Old Bailey Proceedings.
18th May 1896
Reference Number: t18960518

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Old Bailey Proceedings front matter.
18th May 1896
Reference Numberf18960518

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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,





Held on Monday, May 18th, 1896, and following days.

BEFORE the RIGHT HON. SIR WALTER WILKIN, Knt., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir HENRY HAWKINS , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court; Sip REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M.P., Sir JOSEPH SAVORY , Bart, M.P., and Sir STUART KNILL , Bart., LL.D., Aldermen of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Q.C., M.P., K.C.M.G., Recorder of the said City; GEOBGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS, Esq., Lieut.Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , M.P., FRANK GREEN , Esq., MARCUS SAMUEL , Esq., WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR, Esq., and FREDERICK PRATT ALLISTON, Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; and Sir FORREST FULTON, Knt., Q.C., 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.

JOHN POUND , Esq., Alderman.









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 die associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.


OLD COURT.—Monday, May 18th, 1896.

Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-406
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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406. EDWARD HIGGS (30) was indicted for feloniously forging and uttering an order for £7 7s., with intent to defraud. Second Count, for forging and uttering an endorsement to the same.

MR. WILSON Prosecuted.

DANIEL ALLMAN . I am a newspaper-boy, and live at South Kensington—onThursday, March 12th, about half-past six in the evening, I was in Ashburn Place—the prisoner came up to me and asked if I wanted to earn threepence—I said, "Yes"—he asked me to take a note to Chard's, the butcher, and to bring back the answer, and he would be down the area of Dr. Dudfield's—I took the note to Chard's, and handed it to the book-keeper; he gave it to Mr. Chard—Mr. Chard gave me a blank piece of paper—I took it back to the prisoner, who was outside Dr. Dudfield's—he cane towards me; I told him they would send the money across—he said "All right!" and walked away—I asked him for the threepence—this (produced) is the envelope gave me.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner I was going to 16, Stanhope Gardens, and was walking pretty quick; it was dusk, but not dark—I was about two or three minutes talking to you—Iss had not seen you before—when I came back from Mr. Chard's you said, "Well?" and I said they would send the money across—when I asked you for the threepence you said, "No"—you were not standing still; you were, walking on the payment, and came, towards me; I saw no one near you, only Mr., Chard's assistant; he caught hold of you, and asked me if that was the man, and I said, "Yes"—I am quite sure that you are the man—you have the same appearance now, but your moustache has grows.

By the COURT. I heard him speak then and to-day—I have no doubt he is the man.

SARAH ELLIS CAPLENN . I am book-keeper to Mr. Chard—on March 12th, the last witness came to the shop with this letter to Mr. Chard "14, Ashburn Place,—Dr. Dudfield will be obliged by your sending

the money for the enclosed cheque"—Dr. Dudfield is a customer of ours.

FRANK PEARMAN . I am assistant to Mr. Chard—on March 12th, Allman came to the shop—my employer made a communication to me, in consequence of which I followed the boy, and I saw the prisoner cross the road—he saw the boy—he spoke to him—he then walked away—I took hold of him, and said I should take him to the Police-office—he said nothing then; after a few minutes he said, "I don't know the boy"—the boy asked him if he was going to give him his threepence—he said, "Not now."

Cross-examined. There was nobody with you—I believe Mr. Chard called for a constable.

JOHN LOVE (207 F). On March 12th, about half-past six, I was on duty in Courtfield Road—I saw the prisoner waiting about between Dr. Dudfield's and Gloster Road—later on I received information from Mr. Chard, and went to 14, Ashburn Place, Dr. Dudfield's, and saw the prisoner being detained by Pearman—I told him I should take him into custody for attempting to obtain £7 7s. by means of a forged cheque, and asked him what he had to say—after a time, he said, "How can I know anything about it? I have only just left the Free Library"—I told him I had seen him waiting about for about ten to fifteen minutes—he made no reply—I told Mr. Chard to take the cheque to Dr. Dudfield to see whether it was the signature of his son; I remained outside on the doorstep—whilestanding there the prisoner nodded his head towards Pearman, and said, "Is this man going to charge me?"—I told him he was already in custody—at the station, after the charge was read over, he said, "I do not know anything about the letter or cheque, neither have I seen the boy."

