfast in the back kitchen in the big house on the morning when he asked me if I had heard, and said his wife and nephew were dead—the prisoner came up two or three times, but I think not to sit at breakfast—he was there part of the time—he went away two or three times while I was having breakfast at the big house—a day or two before the deaths Bowles came down and asked me where his son Edward was, and I told him he had gone to the w. c., and then the prisoner told me Edward had been taking pills—that is all I know about the medicine—that is all that was said—I never noticed any pill boxes when I was in the lodge; I never saw one—I have never been sent for pills to Camberley, to Mr. Claypole's shop—I never fetched any medicine at all.

Cross-examined. On the morning after the death I had breakfast at the big house, and the prisoner came in two or three times while I was having breakfast—I could not see the lodge from the room where I had breakfast—I know he went to the cottage, because he brought some plates and knives and forks up for meals—the day I had my last meals in Bowles's house I do not remember Dr. Muller coming down and going back to London—I was working by myself that day—I saw Dr. Muller in the grounds that day—I don't know where he went to—he was away from Crosby Hill next morning—he came back on the following Saturday morning, I believe—the family was living in London—it was his custom when he came down to see the prisoner, and talk to him about the gardens—I don't remember anything at all of the conversation at the meals that day—in the evening we were talking about the work that had been done during the day—I have no recollection of the conversation at dinner time—we used to dine in what they call the living room, there is only one living room—the other rooms in the lodge were two bedrooms upstairs—there was the living room and a back kitchen on the ground floor—I saw washing done there several times—Mrs. Bowles washed several blankets for Mrs. Muller, the doctor's wife—I went into the bedroom in which the lad slept, there was only a bed and a box in it; I went into the prisoner's bedroom on Friday evening after the death—I never went in before the death—at meals I never saw any liquor consumed but tea and water—the prisoner was an abstainer as well as his wife—in the nine

months I had meals with them I never heard any disagreement between Bowles and his wife, never any question as to what she did with the money—I think Bowles's wages were 23s. a week, house, coals, and vegetables—I knew Edward Bowles was Bowles's nephew, I never knew about his wife—I never heard him address her as mother or she address him as son—she told me she had twins before she came there and they were dead—the lodge is about 100 yards from the house—there is one neighbour, Mrs. Sharp, about 20 yards from them—she is a lady; it is a gentleman's house—Mrs. Deverel is not near, she is at Camberley—the nearest cottage is about 200 yards—I know where Dr. Twort lives, that is about a mile off, at Camberley—Dr. Scott lives nearer, about half way—I did not know the prisoner had consulted Dr. Twort before—we sat up in chairs all the night at the big house—as a rule I sleep in Park Street, Camberley, a mile off—the visit to London was about a fortnight before Mrs. Bowles's death—there were no rose trees, but fruit trees; we plant fruit trees at the end of September, always near about that time in the autumn—I have tried some of the Camberley ant bilious pills, not lately—I bought them at Mr. Claypole's—I never heard the slightest disagreement between the prisoner and his wife; he always treated the lad with affection.

WILLIAM HENRY TWORT , M. R. C. S. E., and Licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh. I practise at Camberley, in Surrey—my house is half a mile or rather more from the Crosby Hill Lodge—I had seen his nephew, on one occasion he came to my surgery to consult me about a skin eruption—on Thursday, September 22nd, I was aroused after I had gone to bed, about 11 or half-past, I should say nearer half-past than 11 o'clock; it was the prisoner who called me up; he said he wanted me to come and see his wife, he was afraid she was dying; he said he thought she was in a fit; he was in a very excited state, he wished me not to delay—I got up and rode on my tricycle—I overtook the prisoner on the road, about half-way there—as we went along together the prisoner said he had been given to understand his wife had heart disease by his former medical attendant, and he was not to be surprised at any time if she died suddenly—knowing his son, I asked him how it was he did not send his son for me, as he said he had no one in the house—I thought it was his son—he said there was something the matter with him also—he said he had a pain in his back, and he was very thirsty; he had previously given him a little water, and he expressed himself as feeling better, so he left him; he thought probably he had got a bilious attack—he also told me he had tried to rouse his next door neighbour, Mrs. Sharp, but he could not make any one hear—then I arrived with him at the lodge; he preceded me in—before I got in I first of all, outside, heard some one crying for help—I could hear loud cries of some one, a man's voice—as soon as I had put my tricycle on one side I went in—I found the prisoner standing over his wife in the room downstairs; she was lying down in front of the fireplace on the floor on the hearth rug, something was on the floor, with her head towards the door nearest to me—on my entering the prisoner said he thought she was dying—I walked round to look at her, and by her appearance I said I thought she was too—the woman was very pale indeed, the pupils were very dilated and fixed, her jaw was rigidly contracted; I could not move it, and she was pulseless—the only signs of life

I could observe were a few muscular twitchings about the muscles of the face—she was in articulo mortis, at the point of death—the prisoner then requested me to go upstairs to see his son, as he was very ill, and he could not tell what was the matter with him—the prisoner had not been upstairs before he said that, that I saw—I sent him for some whisky and brandy, and went upstairs to see the boy—the woman was not actually dead before I went up—I went up, and the prisoner went out to get brandy—the boy, Edward Bowles, was calling loudly for help, for water, I think—if I remember he was calling "Water, water"—he was in violent convulsions—he was in bed undressed, with only his check shirt on—the place was surrounded with his black vomit, the walls and bedclothes and floor; it was pouring copiously from his mouth—it was impossible for him to move when he was in a convulsion—his countenance was very dusky, his lips livid, his eyes were staring, and his pupils dilated—the hands were clenched, and the arms drawn across the chest in a state of flexion, and the spine was arched, and the legs and feet were also rigidly contracted; in fact, his whole muscular system was in a state of extreme tension—the prisoner had not time to return while I was noticing this; he had to go some way to get the brandy; he had to go to Major O'Sullivan—he came back before I left, before the boy was dead—the boy was perfectly conscious, his mind was intact—I asked him if he was in any pain—he knew my question, he knew the terrible position he was in—he said he should die if I could not remove the load from his chest—he said he could not get his breath. Q. He said he was not in pain? A. No. The convulsions did not last long—after it had passed off I questioned him as to what he had been taking—he told me for supper he had had nothing but a little bread and jam, and he had swallowed one antibilious pill afterwards—I asked him if he had been eating any mushrooms or fungi—he said "No"—when I took hold of his hand he went off in another violent convulsion; the slightest touch was sufficient to bring them on—a man named Evans, whom the prisoner had called up, came before the prisoner came back, with a little whisky in his pocket; he keeps a fly and drove up in a fly—he came in a cab while the prisoner was out for the brandy—he had some whisky in a flask—I gave Edward Bowles a little of the whisky and water—after Evans came I went home to fetch chloroform, I knew I could do nothing for him, leaving Evans and Mrs. Deverel in the house—I left the boy alive, he was getting much worse, the convulsions were getting stronger and longer—the woman was dead when I came down—she must have died very soon after twelve; she died very soon after I was in the house, about five minutes—before I left the house to fetch the chloroform I had seen a pill-box on the mantelpiece in the downstairs sitting-room—I had seen that before Bowles left for the brandy when I first came into the room—I picked it up and examined the inside of it very carefully; it was perfectly clean, I could find nothing in it; it was a one-dram pill box, similar to that (produced); it had the name of the chemist, Claypole, on it—I saw particularly it was perfectly clean inside—I looked for that—there was no trace of chalk, nothing—I should think it was half an hour before I returned with the chloroform—I passed through the living room when I came back—I went up to the bedroom, and there found the boy Edward dead on the floor—when I came back the prisoner Evans and Mrs. Deverel were all in the downstairs room—they told me the son was dead—I went up to have a look at him and them

came downstairs and had a talk with the prisoner—I asked him if he could tell me whether they had had anything likely to cause the symptoms—he said he did not take suppers and could not tell what they had had, and did not know what they had had for supper, for he had been reading his gardening magazine and smoking; he heard them talking about taking pills, and he looked up and he saw the jam on the table; he suggested they had better not take so many pills but get some salts, as his mother had recommended him to do; he said he could not tell whether they had been taking any mushrooms or anything for supper—I asked a question that led to that; he could not tell; they had been having some lately, as they grew plentifully on the estate; he had cautioned his son not to get any—I could not be quite certain how the prisoner spoke of the boy—I was always under the impression he was his son, now I recollect he called him his nephew, I think because he explained the reason to me for doing so at some other time I think—he said he cautioned the young man not to get any, as he did not think he could distinguish the poisonous from the non-poisonous unless he was with him to show him—I asked him if he had been using any of Battle's vermin killer; he said "No," at that time—he told me his wife had made a very peculiar remark before she died, and he could not think what induced her to do so; it was to this effect, that "If anything happens to me, Ted, I hope your poor father won't be blamed"—he made that remark to me after he came back with the brandy after his wife was dead—he described the circumstances under which she made this observation—he said she made it thinking his son or Edward was in the room instead of him, and that she made the remark before he came for me, but after she was ill—when she was on the floor—that was all the conversation we had—I looked round to see if I could see anything—I must have asked him for that pill-box again on his return; he said he had got many other pillboxes like them—the pill-box had gone, he must have moved it—after I had inquired about it I noticed it was gone—I inquired about the pillbox when I came back, when they were dead—I inquired of the prisoner for the pill-box that I had seen on the mantelpiece—I made that inquiry because I wanted to know all I could about the pills—it was after the boy had made a statement to me about taking the pill—after I returned with the chloroform I asked the prisoner about the pill-box; I wanted to see it again—I said I wanted to see the pill-box I saw on the mantelpiece—he had mislaid it or something; he did not know where it was—he told me he had got several more like it that he kept his garden seeds in, and he got some from a side drawer—I cannot remember now whether he said he had mislaid it—I think he said he did not know where it was—I then looked for it where it had originally been, on the mantelpiece; it was not there—the prisoner then produced some others from a drawer; he had several of them—most of them were like that, the same size—he said he kept small garden seeds in them—he said these pill-boxes were some of the same sort—as far as I can remember they were all labelled in the same way, "Claypoles Antibilious Pills"—I did not notice that particularly—I noticed the size of the boxes—that was all that took place on that night—next morning, the 23rd, I went to the lodge again with another medical man, Dr. Manders—I took away from the lodge a bottle containing greengage jam with one of Crosse and Blackwell's labels on it, a tin dripping-pan containing scraps of food, a gallipot

containing some treacly-looking substance—those were the only traces of food I found that I could take away, and there was some uncooked meat in the larder—I took charge of those things, and afterwards handed them to the police sergeant—on the same evening I, with Dr. Manders, made a post-mortem examination of the two bodies—as to Hannah Bowles the body was pale, and of course stiffened; the spine was slightly arched—she had her clothes on of course, and we could see nothing more—she was still on the floor then, and with her clothes on—the rigor mortis well marked, stiffening well marked, pupils dilated equally; heart pale, flaccid, empty; valves healthy; right lung healthy, old adhesions; left lung somewhat congested; liver healthy; gall bladder empty; membranes of brain and brain substance healthy; fluid in both ventricles; kidneys healthy; gall stones in the gall duct—we took out the stomach and put it in a jar, and sealed it, and marked it with the name—the Coroner had it afterwards—there was nothing to guide my opinion as to the cause of death upon this post-mortem, except the boy's condition; there was nothing as to the woman—there was nothing with regard to the condition of the heart and other regions to indicate the woman was addicted to drink—the liver, kidneys, and heart were all quite healthy—nor was there anything in the condition of the heart to show she was a woman likely to die suddenly at any time—then I went on to make a post-mortem examination of the body of the boy Edward Bowles—we went upstairs, placed the body which was on the floor on the bed, and removed the shirt—he was placed on the floor the night before; he begged to be moved, they always do when the convulsions come on, and he was moved in my absence—we placed him on the bed; the surface of the bedclothes and walls were all covered with a black vomit—both flexors and extensors of the feet were in a state of extreme tension: the spine was arched; the complexion was dusky; the pupils were dilated; rigor mortis was well marked; lungs healthy; heart healthy, full of blood, uncontracted; liver healthy; small intestine slightly congested; upper part of duodenum had a rod patch on it—I could not tell what that was caused by—oblong patch of reddish-brown colour alone at the pyloric end of the stomach; kidneys healthy—I did the same thing with the stomach of the boy, sealed it up in a jar separately—there was not, so far as we went, anything in the postmortem of the boy to indicate the cause of death—we could not tell what the patches on the duodenum and stomach were; they might have been bile stains—we did not open them—we could only see them from the outside; we could not open them because they were to be sent up for analysis—the prisoner was not present while we were making the postmortem on the body of the boy—we had a difficulty in getting him out of the room, but we did eventually turn him out and bolt the door; he came again several times, but could not get in—before we commenced the post-mortem we had difficulty in getting rid of him, we wanted to begin, it was getting late—he wanted to stop, I suppose—before he left the room I called Dr. Manders's attention to the boy's feet—the prisoner said that contracted sort of muscular condition of the feet was natural to him—some observation was made in the prisoner's presence about the condition of the feet in the morning—the prisoner said he had a peculiar walk—he thought that was natural to him; that was the contorted condition of the tendons, the muscles—we did not agree to it—we said we did not think it could be

explained in that way—with the other things I have mentioned we also took away some part of the sheet and some other things that contained the vomit, the sheet, the boy's shirt, and just a little off the wall—we made up that into a parcel; it was afterwards given to the police—I have since heard the result of the analysis of the stomach—having heard that strychnine was found in the stomach, in my opinion strychnine poisoning was the cause of the death of Hannah Bowles—I said that before the analysis—nothing in the post-mortem guided one to the cause of death—I formed the opinion she died of strychnine poisoning from the condition of the boy; I first formed the opinion, I mean, that they had died from strychnine poisoning; I could not form that opinion from the woman—when I saw the boy in a state of convulsion I could not conceive anything else that could cause it—that was what led me to ask the prisoner about it—when I asked him about Battle's vermin killer, he said he had got some—I formed the opinion when I saw the boy in these tetanic convulsions, and the boy was perfectly conscious, and then I asked the prisoner whether he had any Battle's vermin killer—he said he had not—he said about a week afterwards that he had been thinking it over, and he had been using it—the post-mortem was made on the 23rd—I saw him about a week afterwards; he was going to church, at all events he had a Bible; it was on the Sunday week—he took a short cut, and came up to me and said he had been thinking over what I said to him about using vermin killer, and he remembered he did use it for poisoning sparrows, but not at Crosby Hill—the pyloric end of the stomach is the end that leads into the small intestine, the bowel—the duodenum is the small bowel—I think that is all he said to me on the Sunday—I have not explained how it was he called the lad his nephew; that was not the same day; I think that was on the road up there that night when I was on the tricycle—he said he did that because the other men should not think he showed any partiality towards him—it was when I said "Why did not your son come up?" he said "He passes as my nephew"—he thought if he went as his son they would think he would favour him—that was his explanation, and that he really was his son—on the next day I made no search for the pill-box that had been missing the night before, or any further inquiries about it at all—the policeman had it then, I think—the policeman had a pill-box; I don't know whether it was the original one—I never saw as far as I know that particular pill-box that had been on the mantelpiece—during the 10 months they had lived there I had never visited the woman Hannah Bowles at all—I never visited the lodge at all; the boy came down to see me.

Cross-examined. I don't think the passage in the deposition is a correct statement of what I said: "On the evening of the death to which I have referred, namely, 22nd September, the prisoner showed me an ordinary small pillbox empty which he took from the mantelpiece of the sitting-room, and told me me those were the pills they had been in the habit of taking; the box was labelled 'antibilious pills,' and had the name Claypole On it; there were several other pill-boxes; the prisoner produced them to me; I looked round the rooms upstairs and down for matter of a suspicious nature, but found nothing"—there was only one box on the mantelpiece; I did not see any man there—the others were in a drawer—"On the evening of the death to which I have referred, 22nd

Sept., the prisoner showed me an ordinary small pill-box, empty, which he took from the mantelpiece of the sitting-room"—he showed me the pill-box; there was nothing in it—the box was labelled 'antibilious pills'—several boxes were labelled in the same way there, which the prisoner produced to me from a drawer—I said nothing in my deposition about opening the box and the absence of chalk—I did not make that statement before—I looked round the rooms both upstairs and down for something of a suspicious character, but found nothing—I remember using those words—the box was empty and therefore useless—I think it worth while now to state there was no chalk in it, because I informed the chemist after I had given my evidence—I do not mean to say the chemist suggested to me signs of chalk should be in the box; I suggested it—I asked him what he had been in the habit of rolling his pills in—some use liquorice powder—he was in the habit of using French chalk—I saw the pill-box for the first time after I had attended the woman and before I went upstairs—I took it up in my hand and carefully examined the inside—the prisoner was with me in the room—I do not mention in my evidence then that I ever asked for it again—I did not give that in evidence then a week or ten days after the event, because at first I had no idea it was a case of poisoning, but by thinking it over—from the state of the boy I had no doubt it was a case of strychnine poisoning, but I did not know whether accidental or suicidal—I did not mention about the pill-box at the time; I did not attach anything to it—there was nothing in it, to discover in it—he showed me the other pillboxes—he took them from a little drawer in a little sort of sideboard, or something he had on the side in the same room—I could not say how many boxes were there, half-a-dozen, something of that sort—I did not look inside all those—I could not say for certain that I looked inside any of them—I did not notice that they were clean also, except for seeds—I believe chemists put up pills in boxes with different sorts of materials; if they are sold in large quantities sometimes they are coated with sugar—small quantities for poor people they roll plain as they are made, and then use French chalk to prevent them sticking together—sometimes they are rolled perfectly plain without any coating whatever to render them tasteless—these little dram boxes will only hold four—I think I made mention to the boy about mushrooms—he said he had not taken any that day—he then said he had had a little bread and jam, and he had taken one antibilious pill—he did not say the prisoner, his father, had given it to him—he did not mention his father's name at all—I did not ask him how long after he had had his supper or the pill he had first become ill—I did not gather what time he had had his supper; only from the prisoner, not from the lad—that was the only conversation I had with him—I asked him whether he had eaten any mushrooms, and then he told me what he had had for supper—then he spoke about the load on his chest—I noticed when I got up there the room was very plainly furnished—there was a bed and a box—the woman died during my absence when I was upstairs with the lad—I have not had experience before of deaths by strychnine—I have never seen a death caused by that poison before in a human subject—the tetanic symptoms are the same with animals; the arching of the spine and the condition of the limbs; therefore any one accustomed to use strychnine for vermin and animals would know at once the sort of sufferings that would ensue—I should think it was one

of the most painful deaths from poisoning possible, and it would produce the same kind of suffering on animals as on human beings; it is not always the same—the woman did not lead me to think of that—in the post-mortem I discovered her heart was empty, flaccid, and pale; it was not a strong heart—many persons have an idea that they have symptoms that would lead them to think they have a weak heart—so far as I could see there were no signs with regard to the liver that she had need of these antibilious pills—there were no symptoms of liver disease at all—I don't know what was in the stomach; I did not open it—when the prisoner came to me he was in a very excited condition, and begged me to come at once—that was between 11 and half past as far as I recollect—beyond begging me to come and telling me his wife was ill, very little passed—he told me his wife was in a fit when he was at my house; nothing else—he went off and I got up to dress—I spoke to him from a window—he said he was afraid his wife was in a fit—the conversation was from the street to the second-floor window—the working classes round Camberley look on me as their medical man and come to me, and therefore he came to me—the prisoner's son had been to me previously, his name was on my books—it depends how long it takes for strychnine to act on how it is taken, and the subject—if taken in a pill it depends on the pill, whether it is recently made, or has been kept some time—if the pills were old they would take much longer in dissolving than if newly made—if either of these pills contained a third of a grain and were newly made they would be half an hour to an hour before they began to act on the system; they must have time to dissolve—supposing they had been made three years I should not like to say how long they would take to dissolve in the stomach and act; some pass through like bullets if they are kept too long—half a day might not elapse if they had been kept a long time; they would not act at all if not before that a good deal—I could not say whether it would be possible for strychnine in old pills not to act—supposing freshly made, I think it would be half an hour to an hour before they produced effect, as a rule, and if kept longer their action would be longer—it would vary in different subjects; people's digestions vary—the longer made the longer they take, because they are not so soluble—I don't think the prisoner seemed in a very distressed condition about his son's death; he seemed in a muddled state, confused—I thought there was nothing suspicious at that time; I never suspect people unless I have a reason—the next conversation I had with him after that date was Sunday week—I met him on the road; he had a Bible and prayer book with him; I think he said he was going to church—Saturday was the first day of the inquest; it was finished some time in October—it was while the inquest was in progress that I saw him; it had not concluded—then he remarked that he knew he had Battle's vermin killer, but not at Crosby Hill—I asked him if there was any vermin killer then in the lodge—he said he had not any, but he recollected using it before he came to Crosby Hill—I should think a pill containing a third of a grain of strychnine would not have a different taste to an ordinary antibilious pill; antibilious pills have a taste; it depends what they are made of—I did not know these pills—I never took them—I know what the component parts are—a pill containing this amount of strychnine would have the bitter taste which is its most prominent physical characteristic—when one-third of a grain is placed in a small pill it would

not give a bitter taste to the pill; it would in a liquid state, but not sufficient in a dry state to arouse anyone's suspicion—I don't remember that I said anything to Mrs. Deverel about the pill-box—the sergeant did not have the pill-box; I think the policeman did; the policeman had one, I think—I did not see it given to the police-constable.

Re-examined. I mean Holdforth, the Camberley policeman—I am not quite sure if he is the constable who was called before the Coroner—he is not the person of whom you can make inquiries where the pill-box came from—he is the officer who took the pill-box—from what I saw of the tetanic convulsion of the youth I then thought he was in a state of strychnine poisoning—the symptoms to a professional eye of the person affected were those of strychnine poisoning—they were perfectly marked in the case of the boy—I could not conceive any other explanation—he was not in great pain, but in a terrible state—he felt he was going to die, and he did die—he was perspiring profusely, an ordinary indication of great suffering—I said before the Magistrate: "I asked the deceased Edward what he had taken; I asked him first whether he took any mushrooms or fungi; he said 'No, I only had a little bread and jam for supper, and I took afterwards an antibilious pill"—he did not say he had swallowed it—I concluded he had swallowed it; he had taken it—what the boy said was probably, "And I took afterwards an antibilious pill"—I mentioned Battle's vermin killer—Mrs. Deverel was in the room when I asked about the pill-box, and the prisoner said he did not know where it was—she w is not actually there when I examined the pill-box—when I came back and asked for it, and he said he did not know where it was, Mrs. Deverel was there and Evans too.

By the COURT. Constable Holdforth had a pill-box in his possession; I don't know where he got it from.

HORACE MANDERS . I am a Member of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, and also a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in England—I live at York Town, Frimley, in Surrey, and practise there—I never attended the deceased woman or the youth; I never saw them in my life—I attended on Friday morning; the 23rd, with Dr. Twort, and also in the evening at the post-mortem—I have carefully listened to the statements made by Dr. Twart as to the condition of those bodies, and I have also heard him give from his notes an account of what was found on the post-mortem—I think it is rather a mistake to say we were not permitted to open the stomach—we came to the conclusion that we had better not do so, because the cause of death was to be found in the postmortem, and we felt sure the cause of death would be found in the stomachs, and agreeing together we thought it injudicious to interfere with them, as they would go to the analysts—there was certainly no appearance in the heart or valves of the heart of the woman to indicate anything like heart disease—I may say Dr. Twort told me when he came to me on the morning after the death that he thought it was a case of strychnine poisoning—there was nothing to indicate disease of the heart; it was a pale flabby heart, but there was nothing to indicate disease of the heart—there was certainly no indication in the brain, liver, kidneys, or any organ of her being a person of intemperate habits—at 11 o'clock on the morning of the 23rd I went to the lodge at Crosby Hill, and there saw the prisoner—there was a conversation

with me alone when Dr. Twort was not with me—I got to the lodge, and found the prisoner there standing at the gate—I was waiting for Dr. Twort—I entered into conversation with the prisoner—we were talking about the affair—he told me about it—I did not know for some time that he was Bowles, and then it must have been I suppose five to seven minutes when he suddenly seemed to say "My poor boy"—he seemed to break down—I said "Oh, then you are the gardener?"—he said Yes, he was—then I knew he was related—we talked about mushrooms—I asked him if he had been eating any—he said they had had mushrooms—he told me the boy had been cautioned by him as he did not know a mushroom from a fungus—that was the conversation outside between me and him; then he went on to talk about his wife—he said she was a queer and nasty tempered woman, something to that effect, and that she always took his money, for which she rendered no account; that Dr. Muller gave him a cheque, which he backed, was his expression, and gave to her; that she would bear no interference with her house or the expenditure of the money; but I don't quite know what gave rise to his saying that—it was this occasion of my speaking to him—something was said on this occasion, at the same conversation, as to what his wife had said when she was ill—Dr. Twort had already told me about it before at my house; that was how I knew it—I asked the prisoner if his wife had said anything about whether, if anything happened to her, he should not be blamed—I did not put it in those words, I led up to it—I asked him if his wife had said anything to him about that, and then he made some statement to me; he said "If anything happens to me, Ted, don't let your poor father be blamed; "I think that was it, I am sure that was it—he said he (Bowles) was present, kneeling by her, and that he was bathing her temples; she thought it was the boy, that is what he gave me to understand; that is how he explained it—the putting in the jars of the two stomachs and sealing and marking them, and collecting a little of the vomit and making the collection for the Coroner that has been spoken to by Dr. Twort, was not very definitely stated; the stomach of the woman was tied and labelled before we went upstairs to the boy; the boy's stomach was taken out, tied, and labelled, and put in the same jar—we put that in the cupboard and locked it up, and took the key of the cupboard away—next day these were handed over to the Coroner, who sealed them up with a seal I have with me now, and they were given then into the charge of the police sergeant—they were in separate jars—they were locked in the cupboard, removed from the cupboard to the Coroner, and then the two stomachs were put in separate jars—Bowles fetched string to tie them up with—the jars were separately labelled, one having the woman's and the other the youth's stomach, the labels were not touched—I searched the room and found in the youth's room no utensils, nothing at all, no earthenware vessel of any description, no wash-basin, nothing, there was only a small box in the corner—on the first day of the inquest, before the burial, I went to Dr. Muller's house—there was an inquest before the funeral, and then the adjourned inquest—the first time of the inquest being held I went to Dr. Muller's house—I searched for poison in justice to Dr. Muller—Bowles had said that Dr. Muller kept poisons in his house to which his wife had access—the prisoner told me that when I was talking to him, not at the gate, but the same morning, after Dr.

Twort had joined me and we had gone into the house—it was the same morning in the grounds—I went in justice to Dr. Muller to see what poisons there were—there were no poisons there unless you took a large quantity of them, ammonia, hydrochloric acid, alum, carbolic acid, Condy's fluid, things chiefly for making manures—Dr. Muller is Lot a doctor of medicine, but a doctor of science—some of those things that I have classified as poisonous can be used for disinfecting purposes, carbolic acid, Condy's fluid—I went to see what was there because I knew Dr. Muller was an analytical chemist, and I thought it possible but not likely that he would let any one have access to them, but there was nothing there.

Cross-examined. I don't know anything about the action of the woman's heart, because I never saw the woman alive—a perfectly healthy heart might be pale and flabby if the individual was pale and flabby—such a heart would give rise to no symptoms of heart disease in life—it might not give rise to some kind of pain, palpitation, or anything apparent—pain in that region would be probably due to indigestion with such a heart as that—there might be a pain in that region, I could not say—if she had a pain she might get the idea of weakness of the heart; I don't know that she had a pain—I had a conversation with him before I discovered he was Bowles—I had been speaking some little time, and then he broke down about his poor boy—I cannot say he was in trouble about him, he seemed to break down; he had been talking to me for five or seven minutes beforehand, and then said 'Oh, my poor boy, what shall I do," and he laid his fingers over his face, and turned away as if he had suddenly recollected his boy—Dr. Twort told me strychnine poisoning was undoubted—I looked particularly at the boy because it was such a marked case of strychnine poisoning; the woman's was not so marked; she was lying on the floor with all her clothes on, the boy was stark naked, with the exception of his shirt—the prisoner told me about the cheque, because he said she was a nasty temper, and Dr. Muller paid him by cheque, which he endorsed and then handed over to his wife; I don't know why he told us that—that was after he spoke of his boy—unconsciousness does not arise at all from strychnine poisoning alone—the prisoner had said there were poisons in Dr. Muller's house, he had not described them at all, simply said he knew there were poisons to which his wife might have access; he said Dr. Muller used them for manures; you may call them poisonous, but you would have to take a considerable dose; there were not really any poisons there.