Cross-examined. I am positive you said all that—it was said in the presence of Pearman; he was standing close by; he may or may not have heard it.

WILLIAM WOMACK (Police Sergeant F). When the prisoner was brought to the station I searched him; I found on him several pocket-books, one of them having in it the names of several gentlemen and tradesmen, and amongst them Dr. T. O. Dudfield—on the remand I spoke to the prisoner about his character—he said, "I am not the man that gave the boy the cheque; but a man told me to wait here for the money; he said his name was Hudson"—he did not say whether he knew what the letter contained.

Cross-examined. I was present at the station when the charge was entered—you said you knew nothing about it—you said your occupation was that of a butcher's canvasser.

THOMAS ORME DUDFIELD . I live at 14, Ashburn Place—on March 14th this letter and cheque were brought to me; I did not write the letter or endorse the cheque, nor is it my son's writing—I am a customer of Mr. Chard's.

FREDERICK WALTER BURTON . I am assistant manager of the Tottenham Road branch of the City Bank—this cheque purports to be drawn by Charles Franklin—no such person has any account with us.

The Prisoner, in his defence, asserted his innocence, and read what he called his record of the numerous places where he had been engaged for a number of years.


He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction on August 20th, 1894.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.

Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-407
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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407. WILLIAM SEAMAN (46) was indicted for the wilful murder pf John Goodman Levy.


Ronald Ryley, Police Constable H 138, produced and proved plans of the premises in question.

ALICE WEIDERMAN . I am the wife of Edward Weiderman, of 88, Overstrand Mansions, Battersea Park—the deceased, Sarah Ann Gale, was my sister—at Easter last she was living as housekeeper to Mr. John Goodman Levy, at 31, Turner Street—on Good Friday night, April 3rd, I had supper there with Mr. Levy and my sister—I left the house that night at twenty minutes to ten, leaving Mr. Levy and my sister there, no one else—thatwas the last time I saw either of them alive—on the Monday following I saw and identified her body at the inquest—I have since been shown a brooch, a gold watch, some earrings, a plated gold chain, an imitation diamond ring, and an imitation ruby and pearl ring; I identified those as articles my sister had in the house—I also identified a gold horse-shoe brooch which I had lent to my sister—I recognise these gold eye-glasses and this silver caddy spoon; it used to be in the kitchen—theprisoner is a stranger to me; I never saw him.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. My sister was a married woman—herhusband is not here; I don't know where he is.

CHARLES BURLEY . I am a dairyman, of 24, Turner Street, Mile End—Iknew Mrs. Gale, who lived at 31—I saw her on the Saturday morning, April 4th, the day after Good Friday, at a quarter-past seven—shewas opening the shutters on the ground floor—she was dressed—I spoke to her, and wished her "Good morning."

MARTHA LAWTON . I live at 35, Turner Street—the deceased, Mr. Levy, was my cousin—I had supper with him on the night of Good Friday, April 3rd—I left the house about twenty to ten, leaving him and Mrs. Gale there—I arranged to dine there next day, and about one next day I went to the house—I knocked at the door repeatedly, getting no answer I went next door, to 29, Mr. Shafer's—Mr. Shafer went into his back yard, and then came back and spoke to me—I then went out of the house, and found a policeman—as I went down Vardon Street, I saw the head of a man over the wall of Mr. Levy's house, the wall separating the yard from the street—a policeman came back with me—he went over Mr. Shafer's wall into Mr. Levy's premises—he went into the house; be opened the door, and instantly called to me to fetch a doctor—Mrs. Gale's sister was at supper with me, and Mr. Levy the night previous.

WILLIAM SHAFER . I live at 29, Turner Street, Mile End. On Saturday, April 4th, I heard a knock at my door, and, on answering it, I saw Mrs. Law ton—from what she said to me, I went into my back yard, got a ladder, and looked over the wall of Mr. Levy's premises—I saw a man on the other side"; I only saw his head and shoulders; he had a cap one—I had never seen him before—I recognised him; it was the prisoner—I

could not see what he was doing; he was stooping down, looking down—I shouted out to him, "What are you doing there?"—he hid himself—I just saw one eye come round the corner of the window—I called out again—I then got someone to watch in the yard, and went into the street round to Yardon Street, and a little while after I looked over the wall and saw the same man—I called out again, "What do you want?" and he went down again—at this time two policemen came on the scene—I took them through my house, and I got over the wall into Mr. Levy's premises—the policemen opened the front door, and I went in—I went downstairs to the corridor, where I had seen the man's head, and in one of the closets at the end of the corridor I saw the body of old Mr. Levy, at least his head—after that I remained at the front door for a little time—thepolice went upstairs—I did not see or feel the body to know whether it was alive or dead—after some time the prisoner was brought into the house unconscious; he was the same man I had seen looking over the wall.

Cross-examined. After I had seen you the second time you went into the house.

WALTER ATKHCSON (231 H.) On Saturday, April 4th, about ten minutes past one in the day, I was called to 31, Turner Street—Police Constable Hammond arrived shortly after—we both got over Mr. Shafer's wall into Mr. Levy's premises—we went through the door into the corridor, and then to the water-closet at the end—in one of the water-closets I found the body of Mr. Levy, lying on the floor in a crouched position, on his side, his legs uppermost—he appeared to me to be dead—there was a quantity of blood on the floor, and extending to just outside the door in the corridor—I then went into the house—I found the street-door closed, just on the spring latch—I let Mr. Shafer in at the front door—I got over the wall at the back, let him in at the door, and then shut it again—Iafterwards went upstairs, and searched the house—in the top floor front bedroom I found the body of Mrs. Gale lying by the floor, near the door, on the door side of the bed—she appeared to be dead—I saw that her throat was cut—I had already seen that Mr. Levy's throat was cut; his head was almost severed from his body—Mrs. Gale was dressed—the room was in great disorder; boxes broken open, dresses strewed about the place; the contents of the drawers were strewn all over the place—I then went back immediately to the station to report.

Cross-examined. I found no blood-stain in the back room—I found Mrs. Gale in the front room—there was a quantity of blood in her room—there were no blood-stains on the bed in the back room—at the Police-court you made a remark about a hole in the ceiling—I cannot say that I thoroughly examined the place then—I have not seen the place since—thedoor of the front room faces you as you go upstairs—the body was on the left of the bed, between you and the bed.

HENRY RICHARDSON (442 H). On Saturday, April 4th, I was in plain clothes, on duty in Commercial Road, with another constable—I heard something with regard to Turner Street, and at once went to the house, No. 31—on the roof I saw something, which appeared to be the form of a man moving about—I thereupon went into the house, and went up to the top floor, and into the front room, where I saw the body of the deceased woman—on looking round I saw a hole in the ceiling—I took

off my coat and belt—I got on the bed, and climbed through the hole—I then had to crawl about underneath the tiles—while there I heard someone moving outside on the roof—there was not sufficient room for me to stand upright—I crept along until I found a hole in the tiles—I then saw the prisoner on the roof—he was just about to jump from the parapet—I called out to Wensley, who had gone into the house with me, "Look out, he is about to jump," or "about to go"—he then jumped over the parapet into Vardon Street; that was from the roof, a height of from thirty to forty feet—I came out on to the roof, and looked over the parapet—I saw that Wensley had got down, and had got the man—I then searched the roof, and found this hammer in two pieces, as it is now—there were marks of plaster on it—close to the hammer I found 1s. 4 1/2d. in money and this sovereign purse—I afterwards searched the roof again with Wensley—I then saw another hole leading to the ceiling of the back bedroom—that was a hole through the tiles, apparently made from the outside—there were also some bricks loosened or taken out of the chimney—that was not done from the outside—it was between the tiles and the ceiling of the front room—that hole was not sufficiently large to enable anyone to get into the chimney.