Re-examined. Having seen the heart at the post-mortem, I should not think much of a medical man who would say the woman was a person likely to fall down dead in a moment—no good medical man would say so—one person being so sick and the other not might be according to the quantity eaten by each person, or the effect on different people—strychnine does not always produce the same effect; take a young man of 18, of strong muscular fibre, and a pale, flabby woman, the woman would die sooner—the woman did not vomit, she died first, but she had the arching of the spine, and they had a very peculiarly marked rigor—a dose of strychnine does not necessarily produce sickness, it depends very largely on the state of the person—we heard that the woman had a weak heart, so we examined that heart particularly, perhaps more carefully than the other.

ALFRED BRACKNELL (Re-examined by MR. RICHARDS). I have noticed them eating mushrooms at the lodge on several occasions—I had not seen them eating them for a long time before this sad event—Bowles, the prisoner, always gathered them—I was not allowed to gather them without permission—I had nothing to do with them—I had not seen any eaten for a fortnight or three weeks before, I should say.

By MR. BESLEY. I was quite well afterwards—all the people were all right after eating the mushrooms.

By the JURY. The prisoner told me of the death on the morning of Friday, 23rd September; he was a little excited, but not so much as I expected to find him after hearing of the two deaths in the one house.

ALFRED HUGHES CLAYPOLE . I am a chemist, carrying on business at York Town and Camberley in Surrey—the shop at Camberley is about half a mile from Crosby Hill—the shop at York Town is farther away—I superintend the shop at Camberley, and I also have an assistant there—I am in the habit of manufacturing and selling antibilious pills—I sell them in boxes similar to this one produced, with my name upon them—the usual quantity we make would be about half a pound of the mass, and that will make about 64 dozen pills—they are never made in quantities of two, and three, and four—each pill weighs five grains—I produce the formula from which they, are made—the ingredients are calomel, Castile soap, powdered tragacanth, powdered capsicum, powdered gamboge, scammonix, colocynth, aloes—the ealomel is a preparation of mercury, and is the active ingredient in the pill—that is the only poisonous ingredient—the quantity of calomel in a pill is about five-eighths of a grain—the boxes contain either 2, 4, 6, 12, or 24 pills—this is what I call a one-dram box, that would contain either two or four—the pills when made are rolled in French chalk, a fine white powder, and then they are put into the boxes—this is a box containing two, but they have been in the box since the case was at Farnham, and I think the powder is a little dry, a little absorbed—they are not coated, they are only rolled in powder—I don't think this pill-box has been used; I brought it with me this morning in case somebody might want to see it—I put these pills into boxes after the case was tried at Farnham—if a man came to my shop to buy two pills I would deliver this or something like this to him—I don't know whether any French chalk can be seen in this box now, it could when the pills were put in—the pills are rolled in French chalk and then put into the boxes—this one has not been used at all, I should think—no chalk is put into the boxes except what is on the pill when it is put in; except what the pill has been rolled in—I cannot tell exactly when was the last time before the 22nd September that any quantity of these pills were made; I make no memorandum of the times we make the pills, but I should think it would be six weeks or two months before—they are made at the York Town shop, and supplied to the Camberley shop for retail—some pills were made soon after the 22nd, perhaps 10 days after; I cannot say exactly—I know a fresh quantity was made about 10 days after the 22nd; I can't say exactly—nearly all the previous quantity had then been sold—I have strychnine at York Town—at the York Town shop the strychnine was kept in a distinct place, quite separate from any calomel—it is in a different part of the shop; it may be three or four yards from it—it is kept in a small cupboard, with other poisons—it is not kept with

the calomel; that is kept on a different part of the shelf—no antibilious pills are made at the Camberley shop.

Cross-examined. I keep a record of the sales of poisons such as strychnine; they require a record by the Poisons Act—strychnine would require an entry—I have no record of Bowles ever having purchased any strychnine at my shop—I cannot tell you when this box, "H.," was first shown to me; it was after the death of Mrs. Bowles, but I cannot say if it was before the Inquest—I cannot say by looking at the label on the box how long before the pills in that box might have been made; I have no record whatever—it was not shown to me before the inquest; I am not at all clear when I saw that box; it was after the death—I cannot say whether the two pills in this little box were made before or after the inquest—I put them into the box at the same time that I put these in; that was just before I came up to London the last time, just before the case went before the Grand Jury—I brought them up as specimens in case they might be wanted—I have not seen various pill-boxes bearing my name which were at the lodge; I have only seen the one that Hayes produced—I cannot tell you whether this larger empty pill-box has ever had any pills in it—the presence or absence of French chalk is not apparent to the naked eye in that case—these two pills are not coated, they are simply rolled in French chalk; they are not glazed—it is possible they are rather of a greenish hue; they have been rolled in French chalk.

By the COURT. We have an immense number of these little boxes at home—we very rarely sell them empty, and then only to persons who collect insects—persons might occasionally come for boxes of that kind for purposes other than for pills, but that is a very rare occurrence.

WILLIAM HENRY FURNEAUX . I am assistant to Mr. Claypole at the Camberley shop—the antibilious pills are supplied to me from the other shop, and they are kept at the Camberley shop in a drawer quite by themselves—I have no recollection of any of the Bowles coming to my shop until after the deaths; the prisoner then came in—I don't remember his coming before—I did not know Hannah Bowles and Edward Bowles personally; I might have known them by sight—on Friday, the 23rd September, the upholsterer, who had charge of the funeral, came and asked for some salvolatile for the prisoner, and about 10 days after the death, I should think, the prisoner came and paid for it—no strychnine is kept at the Camberley shop at all in the solid form, in the solution.

THOMAS STEVENSON , M. D. I am lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence at Guy's Hospital, and I am official analyst to the Home Office—on 27th September last I received from the constable, James Heighes, first, a jar labelled "Mrs. Bowles," containing her stomach; secondly, a jar labelled "Edward Bowles," containing his stomach; thirdly, a gallipot labelled "Found in fire flue; "fourthly, a pot labelled "greengage jam; "fifthly, a parcel labelled "Tin found in oven "and sheet; and sixthly, a parcel labelled "Part of shirt of Edward Bowles," and I have examined and analysed all those articles—on analysing the stomach of Mrs. Bowles I found it had the appearances of a healthy stomach, containing 3¼ ounces of thickish material, in which the only recognisable article of food was slices of French or runner beans—the stomach and its contents contained fluid that yielded one poison, strychnine; the quantity was about a quarter of a grain, and there was no other poison or calomel or any other preparation

of mercury—I have heard Mr. Claypole's description of his antibilious pills, and the formula from which they are made—if a person had taken one of those antibilious pills at any time that evening I should have expected to find traces of the calomel or mercury—strychnine is a poison which is absorbed into the tissues quickly—from the quantity which I found in the stomach I formed the opinion she must have taken a large dose, that is to say a fatal dose; a quarter of a grain is quite the quantity you would find after one or two grains had been taken during life—ordinarily a fatal dose is about a grain, but half a grain will destroy life in an adult—half a grain has destroyed life in an adult, but one grain may be taken as a usual fatal dose—I then examined No. 2 jar, the stomach of Edward Bowles—it contained a human stomach, inside which was a quantity of dark fluid or semi-fluid matter containing a considerable quantity of tough mucus and some blood—there were also articles of food recognisable, French and runner beans, potato, a plum stone; it also contained strychnine, about one-third of a grain, but no other poison or preparation of mercury—I assumed that Edward Bowles must have taken a large dose of strychnine to have left that third of a grain in the stomach, for he had vomited, I heard in evidence, and of course in vomiting he would be likely to reject some of the contents of the stomach, including poison—he had certainly taken more than a grain, I should think—on the stomach of Edward Bowles I noticed besides a patch of mouldiness there was a mark close to the pyloric end of the stomach; that was the mark of a bile stain, no doubt—after death the gall bladder had stained it by being merely in contact with the bladder; in popular language it was a bile stain—No. 3, the gallipot, contained merely a small quantity of burnt sugar, no poison; No. 4 was simply greengage jam with no poison; No. 5, a parcel containing the dripping pan containing the remains of cooked food—the food was fried matter, liver, scales of a fish, potato skins, French or runner beans, no poison—in that same parcel there was a sheet and a pillow case, and upon that were remains of dark vomit, mixed with blood, like the contents of the stomach of Edward Bowles—I extracted those and also a portion of the shirt in No. 6—I combined them all together—I also found vomit on the shirt in No. 6—I treated five and six together, and found they contained remains of the runner beans, the sheet, pillow case, and shirt—I extracted strychnine from those; the quantity was about one twelfth of a grain—there was no other poison—there was no trace of mercury—I have heard the evidence of Dr. Twort and Dr. Mander—looking at what I found on analysis in my opinion strychnine was the cause of death—the fact of one person vomiting and the other not makes no difference in my judgment—strychnine is the active principle of nux vomica, the vomiting-nut, so called because it produces vomiting—people who take strychnine in a pure condition don't as a rule vomit; they die very speedily, but in a very decided number of cases it irritates the stomach and produces vomiting—it is not the characteristic symptom, but one not infrequently met with—the same quantity of strychnine might produce vomiting in one person and not in another—taking the cases where vomiting occurs one cannot associate the vomiting at all with the quantity—I am speaking of a case where a large and dangerous or fatal quantity is given, of course—a dose such as I have mentioned of a grain may begin to act within three minutes; a common time is 15, 20, or 30 minutes, but occasionally when taken in pills it has

been delayed for a longer time, up to three hours—the effect may be exhibited almost immediately, within three minutes; as a rule, within 15 or 20 minutes—if taken in pills that are hard and old they may be delayed for rather an indefinite period, three hours I have known, but that is decidedly an unusual time—if taken in pills not hard and old the average time within which it would begin to act is half an hour—with reference to this being taken in pills, it is a poison that has an extraordinarily bitter taste; one grain in a gallon of water is intensely bitter—in my judgment it could not be taken except in the form of a pill without being noticed; it could not be taken in articles of food—it is not a poison that loses its properties at all by being kept; it will remain unchanged for any length of time, 20 years to my knowledge, certainly—I have as an experiment made up these two pills the same size as Mr. Claypole's antibilious pills, 5-grain size, each of them contains 4 grains of strychnine—if anything these are a trifle larger than Mr. Claypole's, but nothing material—Mr. Claypole's are darker because there is not so much of the coating powder; mine are coated with liquorice to prevent them sticking—these are evidently old—there is no difficulty in making up strychnine into the form of pills if you know how—any one who has made a pill before would easily make one—it could be done with a little gum and glycerine or treacle.

Cross-examined. These pills with four grains of strychnine were made in the dispensary in the ordinary way; rubbed up in a mortar and on the slab, the ingredients mixed, and then if making several you make them on a kind of grooved slab, on which you put a kind of roller, and roll them—the grooves divide them as you rub them; make them of a certain size—the size of the pill depends on the size of the groove—I think it is liquorice I coated the pills with—I put on some inert powder of that kind—I have seen those produced to Mr. Claypole—I think mine are a trifle larger—I had not seen his before—I mean by saying his are old, the dusting powder is absorbed by the pill; is fallen off; they are not made within the last few days—I forget how many were made; I think more than those two—there is no difficulty in making up single pills, or two pills—supposing strychnine was in those pills with calomel, the more powerful poison would not destroy the power of the weaker one—a grain would be a fatal dose—I discovered a quarter of a grain in Mrs. Bowles's, and one-third in young Bowles's stomach—I imagine a large portion of the fatal dose had been absorbed—supposing there were the amount of calomel in either of those pills described by Mr. Claypole, its absence would not be accounted for by the strength of the strychnine; if calomel and strychnine are in the same pill, calomel would be more likely to remain in the stomach than strychnine, it being more readily absorbed—if calomel had been in a pill I should certainly have found it in the stomach, or some preparation of mercury—the dark fluid in the boy's stomach was due to the blood being altered by the internal gastric juice of the stomach—it is not unusual in convulsions to bite the tongue and swallow blood—there was about three-quarters of a tumblerful of this blood—I do not think entirely that the longer strychnine had been preserved in a pill the longer it would take to work a fatal effect—it would depend partly on the substance of which the pill was made; some substances set hard sooner than others; some don't set hard at all—the materials in my pills besides strychnine are glycerine, tragacanth,

gum tragacanth, glycerine and water—the materials in Mr. Claypole's pills are calomel, soap, tragacanth, and some extract of colocynth—the largest amount of material there is aloes; that is rather bitter;—strych nine is very bitter—the presence of one grain in one gallon of water. would make the water extremely bitter—I don't suppose anybody swallowing Mr. Claypole's pill, or a strychnine pill, would perceive much difference—pills of this sort are usually bitter, and strychnine is bitter—I don't think any ordinary individual would distinguish a strychnine, pill from an ordinary pill—the longest time I know for strychnine to begin to work is three hours—I think there have been cases recorded in America (of which I know very little) longer, but the longest case in England is three hours, where a bread pill was prepared for killing a dog, and the pill became hard.

Re-examined. My attention was not directed to Mr. Claypole's antibilious pills until I had given evidence at the inquest on the first occasion in October; then I first heard of the pills—I then made further examination for the purpose if possible of detecting calomel—I had heard of pills before, but I then went back on the whole of the materials, and worked the whole of it up again, and made special search for mercury—I found none—I made a special separate and very detailed search for it in all the materials—the lapse of time would not have accounted for any disappearance of it; mercury is practically indestructible—it would have remained for any length of time in the viscera.

By the COURT. When persons have swallowed fungus you would find traces of fungus, and portions of the plant—none of the poisonous ones contain strychnine—I made a special search for fungus, because the Coroner wrote to me stating that it was a case of mushroom poisoning—in a case of poisoning from eating fungus I should not and strychnine—there is no difficulty in making two or three pills with strychnine with the fingers with a little practice—pills may be made with the fingers—they would not be very perfect in their shape, but they can be made so; mixing the ingredients with the knife, and then rolling it with the fingers.

DR. TWORT (Re-examined by the COURT). I did not notice in making the post-mortem on Edward Bowles whether or not the tongue had been bitten; I cannot say whether it had or not.