Cross-examined. I had just got my head through the roof when I saw you—you did not see me.

FREDERICK WENSLEY (Detective H). I went to the house with the last witness, and went upstairs with, him—I saw him get through the hole in the ceiling; I went up after him—I was in the room below, about to go up, when Richardson called out to me—I can't remember his exact words; it was to the effect that someone was there—in consequence of what he called out, I at once ran down into the street, and I saw the prisoner come through the air, and fall among the lot of people; there was a very large crowd there—with other officers, I picked him up and carried him back into the house; he Was then insensible—I then went up, and made a further search in the house—between the ceiling and the tiles I found this brown cloth cap, with a woman's hat-pin attached to it—in the top back bedroom I found this knife; I found fresh blood-stains on it, and this chisel, and a light brown overcoat.

ERNEST BACCHUS (359 H.) On Saturday, April 4th, about half-past one, I went to 31, Turner Street, and, looking up, I saw somebody apparently crouching on the roof—I afterwards saw the prisoner jump from the parapet—I went up to him as he fell in the crowd—as he fell, there dropped from his pockets this gold neck-chain—I did not see a pair of gold eye-glasses—with assistance, I took him into the house—a shilling and threepence was given to me as having fallen from his pocket—in the house the sergeant took a number of things from his pocket; I did not see what they were—I afterwards assisted him to the hospital, and remained there with him till ten that night—I was there again with him next day, the 5th of April; he was then conscious—about four in the afternoon I was giving him some milk to drink, and said, "That will do you good"—he replied," Oh, don't trouble much about that; I could go to the scaffold, and swing for what I have done, without fear; I know what is in front of me, and I can face it; if a man takes life, he must suffer for it; I don't value my life a bit; I have made my bed, I must lie on it"—on April 7th I was there again; about eight that morning, I was

could not see what he was doing; he was stooping down, looking down—I shouted out to him, "What are you doing there?"—he hid himself—I just saw one eye come round the corner of the window—I called out again—I then got someone to watch in the yard, and went into the street round to Vardon Street, and a little while after I looked over the wall and saw the same man—I called out again, "What do you want?" and he went down again—at this time two policemen came on the scene—I took them through my house, and I got over the wall into Mr. Levy's premises—the policemen opened the front door, and I went in—I went downstairs to the corridor, where I had seen the man's head, and in one of the closets at the end of the corridor I saw the body of old Mr. Levy, at least his head—after that I remained at the front door for a little time—the police went upstairs—I did not see or feel the body to know whether it was alive or dead—after some time the prisoner was brought into the house unconscious; he was the same man I had seen looking over the wall.

Cross-examined. After I had seen you the second time you went into the house.

WALTER ATKINSON (231 H). On Saturday, April 4th, about ten minutes past one in the day, I was called to 31, Turner Street—Police Constable Hammond arrived shortly after—we both got over Mr. Shafer's wall into Mr. Levy's premises—we went through the door into the corridor, and then to the water-closet at the end—in one of the water-closets I found the body of Mr. Levy, lying on the floor in a crouched position, on his side, his legs uppermost—he appeared to me to be dead—there was a quantity of blood on the floor, and extending to just outside the door in the corridor—I then went into the house—I found the street-door closed, just on the spring latch—I let Mr. Shafer in at the front door—I got over the wall at the back, let him in at the door, and then shut it again—I afterwards went upstairs, and searched the house—in the top floor front bedroom I found the body of Mrs. Gale lying by the floor, near the door, on the door side of the bed—she appeared to be dead—I saw that her throat was cut—I had already seen that Mr. Levy's throat was cut; his head was almost severed from his body—Mrs. Gale was dressed—the room was in great disorder; boxes broken open, dresses strewed about the place; the contents of the drawers were strewn all over the place—I then went back immediately to the station to report.

Cross-examined. I found no blood-stain in the back room—I found Mrs. Gale in the front room—there was a quantity of blood in her room—there were no blood-stains on the bed in the back room—at the Police-court you made a remark about a hole in the ceiling—I cannot say that I thoroughly examined the place then—I have not seen the place since—the door of the front room faces you as you go upstairs—the body was on the left of the bed, between you and the bed.

HENRY RICHARDSON (442 H). On Saturday, April 4th, I was in plain clothes, on duty in Commercial Road, with another constable—I heard something with regard to Turner Street, and at once went to the house, No. 31—on the roof I saw something, which appeared to be the form of a man moving about—I thereupon went into the house, and went up to the top floor, and into the front room, where I saw the body of the deceased woman—on looking round I saw a hole in the ceiling—I took

off my coat and belt—I got on the bed, and climbed through the hole—I then had to crawl about underneath the tiles—while there I heard someone moving outside on the roof—there was not sufficient room for me to stand upright—I crept along until I found a hole in the tiles—I then saw the prisoner on the roof—he was just about to jump from the parapet—I called out to Wensley, who had gone into the house with me, "Look out, he is about to jump," or "about to go"—he then jumped over the parapet into Vardon Street; that was from the roof, a height of from thirty to forty feet—I came out on to the roof, and looked over—the parapet—I saw that Wensley had got down, and had got the man—I then searched the roof, and found this hammer in two pieces, as it is now—there were marks of plaster on it—close to the hammer I found ls. 4 1/2d. in money and this sovereign purse—I afterwards searched the roof again with Wensley—I then saw another hole leading to the ceiling of the back bedroom—that was a hole through the tiles, apparently made from the outside—there were also some bricks loosened or taken out of the chimney—that was not done from the outside—it was between the tiles and the ceiling of the front room—that hole was not sufficiently large to enable anyone to get into the chimney.

Cross-examined. I had just got my head through the roof when I saw you—you did not see me.

FREDERICK WENSLEY (Detective H). I went to the house with the last witness, and went upstairs with him—I saw him get through the hole in the ceiling; I went up after him—I was in the room below, about to go up, when Richardson called out to me—I can't remember his exact words; it was to the effect that someone was there—in consequence of what he called out, I at once ran down into the street, and I saw the prisoner come through the air, and fall among the lot of people; there was a very large crowd there—with other officers, I picked him up and carried him back into the house; he Was then insensible—I then went up, and made a further search in the house—between the ceiling and the tiles I found this brown cloth cap, with a woman's hat-pin attached to it—in the top back bedroom I found this knife; I found fresh blood-stains on it, and this chisel, and a light brown overcoat.

ERNEST BACCHUS (359 H). On Saturday, April 4th, about half-past one, I went to 31, Turner Street, and, looking up, I saw somebody apparently crouching on the roof—I afterwards saw the prisoner jump from the parapet—I went up to him as he fell in the crowd—as he fell, there dropped from his pockets this gold neck-chain—I did not see a pair of gold eye-glasses—with assistance, I took him into the house—a shilling and threepence was given to me as having fallen from his pocket—in the house the sergeant took a number of things from his pocket; I did not see what they were—I afterwards assisted him to the hospital, and remained there with him till ten that night—I was there again with him next day, the 5th of April; he was then conscious—about four in the afternoon I was giving him some milk to drink, and said, "That will do you good"—he replied, "Oh, don't trouble much about that; I could go to the scaffold, and swing for what I have done, without fear; I know what is in front of me, and I can face it; if a man takes life, he must suffer for it; I don't value my life a bit; I have made my bed, I must lie on it"—on April 7th I was there again; about eight that morning, I was

assisting in washing the prisoner, when he said, "Never mind washing anything else, as I shan't be here long; I don't value my life; I want to die as soon as I can; I don't want to hide anything, and I shan't try to do it; I have been prompted to do this, but have been prevented thousands of times; I know the old man has been the cause of all my trouble, and I would like to kill myself now; I am sick of my life."