MARIA DEVEREL . I live at High Street, Camberley—I knew the deceased Hannah Bowles and the prisoner and the boy Edward Bowles slightly—I did not know very much of him—I have visited at the lodge—Mrs. Bowles seemed to be a very respectable person—as far as I saw her she was never in any way addicted to drinking—I never saw her—she was of a cheerful disposition always when I have seen her—I never saw anything unpleasant between her and the prisoner—about midnight on Thursday, 22nd September, I was called up by Evans, a cabman—I went with Evans to Crosby Hill Lodge—the prisoner was not with Evans. he had gone on in front—I should think my house was within a mile of the lodge—when I went into the lodge I went straight into the living room—the doctor was upstairs then—Mrs. Bowles was dead when I got in; before I got there—no one was in the room when I went in—Evans and I went in at the same time—Mrs. Bowles's body was on the floor—the prisoner had gone out; the doctor had sent him for something when I arrived—when I first went into the room I noticed on the mantelpiece

a pill-box—I could tell the size of it—it was the size of that small one—I did not look at it at all—the doctor soon after came downstairs, and left the house—I called out the lad's name, and the doctor came down and asked me who it was—after that the doctor left the house—the prisoner had come back, before the doctor left, with some whisky and brandy; I did not see it; he passed upstairs with it—I did not have any conversation with the prisoner when he came in—I remained downstairs till the prisoner came down—he said he could stand it no longer; it was too much for him, the sight of seeing his son dying—he did not ask me to do anything; not then—he did not say anything about the deceased woman Mrs. Bowles then—he did not remain in the room; he went back upstairs—he came down again after the death of the son—he and Evans remained with the son till he died—I was in the room downstairs all the time—I left the room before the doctor came back—I went upstairs into the woman's bedroom, and took a sheet off her bed to cover over the body—while I did that the prisoner was upstairs—then the doctor returned, and they said the son was dead—Evans said "He is dead," and then the doctor went upstairs and looked at him, and he came down, and he asked Bowles where the pill-box was that stood on the mantelpiece—he said "I don't know, sir"—he went to a drawer, and took out some, and said "Here are some; these have no pills, and I keep them to keep my small seeds in"—when he said "I don't know, sir, "Ilooked across at the mantelpiece; I was sitting opposite to it—the pill-box was not there that I had seen before; it was removed—I had not touched it—I heard nothing further about the pill-box—after the doctor had gone and Evans came back to put his horses up the prisoner sat down in a chair and said to me then he felt very tired and sleepy—then he said he had no money of his own, would I feel in his wife's pocket to see if she had any money, and I said I would do so when it was daylight—then shortly after that Evans returned—I remained in the house that night until the morning, till Bracknell came, and after it was daylight the prisoner again asked me to feel in the pocket, which I did—I took a purse out. and handed it to the prisoner—I also handed him two letters and a piece of paper, like a bill—on that morning I went up to breakfast at Crosby house with Bracknell and the prisoner—the prisoner left us while we were at breakfast, and went back to the lodge—more than once he went out of the house—the prisoner burnt the two letters I had given him, saying they were of no consequence—I went back to the lodge that morning, when the doctors came between 11 and 12 o'clock; I could not tell exactly—Bowles unlocked the door—he was outside; he was near the lodge when they drove up in their carriage—we went in—I only tidied up the table that day; the things that were on table in the centre of the room—I did nothing more—I saw nothing more that morning of the pill-box which I had observed on the mantelpiece the night before—I did not go over the lodge in clearing up the place—I never saw any spirits in the house, only what the prisoner and Evans brought in that night—beyond what they brought in I saw no spirits—on my previous visits to the lodge I had not seen any spirits there at all, nothing more than a cup of tea—shortly before this Mrs. Bowles had made arrangements, to my knowledge, about the winter—she had remarked that she had been making some warm clothing. (MR. RICHARDS here said he had no wish to

keep anything back, but he considered he should object to this as not being evidence.)

Cross-examined. On 8th September I saw Mrs. Bowles; some time before that she said to me "If I don't feel well at any time I shall send for you"—that might be back in the summer, in June I think it was—I had said nothing to her about whether she was feeling unwell, but in the summer she said she was not feeling very well; I should think it would be June, she did not describe her symptoms in any way; she said she was not feeling very well, nothing more—she never spoke to me about her heart—I was on friendly terms with her; I knew her—I never remember she said anything praticularly to me about the money Bowles earned, in fact she never stated any sum—she did not tell me she had his cheques or his wages, or the money for housekeeping, never a word—before this sad event I had only been upstairs to the upper rooms once before, that was in March, when Mrs. Bowles showed me through the lodge; the boy, Edward Bowles, was not then living with his father—I don't think there was any furniture in the boy's room at that time—there might have been a few odds and ends, but no furniture—it was from their bedroom I went to fetch the sheet to put over the dead body—while I was in that room the prisoner was in the room where his boy was dying, he spoke to me; I told him what I was about to do; he said "Do exactly as you please; do what you like"—Evans was in the room at that time besides the prisoner and the dying boy—I first noticed the pill-box on the mantelpiece when I first went into the lodge—I did not leave the room till I went upstairs to fetch the sheet to put over the dead woman, when the prisoner came down and said he could not stand any longer the sight of his dying boy, Evans was upstairs—I had come down into the living room; it did not take me long—I never left the living room that night, till the morning—the prisoner stood between the doctor and me when he went to show the doctor where the other pill-boxes were—he opened a drawer and took out a box—when the doctor asked him where the pill-boxes were he said "I don't know, but here are some; they are all the same; they are small antibilious pill-boxes that I keep to keep my small seeds in"—I saw several of them; I think there were more of the larger than of the smaller size—this is the size I saw on the mantelpiece—I was at the big house when the policeman looked at some boxes—I was not called before the Magistrate—a gentleman from the Treasury called at my house and asked me to give evidence; that was on a Saturday, last month; a fortnight ago I think—I told Dr. Manders about this pill-box—I told him I was very ill and could not come up last month—that was the first time I had ever told anybody about its disappearance—I spoke about it in my own family, which includes my husband and sons—I could not tell you when I mentioned it to them, I talked about it after I was ill, it made more impression on me—I was not feeling well at the time of the inquest; before this last month I was very ill with an ulcerated throat—about a month ago I mentioned it to Dr. Manders when he came, and he gave me a certificate that I was not able to come—this death caused some sensation in the village—I knew very little; I keep myself in my own house—I heard of the arrest; an arrest generally makes an impression in a small country village—I don't know why neither I nor my husband mentioned it to the police at the adjouned inquest, I did not think much

of it till I knew I should have to come as a witness—neither I nor my family went to the inquest, they had nothing to do with it—the first time I mentioned it was to Dr. Manders—I did not tell it to my husband or children as a secret—I did not speak of it in the village, I might have mentioned it to callers—I spoke of it in my home.

Re-examined. On 12th December I made a statement to Dr. Manders, which he took down in writing.

GEORGE EVANS . I am a cab proprietor at Canberley—I have occasionally been employed at Crosby Hill with a horse and cart—I knew the deceased woman and the prisoner—she was a very industrious woman, upright, sober, and to my knowledge as good a wife as a man could have—from what I have seen of them they appeared to live together on fairly good terms—on this night of the 22nd I was called up by the prisoner—he said "My wife has a fit or a fainting fit; do you know Charlie Buby's mother?"—she has been married a second time; she is called Mrs. Deverel now; the prisoner called her Charlie Buby's mother—I said "Yes"—he said "If you would not mind calling her up and driving her up to my place I will pay you for it"—I did so, I called Mrs. Deverel and drove her up—when I arrived at the lodge I entered the living room before Mrs. Deverel—when I went in Dr. Twort had just come downstairs—I did not notice anything on the mantelpiece when I first went in the room; after the deaths I noticed a pill-box on the mantelpiece, after the boy had died I mean—it was an ordinary pill-box, the smallest size; the smallest size, I should think, of those two produced—I did not touch it at all, Dr. Twort did; he took the pill-box off the mantelpiece and opened it—I saw no more of it after that time—I cannot say what the doctor did with it; I fancy he put it back in the same place as it contained nothing—I was not present afterwards when it was inquired for, when Dr. Twort asked for it—I went up into the boy's bedroom after that with Dr. Twort—the boy was not dead—I had been upstairs before I saw the pill-box—the doctor came upstairs with me after he had looked at the pill-box—I did not remain in the house all night—I stayed in the house till after the boy was dead; then I went home with my horse and trap, and came back and stayed at the lodge until the morning, between 6 and 7—during the night I had a conversation with the prisoner about the death of Mrs. Bowles—the prisoner said it was about the worst trouble he had had; he had had a great deal of trouble, but this was the worst trouble he had ever had—I cannot remember any more—he said "My poor son," that was just as the son was dying, "My poor son; I should not have been surprised at my wife dying because she was troubled with the heart disease; but my poor son, it is a great shock to me"—that was while his son was dying, in his son's room—the prisoner came up as the son was dying, and lay down beside him and kissed him—I was there from the time I went up—I never knew he was his son—he said "I should not have been surprised at my wife dying, as she was troubled with heart disease, as the, doctor told me at any moment she might die"—he kissed the dying boy.

Cross-examined. He laid on the, floor by the side of the boy and kissed him—the boy was on the floor—the boy was unconscious, he wad turning black, that was while we thought he was dying; he turned as black as anything in the face when he did die—when I was up in that room I heard the boy speak, when he was on the bed—he said "I, have got a

great pain across my back, and I have a weight on my chest"—he said "If I could get rid of the weight off my chest I might get better"—he asked for drink—Dr. Twort asked the boy what he had been eating, and he said "Nothing"—Dr. Twort said "Tell me what you have been eating"—he said "Nothing only jam"—he said nothing else that he had had—I don't think he said anything to Dr. Twort about a pill, I only remember him saying jam, not a word about bread and jam, only jam, not a word about antibilious pills—Dr. Twort was in the house when I arrived—he had been up to see the poor boy, he was just coming down as I came in—Dr. Twort went up with me and asked him what he had eaten—I did not hear the boy say anything about a pill—when I was in the living room I was close to the mantelpiece, which is just close to the door, when the doctor took up the pill box—I was as near as this as he opened the door (Indicating the brass handrail in front of the witness box)—besides the pill-box there were ornaments, crockery, pots, and things on the mantelpiece, no clock—the mantelpiece is about four feet long—I saw the doctor take up the pill-box, open it, and look inside—he said "That is empty, "and put it down again—I saw the doctor put it down, but I don't know whether he took it away afterwards without my seeing it—it was a box like what I have bought myself, an antibilious pill-box—when I have bought the small boxes there are usually about four pills in the small box for 1s. 1 1/2 d.; I cannot say they are antibilious pills—I buy my pills at Mr. Claypole's, I pay him 1s. 1 1/2 d. for the box of four.

Re-examined. I bought antibilious pills at Mr. Claypole's generally as a rule—I cannot say how often I have bought pills from anywhere—at the present time they are 1s. a box, they used to be 1s. 1 1/2 d., but the 1 1/2 d. is knocked off—I have gone to Mr. Claypole's shop for a box of antibilious pills.

ALFRED HUGHES CLAYPOLE (Re-examined by MR. RICHARDS). I have never charged 1s. 1 1/2 d. or 1s. for a small box of my antibilious pills—they are 2d. a large box, and 1d. for the other, the pills are two a penny—I have no pills I sell in a box at 1s.

SAMUEL HAWKINS . I am a coachman at Camberley—I live within 120 yards of Crosby Hill Lodge—I have known the prisoner and the deceased Hannah Bowles since last spring, and the boy Edward Bowles I only knew a short time—I used to go into the grounds sometimes with Mr. Bowles and see him there—Mrs. Bowles was a very nice kind of person—I never saw any signs of drinking about her—I have never been there at meals—on Friday morning, 23rd September, I heard of her death—I went to the lodge—I was going in search of Bowles at the big house, Crosby Hill, when I met him; that was near about 7 o'clock in the morning—he was coming to the lodge—I spoke to him—I asked him what happened, and asked how Mrs. Bowles was, as I had already heard she was ill, as the servants told me in the morning—he said they were both dead, and he took me into the house and showed me the wife and not the son—when he said they were dead I said "Why did not you come and fetch me?"—he said he asked his wife if he should fetch me, and she said "No, I shall be better directly"—on the following day, the 24th, he took me to the mushroom beds, where the mushrooms were supposed to come from—I was up at the house, and we were looking round the grounds, and he pointed out the bed and said "I suppose this

is where they got the mushrooms from," showing me the ground that had been disturbed—he had told me he thought they had died through eating mushrooms—I asked him how they came to meet with their death, and he said he supposed they caught their death through eating mushrooms—that was on the Saturday—he said nothing else on that day, not of any consequence—he said nothing else on any occasion with regard to what might have caused their death; he passed a remark once before that he thought his wife would at any time drop down, as she suffered from heart disease; he said that some weeks previous, in her lifetime—he said nothing after the deaths about anything these persons had taken, no more than they had had jam and mushrooms; he supposed they had had mushrooms, he was sure they had had jam—he said nothing else about what they had had—he told me privately the boy Ted was his son—I heard nothing about pills at any time—I had no conversation to my knowledge about the deceased persons that I have not told you; I may have done, but it is not quite clear to my memory—I asked him that day if I could lend him any assistance, and he said yes, I could, and I said what, and he said "You might send your wife over to keep Mrs. Deverel company"—I was on very friendly terms with him—I had a conversation with him upon the question of insurance—I said it was as well if he had not insured their lives; he said he never had anything to do with those kind of people, and it was just then the police came in the avenue—that was the day after the burial; Sergeant Heighes then appeared in the drive—I said it was just as well he had not insured them; the reason for the remark was the expense of the funeral; they told me Dr. Muller was going to meet the expenses—I had no more conversation with him after the death about these circumstances at all, the only matter I asked him was different questions about gardening, nothing else in particular.

Cross-examined. He did not tell me the boy's life was not insured—I have not since heard it was not—I have not talked to him since about the insurance—he did not tell me whether or not it was not insured—he said he had nothing to do with that sort of people—he did not actually say the boy was not insured, because Sergeant Heighes interrupted our conversation—I did not give evidence either at the inquest or before the Magistrate—Inspector Pike came to me in the garden and spoke to me about my evidence some days afterwards; it could not have been above a fortnight ago; I don't remember the date—I had not mentioned to anyone before then this conversation about the insurance, only to my wife, and certainly she refused for me to fetch Bowles to my house afterwards, as she did not like his company—I do not live in a cottage on the high road—I live within Major O'Sullivan's grounds—his house is on the high road to Camberley—I live in the lodge opposite the stables—my cottage is 30 to 40 yards from the high road—I sometimes go to bed at 10 o'clock, sometimes later—I first heard of this sad occurrence in the morning, when I went up to do my work at Major O'Sullivan's house—then I went over to Bowles—he told me Ted was his son one evening in the drive previous to this, while the boy was alive—I should think eight or ten days before—he spoke of him with very great affection—I saw them about together working—he always treated him with great kindness—he always seemed to be a very affectionate man.

MARIA THOMASINE SHARP . I live at Glentuff, Camberley, merely the width of the road at the back from the Crosby Hill Lodge; it is the

nearest house to it—I remember quite well hearing of the deaths of Mrs. Bowles and the boy—on the night that they died I was at home—I went to my bedroom at 10 or half-past, I should say—it was after 25 minutes past 11 before I went to bed—before I went to bed I did not hear a sound of anyone knocking or calling.