GEORGE BRYAN (176 H). On April 10th I was in charge of the prisoner, while he was at the hospital—at half-past five that morning the prisoner woke me up, and said, "I suppose that old b—of a Levy is buried by this time"—I said I did not know—he said, "I am glad I done for the old b—and the woman; she must have been sleeping in the old man's bed; although she was undressed at the time, I killed her—I have been a good many times for the money, £70, and the old b—always made some excuse or other about it, and I made up my mind to do for him; I am not afraid of being hanged; I shan't be like some of them"—on April 11th I was again in charge of him, and about half-past five he said something to me; I wrote down what he said by his bed—he said, "I have had to put up with a lot from old Levy; he hns owed me £70, and each time I have asked him for it he has put me off"—he also said, "I could easily have got away, if I had liked, when I had done the job"—Elliott, another constable, was there at the time; I was afterwards present when Elliott wrote down a statement which the prisoner made.

Cross-examined. Elliott and I used to sit there and read—we did not make bets—there was no blood in Gale's room—the statement I have read I got from you; you saw me writing it—you had no words with me and Elliott, no more than you asked me to let you have an evening paper, and I refused—you said, "Neither you nor your superintendent could prevent my having it if I liked; I have a right to have a newspaper"—you did not have a bet upon it with me.

WILLIAM ELLIOTT (140 H). On the morning of April 12th I was in charge of the prisoner at the hospital—I took down a statement which he made there—this is it. (Reading: "I have been a frequent visitor in Turner Street, where the job was done, and if the—old Jew had given me the £70 he owed me, the job would never have happened. You don't know half what there has been between old Levy and me; nobody else knows now, and I will keep it to myself; you don't know what I have had to put up with from the two b—s; but this finishes the lot. That morning I knocked at the door, old Levy himself opened it, and I walked in. He said the girl was upstairs. I then went upstairs, and found her in her own bedroom; she had just got her dress on, and leaning over her own bed, which appeared to me not to have been slept in. She always slept with old Levy. When she saw me, she shouted and began struggling, but I soon stopped her kicking. I then came downstairs, and soon put the old Jew's lights out. After the job was finished I heard someone keep knocking at the door. I stood behind the door, considering whether to let them in or not. If I had opened the door I would have soon floored them, so as they would not have walked out of that house again alive; they would have been carried out stiff with the others. I then got on the roof from the inside, and saw my only chance was to dive down off the roof head first, and if it had not been for someone breaking my fall, I should not have been lying

in here. But, there it is; everyone has to die some time; I know I am going to get hung, and would not care if it was now, for I am tired of my life.")

Cross-examined. We did not sit down and have a talk, and make it up together—you wanted the paper to see about the Muswell Hill murder.

GEORGE MATTHEWS (270 H). I assisted in carrying the prisoner from the street into the parlour—I saw fall from his pocket a pair of gold eye-glasses, a seal, a two-shilling piece, and a shilling in silver—after that he remained unconscious for a considerable time, and was seen by the divisional surgeon.

HENRY DREW (Inspector H). I went to 31, Turner Street, about two o'clock, and saw the prisoner there lying unconscious in the back room—therewas blood on his coat and trousers—I found on him a lady's gold watch, a gold diamond and turquoise pin, a watch-chain, a gilt half-crown brooch, a pair of gilt threepenny piece earrings, another imitation gold ring set with rubies and pearls, two cigars, a plated caddy spoon, a wedding ring, a single-stone diamond ring, a piece of wash-leather thereon, 10s. 6d. in silver and a penny, the works of a watch, an old purse, a pocket knife, an old comb, and a brass stud—after a time he was taken to the hospital, and on the morning of the 6th I had his clothes and examined them—I saw marks of blood on the left side, and sleeve of the jacket, and a few grey hairs; there was blood on the right leg of the trousers towards the back, and on the side, and on the left knee, and a quantity of blood on the left cuff of the shirt—on the 6th of April I asked the prisoner his name and address—he said, "I shan't tell you"; I said, "Where do you live?"—he replied, "I refuse to tell you; you will find that out."