Cross-examined. My house is surrounded by its own grounds—my bedroom faces S. W.—it is near the back door, and within hearing of the back door—I have my own entrance hall and servants' entrance—the servants' entrance would be at right angles to my bedroom—I would not be within hearing of a knock at the servants' door—there is no knocker to the servants' door—I should not hear a hand there.

JOHN GILBERT . I am agent to the Prudential Life Assurance Company, Limited—I reside at Camberley—I know the prisoner—I knew the deceased woman, Hannah Bowles—a policy of assurance on her life was transferred to me at Camberley from Walthamstow, and I collected the premiums afterwards—Mrs. Bowles paid them to me—that is the policy (produced): it is dated November, 1882, when it was taken out, "Hannah Bowles, Henton, Sharpness, Stroud, Gloucestershire," for 28l. 4s.—the premium was sixpence weekly—I knew Edward Bowles, the boy, very little; I had just seen him now and then working at the lodge when I called—I met the prisoner at the lodge one day when I was calling, and I was proposing the insurance to the son—the son did not seem agreeable to it—the father was there—the woman seemed in favour of it, and the father was against it—nothing was done upon it—after the death of Hannah Bowles I saw the prisoner on Wednesday, 28th September—he called at my house in Camberley with the policy and premium receipt book, and asked me the best way to get the claim paid—I told him he could not get a certificate of death until after the inquest which was going to be held—that was all that passed between us.

Cross-examined. I made the suggestion to young Bowles in the course of my duty as canvasser and agent—the mother, Mrs. Bowles, was in favour of it; the father was against it—Mrs. Bowles had said the boy ought to be insured several times—the deceased woman always paid the premium—I do not know from this policy the name of the canvasser who had had it at Walthamstow—I know nothing more than that it was transferred to my district—if the husband had proposed her his name would not appear, only the life—I have not got the proposal form, that is kept at the chief office—I believe the Treasury could get it if they applied for it—I gave this to the Coroner—I have the premium receipt-book with me—I was in the habit of calling every month—this is the original book—Mr. Neal was the agent of Albert Road, Hoe Street, Walthamstow—there are three policies on the front page, sixpence, sixpence, and twopence—I don't know what became of the others; they are in the possession of the prisoner, I suppose—Mrs. Bowles paid one shilling and twopence together on the policies—one of them is on the prisoner's own life—the wife paid for the husband as well as for herself—the twopence is on a child's life, I believe—there were three policies in existence; they were a policy on the deceased woman, a policy on the prisoner, and a policy on the little child, three years old, a little girl called Hannah—I have not got the one on the prisoner's own life, nor the other one—the earliest date is November, 1886—they run on at one and-twopence all through 1887 till 26th September, eightpence when the

deceased woman died—the premiums were always paid by Mrs. Bowles—I have never seen any of Mrs. Bowles' handwriting—I know the proposal forms of the Society—I do not recollect that our proposal forms are white now instead of green; I never remember ever having seen that colour (green)—I know the prisoner's life was assured, because I collected the premiums on it—I do not know that there are different coloured proposal forms for different districts—the child's policy keeps mounting up as the child gets older; there is a scale, if a child reaches 10 years 20l. would be paid.

ELIZABETH BROWN . I am the wife of William Brown, a painter, and have lived in Caledonian Road, London, for 17 years—the deceased woman, Hannah Bowles, was my only sister—she had first married Thomas Pygle, and after his death she was married to the prisoner, as I thought—they had lived together as man and wife since 1882, I believe—when I first knew him they were living, in 1882, at Lognor Wood, in Staffordshire—from there they went to Henton, in Gloucestershire, and then they were at another place until they came to Crosby Hill—the child was three years old last Christmas; December, 1884, it was born—they left Henton and sent their luggage to my place, where I am now, and they were lodging at Gloucester Place, and then they got a situation at Major Burnaby's, at Halstead, in Kent, where two babies were born, two girls; one died, and the other is now living with me—I had it about two months after it was born; its name is Hannah Bowles, the same as its mother—then they went to Colonel Steel, Wanstead Fiats, I think, and from there, I believe, they went to a situation in Blackheath, I don't know the gentleman's name, and to Surbiton, and ultimately they came to Crosby Hill—during the time they have been at Crosby Hill I have seen my sister twice; once she came to me, I believe, last March, and I went to see her last Whitsuntide, taking her little baby with me—when I saw her at Whitsuntide she was in good health, as well as I ever saw her for some time, and she appeared in very good spirits; she was a sober and a most abstemious woman—I never heard until after her death any suggestion of her being in the habit of drinking, and she never did—I had not heard anything before her death of her state of health—she had been told her heart was affected, but I never believed it—she had been told it by her husband, the prisoner, not by any one else—I had no reason to call him anything but her husband; unfortunately he was not—she enjoyed good health; she worked hard all her life, so she was bound to have good health—I did not see the boy Edward at the lodge when I saw her at Whitsuntide—the first time I saw him was Jubilee Day—my sister wrote up, would my youngest boy take him round to see the Jubilee, so my boy went round with him and my husband in the evening—we entertained him all night, and my husband took him home in the evening—that was the first time I saw him and the last, until I saw him lying dead at Crosby Hill—on the Monday before my sister died in the same week I had a letter from her which I gave up to the inspector; it was produced before the Magistrate—I saw the prisoner after the death on Wednesday, 5th October, when he came to see me in London—I did not ask him any questions—he was talking about his child, and he said he would buy his son out of the army—there was no conversation with regard to my sister's death—he said he was looking up the bills, as poor Hannah was so careless in laying them about—he should not like to have

to pay them twice—that was after the funeral, which I went to, taking the child with me—I spoke to him at the funeral—he told me his master was going to pay all the expenses of the funeral. (MR. AVORY proposed to read the letter from the deceased woman to the witness, with a view to meet any suggestion of suicide. (Q. v. Johnson, 2 Carrington and Curwen.) MR. JUSTICE CHARLES felt considerable doubt about it, and MR. AVORY did not press the point.)

Cross-examined. I knew my sister was insured—the prisoner said Dr. Muller kindly offered to defray the expenses of the funeral—the last time I saw my sister was in June, Whitsuntide—she said nothing then about being poorly; she was as well as I had seen her for some time—I have not been in Court all the morning—I did not hear Mr. Hawkins give evidence—this is the first time I have been in—my sister did not tell me her heart was bad when she was in Gloucestershire—I did not see her there—I only corresponded with her there—I first heard, her say her heart was weak after she left there; I had no idea it was—she told me she had been told so—she did not tell me she went to see a doctor when at Brackley, nor did she write to me about it—it was when they left and came to my place to see me she told me—when the prisoner spoke of his late wife he called her poor Hannah.

Re-examined. When she made a statement to me about her heart she did not say who it was had informed her; she only said her husband had been to a doctor for her—I believe she had been poorly previous, but of course being away I did not know all her transactions—she mentioned about her heart; she did not tell me the doctor had told her—I only knew from the prisoner, and she had mentioned it; nothing further—the prisoner said her heart was very bad at times—when I went to the funeral he told me she managed to get upstairs, and he found her sometimes partly dressed and partly undressed, through a faint—that she would get upstairs, and then he would find her partly undressed lying across the bed.

CHARLOTTE KINGSTON . I am the wife of William Kingston, a cab driver, residing at Edward Street, Dorset Square—I knew Bowles seven years ago; he was in the Earl of Egmont's service as under keeper—in the same service there was an upper housemaid named Susan Rowell—when she left the service she came to stay with me, and while she was staying with me I saw the prisoner, who had left the Earl of Egmont's—she introduced him to my house; that was between seven and eight years ago—he stayed at my house for a week or so—Susan Rowell was not there then; she had gone into a situation again—she came to see me on several occasions while the prisoner was there—after that I did not see the prisoner again till between three and four years ago, not quite four years ago—he called upon me then—he asked how my friend Susan Rowell was, and he always said his wife and he were living together in the country, and his wife died through excessive drink, in a fit, very suddenly; that was between three and four years ago—that was his former wife he was speaking of; we had no conversation about it—I did not know he was a married man when he first came to my house seven or eight years ago—when he said his wife had died suddenly was the first occasion that I heard he was a married man—he asked after my husband and myself, and how Susan Rowell was—he told me he was living in the country, not who he was living with; I don't remember if he did—I have a very bad memory now, I have been so ill—he did not

say when his wife had died—I thought it was just at that time—I next saw him after that occasion three or four years ago—on 12th September last year, a Monday, he came to my house, Dorset Square—he asked me how Susan was (Sue, I believe he termed her), and asked where she was, and I said I was not sure, and I did not know whether she was living in Cambridgeshire or in Norfolk—he told me he was living at Camberley; he was very comfortable, and had got everything very nice around him, and he had got a son living with him, but the worst of it was he had got an old housekeeper—he drew a card from his pocket and wrote his address on it, Camberley, and asked me to forward it down to her if I knew where she was—I did not promise him that I would, neither did I till after we saw the case of Mrs. Bowles in the paper—I did not forward the card till then; then I forwarded it with the paper that had the news of it in; not about the inquest, but just the little piece on the Sunday week following, a newspaper paragraph with the announcement of the deaths—I don't mean the proceedings either before the Magistrate or at the inquest—before he left me on that day he said he loved the girl Susan, and would I forward that to her—I did not expect to see her again—he told me he should be up in October again, but I never saw him again until I saw him locked up.

Cross-examined. I and Susan Rowell were children and were brought up together—she is 49 years of age, just on 50—we played as children together—she is hardly a girl now—I have a bad memory for dates; I cannot remember dates—it is close on eight years ago when the prisoner first lodged at my house; he and I had just left the service of the Earl of Egmont—he was with me a week, or it might be a few days longer—Susan Rowell was not living there at the time—she came to see me on several occasions while he was there; they made an arrangement at my place—from 1880 I did not see the prisoner again till about four years afterwards—it was between three and four years ago—he told me of the death of his wife—when he stopped with me in 1880 he told me or my husband he was a widower—when I saw him in 1884 I thought he was speaking of another wife—I did not say he said his wife had died three or four years before—my friend regarded him as a widower in 1880, he never told me—I believe she knew he was a widower—when I saw the prisoner on 12th September I told him I was not sure where Rowell was—after the death of the deceased I sent the prisoner's card to my friend, who came from Cambridgeshire on the Saturday—my son told me; I did not know before that—I have seen a gentleman from the Treasury about my evidence—that was some few weeks ago—I have given him Susan Rowell's address—they had the note that came from her—they had her address, I suppose—I told them she was down at Cambridgeshire—the address, I suppose, was on the letter—I could not say more—I have not heard from her since; I have not seen her here—she acknowledged the paper and the card I sent her, because there was a letter to state that she had received it and made away with it; she was disgusted with it—that letter I gave to the gentleman from the Treasury—I was examined before the Magistrate—what I said to the Magistrate was read over to me—I did not tell the Magistrate anything about this statement made three or four years ago about the death of the wife—I told the detective when he first came, but I did not down at Farnham.

FREDERICK PIKE (Superintendent of the County Constabulary). I am stationed at Farnham—I was present when this case was inquired into

before the Magistrate at Farnham—I heard the witness Thomas Wager give evidence—the prisoner was present at the time he gave evidence—he had the opportunity of cross-examining the witness-his deposition was read over to him and signed by the witness.

Cross-examined. I was present during the time Wager gave his evidence before the Magistrate—Wager gave evidence towards the end of the proceedings—the prisoner was not represented by any solicitor or counsel—Mr. Wager's depositions were read over to him after all the evidence had been taken—the prisoner was present in the dock—I am quite sure the prisoner had not been removed before the witnesses were asked to sign—I saw Wager affix his signature—I was sitting near the Magistrate's Clerk's table. (The deposition of Thomas Wager was here read as follows:—I am a farmer, and reside at Glutton Grange, near Buxton, in the county of Derby. I knew the prisoner, Henry Bowles, in 1882, when he applied to me to come into my service as gamekeeper and general servant; I engaged him, and he came to me in March of that year. He remained in my service till 17th June in the same year; he left me to go to Buxton to see his wife; he did not return when I considered he should have done so. I paid him his wages and he left my service. He told me his wife wished to go away from Buxton; I did not know his wife I never saw her; he always spoke affectionately of her, and while the prisoner was in my service he gave entire satisfaction; the prisoner lived under the same roof with me, and did anything I set him to do, as well as looking after game. It has always been my practice to supply my keepers with strychnine for killing vermin. I am not able to say if I supplied the prisoner with any strychnine. I produce a bill for amongst other things strychnine supplied to me in March, 1882. I did not always buy the strychnine myself; I sometimes obtained it through my doctor. I probably supplied Bowles with strychnine, but, as I said, I am not able to swear that I did. I cannot say the prisoner ever asked me for strychnine. I am not able to swear the prisoner used strychnine while in my service. Poison was used for killing rats, at least the rats disappeared. (The prisoner here interposed the remark "They were trapped"). In my part of Derbyshire it is the practice to use strychnine for killing vermin.

By the Prisoner. I do not recollect that I sent for you to come to me at the Eagle Hotel, Buxton.

WILLIAM BACON TURNER . I am head gamekeeper to Sir Vainqui Harper Crewe, at Heighhead, in Staffordshire—I know Bowles; he was in the same service as under-keeper from 1880 up to March, 1882—it was not a general practice in that service to use poison for killing vermin; it was done, I have no doubt; I have known it done with strychnine—I have kept it, but not to make a rule of using it; I never bought any in my life, though I have been gamekeeper fifty years—what I had was given me by a friend, who gave up game preservation; he used it for the destruction of flying vermin—I cannot say I have ever given any of this strychnine to any of the under-keepers; I have had it in my house several years—I cannot tax my memory what I did 25 years ago—so far as the prisoner is concerned I am bound to say I cannot recollect giving him anything of the kind during the time he was there—I do not recollect giving any to any under-keeper for many years past; a portion of what I had was taken by one of the under-keepers during the time I was laid up; I was laid up for weeks and

months together with bronchitis, and, many years ago now, some was taken and used, that is the only instance I can speak of.

Cross-examined. I kept the strychnine under lock and key until within the last three years, and no man ever went to it besides myself—I kept it in an iron chest where I keep gunpowder; I placed it there for safety, and until the last three years no one went to it besides myself—it was about two years ago that the under-keeper went to it in my absence.