JACOB MYERS . I was a step-son of the deceased man—he was crippled in both hands—I saw him on April 2nd—in consequence of a telegram I went to his house on April 4th—this gold chain belonged to my mother; my step-father used to wear it—this wedding ring belonged to my mother—mystep-father used to wear this single-stone diamond ring, which has wash-leather round it, because it was too large for him—I have seen him wear this diamond and opal pin, and a pair of eye-glasses similar to these—Mrs. Gale used to wear this brown cap when she cleaned the steps.

REBECCA BOWATER . I live at Millwall, and am the wife of Christopher Bowater—the prisoner lodged at our house up to April 4th, in the namo of William Saunders—I last saw him in the house late on the Friday evening; next morning, when I came down at eight o'clock, he had gone out—on April 7th I was taken to the London Hospital to see him—Mr. Smith, the surgeon, was present—I asked the prisoner, Was it possible he had done such a terrible crime?—he said, "I did do it"—I asked him what his motive was for doing such a thing; and he said, "Revenge"—I asked him "What revenge could you have against that poor old gentleman?"—he said, "He did me the greatest injustice that one man can do another"—I said, "Why? was that woman your wife?"—he said, "No, she was no man's wife"—the police then stopped me from talking further to him, and would not allow me to ask him any more questions.

JESSE JOSEPH BOWATER . I am son of the last witness, and live with her—theprisoner slept in my room—on April 4th I saw the prisoner; he went out between eight and nine a.m.—this knife and hammer belong to me—the hammer was kept in the coke-box to break coke; and the knife was kept with

the other knives in the kitchen-table drawer—this chisel is my father's, and was kept in the house, too.

LEWIS ALBERT SMITH . I am house-surgeon at the London Hospital—Iwas present when the prisoner had some conversation with Mrs. Bowater; at that time he was perfectly sensible.

DUNCAN ALEXANDER McCOMBIE . I am a surgeon, practising in the Commercial Road—on April 4th, at 1.40 p.m., I was called to 31, Turner Street, by the police, and was taken to the basement—I saw the dead body of Levy in the w.c.—the body was quite warm—I thought he had probably been dead from fifteen to twenty minutes at the outside—there was a large semi-circular wound in the throat; it would probably have caused death—it might appear to a lay person as having nearly cut off the head, but it was not so actually; the wound severed the wind-pipe and gullet, and one of the large arteries on the left side was divided—I saw there were a great many injuries to the head and scalp—next day I made a post-mortem examination—the lower margin of the wound in the throat was about eight inches, from end to end—I should say its direction was from right to left; it was much deeper at one side than the other; very likely such a knife as this could have caused it—some of the wounds on the scalp were contused, some were cleaner cut; they could have been produced by some blunt instrument: the door being burst open might have caused some—there were, perhaps, a dozen altogether, varying in sizfc from three-quarters of an inch to two inches, on different parts of the head—most of them appeared to have been produced by some instrument—onthe side of the head was a large lacerated wound, down to and exposing the bone, and another smaller one just at the outer side—there was an incised wound just over the left eyebrow, leading down to a compound fracture of the nasal bones—there was a partial fracture of the bones of the forehead—two ribs on the right side and four on the left side were fractured—considerable force must have been used to cause those injuries—the wound in the throat would be quite sufficient to cause death—a man could not live with such a wound; death would have ensued instantaneously.