MARK HOLDFORTH (76 Surrey Constabulary and Coroner's Officer). As Coroner's Officer on the morning of 23rd September, Friday, I went to Crosby Hill lodge on the information of these deaths—I saw the prisoner there about eight o'clock—I asked him if he had not two deaths in his house—he replied "Yes"—I asked him if he could account anything for it—he said "No, I don't take any suppers myself, and I sat reading a paper—there was jam on the table they might have eaten, or they might have taken some mushrooms; and after supper they took a pill"—I then went into the room and viewed the body of Hannah Bowles—the prisoner then handed me a pill-box and said "This is what the poor things took the pills from; I will keep it"—I said "No, I must take the box with me"—he took that pill-box from the corner of the mantelpiece in the living room—I opened the pill-box and saw nothing in it, but the name of Mr. Claypole on the outside—I then went into the larder, where I took a pot of jam, and then went upstairs and viewed the body of Edward Bowles—I saw something black oozing from his mouth—I took away from the cottage that morning the jam and the pill-box, nothing else—I produced the articles at the Coroner's inquiry—I produced the pill-box at the Coroner's inquiry—I did not take away any other pill-boxes from that room except the one the prisoner showed me—I gave it to the Coroner, and he tossed it down the table again and said "There is nothing in that, it is empty"—I was asked for the pill-box, and I gave it up, I cannot say to whom; there wore Dr. Mander and the Coroner, and Dr. Twort and two or three others, I have never seen it since—I distinctly remember the size of the pill-box I took away; it was the larger size of those two—I am perfectly sure the one the prisoner handed me on that morning was a box of the larger size.

Cross-examined. I gave it up to four or five gentlemen, including Dr. Mander, Dr, Turner, and the Coroner—the only conversation I had with the prisoner was what I have detailed, there might have been a little more—I have never given any evidence before—I informed my superior officer about the pill-box on the mantelpiece.

JAMES HEIGHES (Sergeant, Surrey Constabulary). I went on Friday, 23rd September, to Crosby Hill Lodge—I did not remove anything from the lodge on that day—on Saturday I went again, and took away the contents of the stomach and six parcels altogether, which were afterwards submitted to analysis—I took nothing else away that day—on a subsequent day, Sunday, 9th October, after the prisoner was in custody, I took away five pill-boxes—I found one in the writing-desk and the others in the chest of drawers upstairs, in the little top drawer, loosely in the drawer, in the upper room—I searched the rest of the house thoroughly all through; those were all I found—I only took one large box and one small one away, that was all—this was the small one I took away; it has been produced and marked—this is the large one—they were both quite empty—the small one in the writing-desk was full of

small flower-seeds—that made six—I emptied the seeds out and placed them back in the box again—the other four were all small but one, there was only one large one—a box containing papers was taken away on the day following—this policy of insurance was taken away by Pike on the 10th—I found that in the house among the other papers in the prisoner's writing-desk—I received the keys from him and unlocked it—I found a letter from him, among other things, from a Mr. Neal, and I may mention there was a letter, and an insurance form filled up but not signed.

Cross-examined. Two of the pill-boxes were upstairs in the drawers; I produce those—the one in the writing-desk was downstairs, the others were upstairs in the bedroom in two little top drawers—the only one I found downstairs in the living room was the one I found in the writing-desk—I did not bring the others away—the prisoner was in custody, and his keys were taken from him; he pointed out to me which were the keys of the desk—there was an insurance paper not filled up in the desk on behalf of Edward Bowles.

By the COURT. I found this letter in the desk of which the prisoner gave me the key, containing the enclosure which it now contains. (This letter was dated 12th January, 1887, and was addressed to Hannah Bowles by Mr. Neal, saying he would have sent a proposal form for her son, but that he did not know her address; that he enclosed one in this letter, and that if she would get her son to sign it and return it he would send on his policy. Enclosed there was a proposal to insure the life of Edward Bowles for 20l. at 2d. a week, all filed up, with the answers filled up in the handwriting of the person who wrote the letter, and complete except for Edward Bowles' signature.)

FREDERICK PIKE (Re-examined). I am superintendent of the Surrey Constabulary stationed at Farnham—I apprehended the prisoner on 8th October at Camberley at 1 p.m.—that was after the inquest had been completed—I charged him on suspicion of having caused the death of his wife and son at Camberley on 22nd September—I duly cautioned him that anything that he might say might be used in evidence against him—he replied "I am afraid that she has laid hands on my poor boy"—he was then taken before the Magistrate and remanded—the hearing before the Magistrate was adjourned from time to time—the prisoner on different occasions before the Magistrate handed in these written statements, which were affixed to the depositions—that was after different witnesses had given evidence.

Cross-examined. I am superintendent at Farnham—the prisoner was under my charge in the county gaol—I did not refuse to allow him to write or receive letters from his solicitor—I did not keep back letters; he had writing materials and wrote what he pleased; no restriction at all was placed on him—I did not keep the letters till he left my charge—letters were delivered as they came; I delivered them to him at the time. The evidence given by the prisoner before the Coroner was here read. HENRY BOWLES on oath says:—"I am a gardener, living at Crosby Hill, Camberley—I identify the bodies viewed by the Jury as those of Hannah Bowles, my wife, 42 years of age, and Edward Bowles, my son, 17¾ years—on Thursday evening, 22nd September, 1887, at 9. 30, they sat down to supper, apparently in good health—I did not have supper with them, as I never eat supper—I cannot say exactly what they had for supper; there was greengage jam and bread—I drank some tea and condensed milk—there was a tin in the oven found there on Friday; there was

nothing but fat in it—my wife cleared the supper away—about half an hour afterwards my wife was sitting on a chair at the corner of the table—without any warning she fell on to my legs—I laid her on the floor; my son had gone to bed—before my son went to bed he took one pill; my wife took two pills—in a few minutes after my wife fainted; she recovered consciousness—I asked her if she had any pain—she said 'Yes, across my head '—I went upstairs and got a pillow—she did not complain of any other pain; she was not sick—I heard my son call for water—I went upstairs to him and found him in bed—he had been upstairs about a quarter of an hour—he complained of a pain between the shoulders and across the chest; he was very thirsty; he drank the tea—I went downstairs again; I found my wife no better—I went for Dr. Twort—when I returned I found my wife sinking—she had not been sick—I heard my son shouting for water—I found he had been very sick; I hardly know what I did—my wife said 'If anything happens, Ted, don't let the poor father be blamed '—my son was not in the room then, I was—this was said during the early stage of the illness—I had some of the jam about a fortnight ago—to the best of my knowledge poison has not been brought into my house—in this house there are poisons belonging to Dr. Muller; my wife had access to this house—the jam was in a glass bottle—we have mushrooms nearly every day—they grow in this place—my son was at work on Thursday, hoeing the asparagus beds; mushrooms and fungi grow on the beds—I had several times warned my son not to take anything into the house until I had seen it—he did not show me any on Thursday—I examined the asparagus bed on Friday, and found places where mushrooms or fungi had been gathered recently."

The following statement, handed to the police by the prisoner on 24th November, was read:—"1881.—Lognor Wood, where strychnine was given her.—During the time I and my wife lived at Lognor Wood my wife fetched milk from a farm close to the wood, or within 150 yards, held by a Mr. Charles worth, and frequently he would press her to stop to tea, and my wife complained of the rats coming to our house, where they had made large holes under the house, and he said I will give you some strychnine, that is what I use. He also gave her a small box of pills, which my wife showed to me, but I begged of her to throw them in the fire, and I warned her against using any poison in our place, as I had been to a good deal of expense of buying eggs of choice fowls called the Derbyshire Redcaps, and also I had a valuable mastiff dog that I took out of a night, the property of Sir John Harper Crewe, when I suspected poachers about, and which I would not have had anything happen to it for a large sum, as the dog was not my own. In the winter time, I think it was February, one evening Mr. Charlesworth asked my wife to tell me to go down in the morning to the farm, as he wanted me to shoot a cat which was a nuisance to them by getting into the dairy. I went down about 10.30 in the forenoon, and Mr. Charlesworth told me he was not very well; he was upstairs. I told her I would call next morning, and I returned home, and about two hours afterwards heard he was lying dead, and which quite upset me. I went in and told my wife; she made this remark, that she was sure he had poisoned himself, as he was always full of drink, and his wife led him a terrible life, and Mrs. Charlesworth showing my wife her legs which were bruised by him. He was buried three or four days afterwards, and there had been no doctor, no inquiry

whatever. He was put out of the way as quietly as you would bury a dog; that is what I witnessed of the affair. My wife declared that Mr. Charlesworth had a large bottle of strychnine, from which he gave her some; this is from my own wife's mouth. I did not witness it myself, as I was not there.

HENRY BOWLES . The case was remanded without any evidence being given—this statement was given before any evidence was given.

The following statement, given to the police by the prisoner, was read:—"1885.—While at Wanstead Park Gate, in the service of Colonel Steel, R. E., and where my wife undertook to do the laundry work, and during that time frequently used poisons, and on one occasion when I went to post some letters in Leytonstone, which may be half a mile, my wife asked me to get a bottle of cough mixture and some bottles of vermin killer, as the mice would not eat what she had put down for the mice. I did so; but I do not remember whether it was one or two; my name was entered in a book. My wife not being able to get through with the work, we left there in August of the same year. In November of the same year we were living in the service of Mr. John Cross, agent to Lord Wantage, of Lockinge Park, in Berkshire, near Wantage. One Saturday night my oldest son, Harry, who had been in trouble and had cost me a good deal of money and trouble, came to our house after dark, not knowing where else to go, as I was the only friend he had. My wife put herself in such a rage, and declared if he did not go from there she would poison him. Fearing my wife, in her temper, might do something to my poor boy, I pleaded with him, and advised him to go and enlist for a soldier, and I promised if he would do so, and keep from the drink and retrieve his character, that I would buy him off in three or four years' time, and he took my advice and did so, and left on Monday morning. I went part of the way to Didcot Station, and gave him 3s. 6d. in his pocket to pay his fare to Reading, where he enlisted in the Royal Berkshire Regiment, and are now lying at Templemore, in Ireland, since February, 1886, when we left Mr. Cross. I have never heard mention any poison, and she has been on better terms with me. She have always had all my wages to lay out ever since she first lived with me, and also always paid the men. I never interfered in the least about house affairs, nor were there any place locked but she had the keys; nor had I the slightest knowledge of any poisons being in the house.

HENRY BOWLES." "Henry Bowles and wife and furniture removed from Lognor Wood, where I had filled the situation as gamekeeper to Sir John Harper Crewe, in April, 1882; lived at Buxton till about the first Monday in June of that year. Mr. Wager engaged me at that time to go to his house, which is about five miles from Buxton, to do his garden and to watch some hill ground where there were rabbits, and remained five weeks in his service, for which he paid me 1l. After receiving only 1l. I went and got my coat, and walked to Lognor, which was market day, and where Mr. Wager was gone.

"I, Henry Bowles, declining to do any more for him at such pay. During the time I was in Mr. Wager's employ I had never seen any poison of any description, nor was ever asked to use any. Remained at Buxton till 11th July, 1882, when I, Henry Bowles, and my wife, went to Berkley, in Gloucestershire, and took charge of house and gardens

belonging to John Swayne Pearce, Esq., of 13, Craven Hill, Bayswater London, and where I lived till 14th August, 1884.

"Moses Wheeldon, of Lognor, farmer and watcher for Mr. Wager, of Glutton, during the time I was living at Lognor Wood had frequently brought me beaks of magpies and crows, for which I was paid for by Mr. William Turner, the head keeper for Sir John Harper Crewe, as part of my wages, and I gave Moses Wheeldon a couple of rabbits in return on one occasion. I asked Moses Wheeldon how he got hold of the crows, as I knowed they were difficult to trap, and he told me Mr. Wager supplied him with strychnine to poison them with. I never received any poison from Wheeldon, or any other man. He had at different times come to my house, and in my absence, but don't know if he gave my wife any.

"Moses Wheeldon's farm was on my beat on one side of the River Dove, and Mr. Wager's ground on the other side opposite, and Wheeldon looked after both sides, which he had done years before I went there, for which I used to give him rabbits by order of Mr. Turner, the head keeper, and all the vermin he could poison he would bring to me, and I gave him rabbits in return, as I was paid for vermin as part of my wages.

"About March 13th or 14th, and a day or two before I left Lognor Wood, I saw Mr. Bradley, bank manager of Buxton, who asked me if I would accept the post as river watcher on the River Dove, as he and the farmers were going to form an association for the preservation of the trout and other fish in Dove, as I had broken up a notorious gang of poachers, having at one time three of the same poachers in Stafford Gaol at one time, and eight days after the ringleader came out I took him between 5 and 6 o'clock on Sunday morning, and stealing both rabbits and traps, he got two months, and that dispersed them, and that is why Mr. Wager also was anxious to engage me, but I never asked him for employment as he stated at the inquest. I never spoke to Mr. Wager in my life till the Saturday night in the week the Derby is run for at Epsom, when I was asked into the Cheshire Cheese Inn, Buxton, when Mr. Smedley, who drives a 'bus from Lognor to Buxton, past Mr. Wager's, told me that Wager was at the Eagle Hotel and particularly wanted to see me. I went, and he asked me if I would come, as the poachers were taking all his rabbits. I promised I would be there on Monday morning following. I went to Wager's, and remained there, doing anything, for a month, thinking in the meanwhile they would settle about the river, but it came to nothing. On Tuesday, Lognor market day, I asked Wager to pay me. He gave me a sovereign, and went to market. I afterwards put the pony in the trap for Mr. Wager to go, and then I got my coat and went to market too, as I had had no engagement with Wager. I did not intend to stop with him, and we never had a word more.

"During the time I, Henry Bowles, and my wife lived at Buxton my wife went to the Shakespeare Hotel cooking, and where she drank heavily and coming home at night at 11 o'clock and later the worse for drink, and I threatened her that if she continued getting in that state I would sell the furniture and separate from her, when she would swear she would poison me first. That made me accept Mr. Wager's offer to go and do his garden and watch his ground, hearing that Moses Wheeldon had left him, and also I thought if I could only earn half a loaf it would occupy my time and also my mind while at Mr. Wager's. My wife came there in such a mad state of mind and accused me of corresponding with some

other woman, and declared she would poison me and go and murder this said woman, who it was I never knew. It so upset me that I left off work and walked a little way back with her, and pleaded with her not to say such rash things, and pledge my word I would not part from her if she would let the drink alone. A short time after that I got the situation in Gloucestershire. After being there a short time she lead me a dreadful time of it, what with her temper and the drink. I declared I would leave her, for which she threatened to poison me on several occasions for bringing her to such a dirty hole, and there she poisoned a favourite old dog of my master's, which I thought at the time was done at the hotel by Sharpness Station, which is just below the grounds, and where the dog frequently went, and I reported the same to my master in London, but after that my wife was taken ill, and the doctor treated her for heart disease. We left, and while in London we were speaking of the place we had left, and then she told me that she had laid some bread and butter in the larder sprinkled with poison to kill the mice and forgot to pick it up in the morning. The dog went in and eat it, and in a few minutes after the dog was what I thought first in a fit, but died at once, and I buried it, and reported the same to J. Swayne Pearce, Esq., my master at the time."

The prisoner made the following statement before the Magistrate: "On 22nd September I lived with my wife and son at the lodge at Crosby Hill. Dr. Muller came from London that day, and was with me about the grounds planning out work for the future, and he left there about a quarter past 4. He left by a pad gate at the lower end of the grounds, a most unusual thing, he had never done so before. I let him out. I went back about my work to the greenhouse till I saw that it was leaving-off time for the men. I went to the kitchen garden to see what had been done, and pulled a handful of radishes for tea. I went down to the lodge where I lived, and bid the witness Bracknell 'Good night. 'My wife took the radishes, and washed them for tea. When I got in my wife asked me where Dr. Muller was, as she said she had not seen him pass out of the lodge entrance. She then asked me if Dr. Muller had paid me any money which was owing to her from Mrs. Muller for washing three dozen blankets in the spring. I said 'No'. She then used an epithet and a wicked word, and swore by oath that she would never do another hour's work there again. I told her I had no wish for her to work, it was all her own voluntary act, and I assured her that Mrs. Muller would pay her when she came down. I also told her that she ought not to be pressed for a little money, for that she had 33s. a week to keep house, with no rent, coals, or vegetables to buy. With that she flew in a passion, and declared my boy did not pay enough (he was paying so much a week), and he should leave; and I told the boy to ask Bracknell to get lodgings at camberley next day. She flaw in such a rage, and swore she would not stop there. I told her she could pay her way as well as any one if she left the brandy alone. She swore at my boy then for telling me he fetched it. This was during tea-time, and I got up and walked out. My son followed me. I was always in the habit of working till dark, and my son went to set some traps for rabbits, and he came to me by the greenhouses. I locked up all the buildings, and returned to the lodge. I pulled off my boots, and got my writing-desk, and was busy examining some lists that Dr. Muller

had given me that day. My boy sat down by the table, and was looking at some of my papers for some time. My wife did not speak to me. She was of most violent temper, and have remained like that sometimes for two days. My boy, to amuse her, got the cards out, as she would tell his fortune sometimes; but she threw the cards down on that occasion and would not make herself agreeable. About half past 9 she asked my son if he wanted any supper; they were both in the habit of eating suppers, but did not ask me, as I never eat suppers. I have not eaten suppers for 10 years, as a rule. After supper my wife got a box of pills from somewhere—I don't know where she had them—and told my son that he ought to take a pill, as he had pimples breaking out on his face. My boy laughed, and asked for more jam, as they did not taste very well. After that my boy went to bed. My wife remained downstairs, but they have been in the habit of going to bed both at one and the same time. I sat there busy at my papers and smoking my pipe. I remember once filling my pipe and looking at her. It was an unusual thing for her to sit down, after supper she would always go to bed. She looked very pale, and I thought it was her temper. As near as I can tell, it was about half an hour from the time they had taken the pills she fell from the chair on to my legs. I thought it was a fainting fit. I got some water and sprinkled her face and moistened her lips, and in a few minutes she spoke to me, and asked me to bathe her temples with vinegar, for her head was in great pain. While bathing her head my son called and said 'Father, bring me a little water. 'I took up to him a jug of tea and milk, such as I was drinking myself. I said 'What makes you thirsty?' and I told him his poor mother had just fainted downstairs. I got hold of his head and raised him from the pillow, and I held the jug while he drank from it. I asked him if he had any pain. He told me he had pain betwixt the shoulders, and had a tightness at the chest. I asked him if he thought it was the pills he had taken. He said he thought it was. I persuaded him not to take more pills, but to get some salts from Camberley when he went again. He laid back on the pillow, and said he thought he should soon be better. I went down to my wife, when I asked her if I should lift her into my armchair, she said 'No, but get me a pillow from upstairs to lay my head on. 'She kept on asking me to bathe her temples, which she said were in great pain, and finding she did not recover I asked her if there was any brandy in the pantry, where there should have been some by rights. I could not find any. I took a small jug and ran as hard as I could to our neighbour, Mrs. Sharp, but I could not make anyone hear. I then returned and asked my wife if I should go for a doctor; she said 'No, I shall be all right presently. 'I kept on bathing her temples, and finding she got no better I ran to Camberley as hard as I could for the doctor, and also called up a woman, Mrs. Deverel, who she had always expressed a wish should come to her if anything happened to her; I also called Mr. Evans, cab proprietor, to fetch this woman, and bring her up in a cab, as I was compelled to get home as soon as I could after calling the doctor, as my wife and son were alone. Going up the road the doctor overtook me on his tricycle, and we went to the house and found my wife lying in the same position that I left her, and appearing to be nearly dead. I spoke to her, but could get no answer. My son was shouting upstairs for water. I took some water up and gave him to drink. He was completely

smothered with a black vomit or dark vomit; bedclothes and walls were equally smothered, and it looked very much like ketchup or porter. I asked him if he had been eating mushrooms, and he said no, he had been eating jam, and I remained with him, as he was so strong, fighting and tearing about, poor fellow, and Mrs. Deverel remained with my wife. I frequently gave him water with a little drop of whisky in it, which the doctor sent me to Mr. Sullivan's for, and which I brought because I could not get brandy. Dr. Twort and Mr. Evans were in the room at the time. Dr. Twort shortly left to fetch something for him, but he struggled and died before the doctor came back. My wife never vomited anything, nor scarcely moved until she fell down. The doctor went away, and myself, Evans, and the woman remained in the house. It was she (Mrs. Deverel) that cleared the room up, and I remained at the house until the doctor came in the next day. They took the keys of the lodge, and after that I remained up at the big house up at Crosby Hill, where the inquest was held on Saturday."


Before Mr. Recorder.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-233
VerdictGuilty > with recommendation
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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233. MARY ANN CHARLWOOD (29) , Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin.

MR. POLAND Prosecuted. LUCY CLAYTON. I am an assistant in Mr. John Ashton's stationer's shop, 52, Atlantic Road, Brixton—a little after 9 on 13th December the prisoner came in for twopennyworth, of pudding dolls—I served her—she gave a half-sovereign in payment—it appeared to me a good one—I handed it to my master, and he found it was a gilt Jubilee sixpence—I told the prisoner it was not a half-sovereign, and she then gave me 2d.—she was then taken out and given in custody.

JOHN ASHTON . I am a stationer, of 52, Atlantic Road, Brixton—about 9. 15 p.m., on the 13th, the prisoner came into my shop, and soon after Miss Clayton handed me what appeared to be a half-sovereign; I looked at it and found it was a gilt Jubilee sixpence, and explained it to the prisoner, and told her it was bad—she said she was not aware of it, she got it in change for a sovereign at the White Horse public-house, Brixton Hill, the day before, and she was very sorry—I then asked her if she had any objection to go to the station with me, and she said "No"—I took her to the station, where she was charged—before she left the shop she said "Give it me back, and I will pay for them," and she paid my assistant 2d.—I afterwards gave the sixpence to Police Sergeant Pope.

ANNIE PENFOLD . I am barmaid at the White Horse public-house, Brixton Hill—I went to the police-court on one day when the prisoner was there, and when she saw me she pointed to me, and said I was the. one that gave her the money—I was there ready to be examined as a a witness—I had not seen the prisoner before that—I am quite sure I never gave her in change for a sovereign, on the 26th December, a gilt sixpence—all our money is tested.

SARAH SMITH . I live at 58, Barnwell Road, Brixton, and am the wife of Thomas Smith, a second-hand clothes dealer—on 12th December, between 7 and 8, a woman came to my shop and purchased a pair of men's trousers—she had paid 1s. on them the week before, and she then paid me 5s. 6d. with what appeared to be a half-sovereign—I gave her 4s. 6d. change, and she took it and the trousers away—as soon as

she was gone I found it was a gilt sixpence, and afterwards gave it to Police Sergeant Pope—when I was at the police-court I noticed a man in the court wearing the trousers which I had sold to the prisoner.

WILLIAM POPE (Policeman W 43). On 13th December the prisoner was brought to the station charged with uttering this gilded sixpence at Mr. Ashton's shop—I heard the prisoner say she got it in change for a sovereign at the White Horse, Brixton Hill, and she described the barmaid—I subsequently got two barmaids to come down on the remand, and the prisoner then said that Annie Penfold was the one who had given her the half-sovereign—these are the two coins (produced), one from Mr. Ashton and one from Sarah Smith—the prisoner gave her correct address at 35, Berkeley Street, Brixton.

HERRERT MARSHALL . I saw a man at the police-court wearing a pair of trousers whom I knew as Frederick Charlwood, and I believe he is the prisoner's husband—that is the man that Mrs. Smith identified as wearing her trousers.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am inspector of coin to Her Majesty's Mint—these are two good sixpences of the Jubilee coinage, and have been gilded over—they resemble the half-sovereign to some extent—they are very different from the old sixpence—they seem to be done by hand, but it rubs off.

SARAH SMITH (Recalled). I did not see any man with her when she gave me this coin.

LUCY CLAYTON (Recalled). No man was with the prisoner when she came in, and I did not see anybody outside waiting.

JOHN ASHTON (Recalled). I did not see any man waiting outside when I went out with the prisoner.

The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "The trousers my husband has on I got at that shop on the Monday night at a quarter to 9, but I had no one with me at all, and the money I paid was three two-shilling pieces and a sixpence; the trousers were 7s. 6d., the money I had before. I have no witnesses. "Prisoner's Defence. I did not know they were bad.

GUILTY . —Strongly recommended to mercy.— Two Months' Hard Labour.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-234
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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234. HARRY OWEN (32) and JAMES RYAN (25) , Stealing a horse, cart, and harness, the goods of Henry John Hitchcock.

MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.

HENRY JOHN HITCHCOCK . I am a watchmaker, of 13, Asylum Road, Old Kent Road—on 15th December, at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, I was inside the Baker and Basket, Ormside Street, Old Kent Road—I had a pony and cart standing outside untied—something was said to me by two boys, in consequence of which I ran out and saw the two prisoners in the trap—I detained Owen, who was driving—Ryan jumped out and went up and across the road and came back to me and Owen again—I said I should charge them with stealing the pony and trap—Ryan said Owen was drunk, and he only did it as a lark, and that he would give me half a sovereign to let Owen go—I told him I should charge him with stealing the trap with Owen—at the time he offered me the half-sovereign he did not show it me; he said it—I said "I shall charge you as well"—a constable came up, and I charged them both—he said "You have

made a mistake this time"—I told him I had watched him up the street and back again—they were both charged—the value of trap is about 17l.

Cross-examined by Owen. You were so mobbed by the people you could not get away—you did not actually try to get away—you really wished to steal the trap—I leave the case to the Jury.

By the COURT. I was winding up the clock in the public-house on my rounds—when I came out they were going up the road very rapidly with my trap—they were stopped by a lad—one lad came and told me—the landlord's brother-in-law ran out and overtook the trap—one of the prisoners remained in it, and the other who had gone on came back, and then they said it was a lark—they were both perfectly sober.

ROUSE. I live at 9, Upper Old Street, Peckham—on the afternoon of 15th December, about 5 o'clock, I was opposite the Baker and Basket with another boy, Ensby—I saw the two prisoners outside the public-house looking at each other—they then went up to the pony and stroked it, and led it backwards and forwards, then they looked in the beershop again, backed the pony farther right by the beer shop, turned the pony and trap round, jumped into the trap, put the rugs over their legs, Owen took the reins and began driving, and flapping the reins on the pony's back—the pony went about 500 yards—I don't know how many yards there are in a mile—they went by about 40 houses—I spoke to Ensby; he went into the beershop, and I ran after the pony and stopped it by getting hold of the reins—I said to the prisoners "This is not your pony and cart"—Owen said "We know it is not. You can go back and ask them if you like. We have orders from the governor that we can drive up and down the street"—as soon as I stopped the pony Ryan jumped out, and Hitchcock and the landlord came behind—Ryan ran away and came down on the other side, and joined the prosecutor; he said if he let him go he would give him a half-sovereign—he put his hand in his pocket—I heard nothing more—both prisoners were charged.

Cross-examined by Owen. The trap had gone 400 or 500 yards—it took me a good five minutes to catch you running.

WILLIAM REED (Policeman R 235). I was called to Ormside Street, Old Kent Road, about 5 o'clock on 15th December, and I found the prisoners detained there by Mr. Hitchcock and some others—I told them I must take them in charge—Owen said he only jumped into the trap for a lark—Ryan said he only came up because he saw a friend of his in trouble; he offered the prosecutor 10s. to let him go; the prosecutor refused—they said they would go quietly to the station—when at the station they were searched, and on Owen was found 3d. in bronze and a pocketknife, and on Ryan nothing—they were apparently sober.

Cross-examined by Owen. You went very quietly to the station. Owen in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence said they had hem drinking and hardly knew what they were doing, but that they had no intention of stealing. Ryan said in his defence that it was only a drunken lark.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-235
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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235. FREDERICK WILLIAM LEVY, Indecently assaulting Lizzie Jane Woodcock.

MR. TICKELL Prosecuted; MR. LOCKWOOD, Q. C., and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.


Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-236
VerdictNot Guilty > non compos mentis

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236. JOHN WELLS (58) , Breaking and entering the church of St. Saviour's, North End, Croydon, and stealing stoles and surplices, the goods of Francis Bostel and another. Second Count, Receiving the same.

MR. THOMAS Prosecuted.

WILLIAM HARVEY (Policeman W 456). I am stationed at Croydon—on 14th December, at a quarter to 8 p.m., I was off duty in plain clothes at Broad Green, Croydon—I went into the Rising Sun public-house, and was drinking a glass of ale—the prisoner was there then—no one else was in the bar besides we two—the prisoner came to me and said "You have not found the property that was stolen from the church yet"—I said "No, I have not; I should like to know the person who stole it"—the prisoner said "I believe I can tell you where the property is, and also tell you the party who stole it"—I had seen the prisoner once before—after some further talk I said "I should like you to show me that property, and also the persons who stole it"—he took me to the Queen's Arms Hotel, about a quarter of an hour's walk, after some further talk—he pointed out there two men over the bar—he said "You see those two men over the bar"—I said "Yes"—he said "Those are the two men that stole the property"—they were standing opposite to me in another compartment, drinking some ale—I told him that I didn't like to interfere with the two men until I had seen the property—after that he took me to 22, Grace Road, a few yards off—he unlocked the door with the key which he had—he said he had charge of the house; it was an empty house; unfurnished—we went in—I went into two rooms on the ground floor, and he took me upstairs—then he took me downstairs, and in the coal-cellar under the stairs—there were two sack bags full of something there—I took them into the room and examined some of the property, and found they corresponded with the property stolen from St. Saviour's Church—this is the property (produced)—I pulled some of the things out—he said "I saw two men bringing two sacks full of something on the night the church was broken into; they took them in the window at the rear of the house where I then was"—I told him to remain there a few minutes—I went and called to my brother constable on the beat, and told him to go to the station for my inspector, Mr. Harris—while waiting there the prisoner said "Yes, I knew the property was there three or four days before"—I said "Why had you not taken me and shown me the property at once, when we were in the house"—he made no reply—then my inspector came.

ELIAS HARRIS (Police Inspector W). I received a communication from Constable Harvey on 14th December, and I went to 22, Grace Road, where I saw the property—I afterwards went to Queen's Road, where I saw the prisoner outside the Four-in-Hand beerhouse—the prisoner was called out of the beerhouse when I saw him—I said "You know something about this robbery at St. Saviour's Church"—he said "Yes, I saw the men bring two sack loads of things to 22, Grace Road, I can tell you who they are"—he gave me the names of two well-known thieves in the neighbourhood—he said it was on Friday morning he saw the men bring round the two sacks—it was Thursday morning the church was broken open, and Friday morning the sacks were brought; he did not mention the time, he said "You know them, they are two well known thieves"—I said "Yes, I know them; can you swear to

them?"—he said he could, he had known them all their lifetime—I said "Why don't you tell me all you know about the case?"—he then said "About three o'clock on the Friday morning "(that would be the morning of the 9th) "Iand my wife were sitting up in the kitchen, we had not gone to bed; I was writing at the time, when I heard these two men coming around; they came round the corner to No. 22; I said to my wife' There is something up;' my old woman said 'Go to bed, and I will go and see what is the matter;' I went to the kitchen window, and saw the two men come round to the back of the house carrying a sack each, and put them in the window; I waited awhile, I heard them strike a match, I heard them strike three or four catches; I remained, thinking they were going to stop there for the night; I remained quiet, and afterwards went to bed; I got up in the morning, went round to No. 22, unlocked the door, and in the room I found the two bags full of the things taken from the church"—I said "Could you swear to the men?"—he said "Certainly I could"—I said "Why did not you inform the police at the time?"—he said "No, me and my old woman have been setting watch ever since; if I told any one it would have been split, and the birds would have flown"—I told him he had better go home—he lives at 20, Grace Road, two doors from the unoccupied house, of which he was the care-taker—I directed a constable to go with him to make some inquiries—I saw the wife and made inquiries—she gave me this, some writing in a book, some poetry, and different things—she gave me an almanack—there was some writing found in the church—the writing which the prisoner's wife gave me is similar to that found in the church vestry—I went back to 22, Grace Road, where I saw the prisoner—I said "Be very careful; I want you to tell me a little more about this"—I cautioned him and said "About what time was it that you saw the men bring the sacks into the house?"—he said "It was about three o'clock"—I said "Did you tell any one when you found the sacks containing the property the following morning, or show it to any one?"—he said no, only to his wife—I said "Did you show them to her; did you bring her in?"—he said "Yes, she did"—I told him he had better be careful, as I was suspicious of him; I did not believe his story, and that very likely I should have to take him into custody—then he told me his wife was the only person that had seen the things—when Mrs. Wells came in I showed her the things, and she told me in the prisoner's presence she had never seen them before—I asked her if the prisoner had told her anything about finding them there—she said "No"—I said "Then if your husband has told me he has brought you in here and showed you these things he is telling a lie"—she said "I never saw them before; he has never brought me in here"—he said he had—I told him I should take him into custody, and charge him with breaking into the church and stealing the things—he at first said it was wrong; he made sport of it—he said it was wrong and laughed—he said "I am willing to go with you; let me have my boots"—afterwards he said "I may as well make a clean breast of it; I did take the things, and you are right this time"—he told his wife to give me the clock—I went to the house with the wife, and in a wet linen basket, between the wet linen she showed me this clock—I took the prisoner to the station—the clock was one of the things stolen from the church—on the way to the station he said "You have made a good job this time; you are quite

right; if you had not taken me to-night I intended to have broken into the old church and cleared that out; I should have broken into all the churches in Croydon; I should have made a flare up, but I should not have done away with the things"—he was charged, and when I read the charge to him he said it was about half-past three that he broke into the church—all the property was found, most of it in the unoccupied house of which he had the key; the clock, water-bottle, and books were at his house—the whole of the property has now been recovered with the exception of a stole and a silver spoon—this stole was given to me next morning by his wife.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You had been drinking on the night I took you; you were not drunk, you smelt of beer, and came out of a beerhouse—no doubt you have been drinking not only for months, but for a long period.

FRANCIS TOLHURST WILKINSON . I am verger of the parish church of St. Saviour's, Croydon—the Rev. George Henry Kemp is the vicar—Francis William Boston and Vincent Hilton Biscoe are churchwardens—on Thursday, 8th December, I locked up that church after the 5 o'clock service, which was over at 6 o'clock—I left the church at 6.30—I have looked at the clock, 17 stoles, five surplices, and other articles that were stolen (one spoon is missing)—they belonged to the churchwardens, and were all in the vestry of the church when I left, except the reading stand, which was in the pulpit—I took the keys away with me—I heard nothing that night; next morning I found the place had been broken into—I went to the church at a quarter past eight on the morning of the 9th—I went past the vestry window—I noticed a hole in it—it was a small window that opens on a hinge; it was wide open—I had left it closed and fastened with an ordinary catch the night before—I went into the vestry—the door between the church and vestry was open; the lock was off and broken—this blotting pad, which was in the vestry, was written on in pencil, and also another piece of paper was written on—the writing was not there the night before—the lock was on the edge of the table—a small wooden cross, which the morning before was in a cupboard in the vestry, was on the floor—the vestry and church are all under one roof and part of the same building—I searched and found these things were missing—they were all there the night before—the value of them is something over 70l.—a spoon, which was there a night before, is missing and has not been found.

The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "It was three years ago I was very queer in my mind, and I believe I have a kind of return of it now, and I don't know what I have done. I am worse when I have been drinking."

Witness for the Defence.

GEORGE OLIVER (Policeman W 374). I have known the prisoner three and a half years as being an honest, industrious, hard-working man until last September, when his master died—he was a gardener for seven years previously, but after his master died he was discharged, and he has been on the drink ever since, pawning everything he could get hold of.

Cross-examined. I never thought him to be mad—he was very strange in his manner at times after he had been drinking—he had 50 to 100 boys after him, and was dressed very strangely.

The prisoner in his defence repeated in substance what he had said before the Magistrate.

ELIAS HARRIS (Re-examined). The other two men were arrested, but not charged.


(The Jury considered he was not in his right mind.)

9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-237
VerdictGuilty > unknown; Not Guilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

Related Material

237. WILLIAM CLARKE (64) and CHARLES BEAL, Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin.

MR. POLAND Prosecuted; MR. RIBTON appeared for Clarke, and MR. BURNEY for Beal.

FRANCIS BOSWELL (Detective Sergeant L). On 20th December I was with Sergeants Leonard and Ward near the Elephant and Castle, a little after 2 o'clock in the day, and saw Clarke, who I knew before—I followed him, and saw him go into several public-houses and come out—about 5 o'clock he went into the Zoological Arms, Walworth Road—I watched till a quarter to 7—he remained in there all that time—we went into the top room by a passage which is 30 feet from the bar, and found the two prisoners in conversation—I had not seen Beal go it—I laid hold of Clarke and said "Bill, I think you have got a little snide on you"—that is bad money—he said "I think you have made a mistake, master"—I said "I know you are preety shrewd, but I am going to search you"—he put his hand to his right coat pocket outside, and I put my hand outside and felt something heavy in the pocket, and Leonard took this black bag (produced) out of his pocket, and Ward took a book and a purse from his breast—the bag contained six packets of counterfeit shillings wrapped separately in tissue paper—there were three packets of 10 each, two packets of three, and one packet of six; also eight packets of bad half-crowns, 10 coins in each, and five packets of florins, four of 10 each, and one of eight, all separately wrapped up, and three bad half-sovereigns, wrapped in tissue paper separately—we took them to the station, neither of them made any reply to the charge that I heard—next day, just before going before the Magistrate, Clarke said, referring to Beal, "He is all right," or "He is all straight"—they were charged, and Beal was let out on his own recognisances.

Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Clarke gave his correct address—I have known him some time—he never was convicted to my knowledge.

WILLIAM LEONARD (Detective Sergeant). I was with Boswell and Ward—I found these coins in a bag in Clarke's right pocket—I opened it in his presence, and showed them to him; he said nothing—Ward then took a pocket-book from him—I told Beal I should search him, and he pushed me off, and said "You won't search me"—I pushed him, and he fell over a form—I said "You will have to submit to be searched"—he said "I am a respectable man; I know nothing about it"—I searched him, and found a sixpence and a halfpenny—he was charged at the station, and said "I know nothing about it, so help me God"—he gave his correct name and address—he lives immediately opposite the public-house, and has frequented it for same time—he is a sawyer, and works in the neighbourhood, but lately has been out of employment—I have made special inquiries—he bears a good character.

ALFRED WARD (Policeman). I searched Clark in the tap-room, and took this pocket-book from his breast-pocket—here is an entry of December 20th, the day he was arrested—this "21/2" means half-crowns, "2" means florins, and "1" means shillings—here is "83 21/2, 42 2,

40 1, "and a number of similar entries—I also found on him 1l. 2s., 2d., in good money.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . These 83 half-crowns, 48 florins, 42 shillings, and three half-sovereigns are all bad; they are of different reigns and moulds—they are all wrapped up in what is called half-loads, that is, tens—the separate wrapping in paper prevents them getting scratched, and as they are taken out this black substance is rubbed off—the phrase snide is applied to counterfeit coin.


Sergeant Boswell stated that during the week previous to Clarke's arrest he sold large quantities of counterfeit coin; that he sold 160 bad coins the day previous, and that he supplied Smith and Boer, who were convicted yesterday.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.


9th January 1888
Reference Numbert18880109-238
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

Related Material

238. WILLIAM WILLIAMS (60) , Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin.

MR. POLAND Prosecuted.

ELIZABETH PAIN . My husband, Alfred Pain, keeps a general shop at 29, George Street, Southwark—on 5th December I served the prisoner with twopennyworth of cold beef—he gave me a florin; I showed it to Mrs. Batalone, who lives upstairs, who said "You vagabond, it is a had one"—he went out and she followed him—in 20 minutes or half an hour I was fetched to the station and saw the prisoner in custody—I am quite sure he is the man.

ELIZABETH BATALONE . I am the wife of William Batalone—on the night of 15th December I was at Mr. Pain's shop and saw Mrs. pain serve the prisoner with twopennyworth of beef; he paid with a florin—she showed it to me; I put it between my teeth and said "You bad man, it is a bad one"—the beef was taken from him—he went out and I went through the parlour and walked after him with the florin in my hand—he ran a little way; I spoke to a constable in uniform—the prisoner went into a urinal, and I gave him into custody, with the florin saw him struggling—he was taken back to the shop; it was 11.30 or I 11. 40—I am sure he is the man; I never lost sight of him at all.

GEORGE FULLER (Policeman M 57). On the night of 15th December I was on duty in Blackfriars Road and saw the last witness; she was in an exhausted condition, and appeared to have been running—the prisoner was about two yards behind her, and when he saw her speak to me he turned to his left and went across to the urinal—he was walking fast at first, and then he ran, and he was about three yards from the urinal, and seeing me near him he did not go in, but ran away about 50 yards, and I caught him at the corner of Great Charlotte Street—the young lady then came up and said he had passed a bad two-shilling piece at her shop—I knew the shop very well, it was about 100 yards from this place.—I said to the prisoner "Do you own the two-shilling piece?"—he said "Yes, but you ain't going to take me for a b——thing like this?"—I said "I must, "and he said "I shan't go"—I then took hold of him and said he would have to come to the station—he put himself in defiance and would not go, and I had to shove him all the way to the shop—he there saw Mr. Pain, the prosecutrix's husband, and said to him "You"! are not going to take me for a thing like this?"—I told Mr. Pain not to answer—I then told him he would have to come to the station, and

he put himself in defiance and said he would not go—I got him about 25 yards, and he became so violent that I could not move him—a special constable then came and got hold of him, but he was thrown to the ground—I then found myself on the ground, and got up and blew my whistle, and another constable came up—ultimately another constable came up, and the four of us took him to the station—next morning I had a very black hip—he was charged in the usual way, and made no reply—I searched him at the shop, and found nothing on him but an eyeglass—Mrs. Batstone gave me this florin (produced), and afterwards Mary Grant gave me some pieces of a florin—the Imperial Tavern is about 150 yards from 29, George Street—the prisoner gave an address which I found was a common lodging-house—I took the prisoner in custody at Charlotte Street about 12 o'clock.

Cross-examined. The young woman was on his left, and I was on his right standing against the railings.

GEORGE AYRES . I am a porter at Anderton's Hotel, Fleet Street, and also a special constable—on 15th December I went to the last witness's assistance—the prisoner struggled, and threw me on the ground once or twice, but he was eventually taken to the station.

MARY GRANT . I am barmaid at the Imperial Tavern, Southwark Street—on Thursday, 15th December, from 25 minutes past 11 to 20 minutes to 12, the prisoner came in and asked for twopenny worth of whisky, and gave me a florin—it felt greasy, and I passed it over to a young lady, and then I took it back and tried it with my teeth—it felt gritty—I then turned round and saw the prisoner at the door—he could see me trying the coin—I called out "Here, master," and he said "All right, miss, I will be back in a minute"—he then went out of the door, and I saw no more of him—next day I heard a man was in custody, and went to the station and there saw the prisoner, and identified him as the man who had given me the bad florin—my master afterwards broke the coin in pieces, and they were given up to the constable who came to make inquiries.

Cross-examined. I said I thought it was you when I came to identify You.

Re-examined. I was rather upset when I went to identify him—I say he is the man.

GEORGE FULLER (Recalled). At the station she looked down the line, and pointing to the prisoner said "That is the man"—she was crying all the time—it was in consequence of a description she had given to me that she was brought to the station.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . This broken florin and this other florin are both bad, and from the same mould.

The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence stated that he was not the man who had uttered this second florin.

GUILTY . —He then

PLEADED GUILTY* to a previous conviction of felonious uttering in February, 1883.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.


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