GUSTAV MICHAEL . M.B. I practise in the Commercial Road—I was called to 31, Turner Street on April 4th, and arrived there a little after two p.m.—I examined the body of Mrs. Gale, which was lying in the front bedroom, top floor—rigor mortis was just commencing—she had been dead, I judged, at least two hours; it is impossible to state accurately—I saw she had injuries to her head, and that her throat was cut—the injuries to her head were most apparent—I made a post-mortem examination the next day; I found several injuries to the head, just such as might have been produced by this hammer—the cutting of the throat may have been done by this knife.

STEPHEN WHITE (Inspector H). On May 1st, on the prisoner's discharge from the hospital, I told him I was a police officer, and that I should take him into custody upon a charge of wilfully causing the deaths of Annie Sarah Gale and John Goodman Levy, at 31, Turner Street, on April 4th, and also for stealing a quantity of jewellery at the same time and place—he said, "Yes; very well"—at the Police-station, when the charge was read to him, he said, "Yes."

The Prisoner, when asked whether he had anything to say in his defence,

stated that he had nothing to say about the case, but that he desired to complain about a statement in a newspaper to the effect that he had previously been charged with an attempt to murder, and assault and theft, and that that statement was false.


NEW COURT.—Monday, May 8th, 1896.

Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-408
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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408. JAMES LEE (36) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a post-letter and an order for £2 9s. 8d., the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster General .— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour. And

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-409
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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409. HENRY HARRIS (44) , to Burglary in the dwelling-house of Ralph Howell, and stealing eight pairs of boots and two pairs of boot-trees, his property; having been convicted at Clerkenwell on December 7th, 1894.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

THIRD COURT.—Monday, May 18th, 1896.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-410
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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410. EDWARD GEORGE CONWAY (23) , Unlawfully uttering a counterfeit half-sovereign to Amy Lovett.

MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.

AMY LOVETT . I live at 87, Navarino Road, Dalston—on April 11th I was a waitress, and was serving at Lockhart's coffee-house, 136, Hoxton Street—the prisoner came in about 3.30 p.m., and laid this coin on the counter, and asked me if I would give him change for a half-sovereign—Isaid I would see, and took it to the manager, Mr. George, in the office—Mr. George came and asked the prisoner if he knew what the coin was, showing it to the prisoner—the prisoner said, "Yes, a half-sovereign"—Mr. George asked him where he got it from—the prisoner said he got it in his wages on the Wednesday before—I was sent for a constable, who asked the prisoner where he worked.

WILLIAM GEORGE . I am manager of Lockhart's coffee-house, 136, Hoxton Street—on April 11th Lovett came and handed me this coin, and, in consequence of what she said, I went with her and saw the prisoner, and said, "Is this your coin?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Where did you get it?"—he said, "I got it in my wages from my master"—I afterwards handed the coin to the police.

ABRAHAM MUSTON (251 G). I was called to this coffee-shop on April 11th, where I found the prisoner—Mr. George handed me this coin—Iasked the prisoner if he knew what coin it was—he said, "A half-sovereign "—Iasked him where he got the coin from—he said, "I am an outside porter at Liverpool Street Railway Station; I carried a parcel for a gentleman last Wednesday; he gave me the coin; I gave him 9s. 6d. change for it"—I searched, and found on him six foreign coins, I believe Portuguese, nothing else—he was taken to the Police-station and charged—hemade, in answer, the same statement as that he had made before, about giving 9s. 6d. change for it.

HENRY MCKENNA (Detective G). On April 11th I was at the Police-station when the prisoner was brought in and charged—he gave the address 73, Haberdasher Street, Hoxton—I went there on the evening of that day, and the landlady, Mrs. Lowman, showed me a second floor front room as having been occupied or shared by the prisoner—I found on the table this letter "A," addressed from Wisbech, and envelope "B," and this other letter "C," unopened; it had reached his room after his arrest—in a small hand-bag there I found this small bottle of liquid gold, some gold powder, a piece of sal ammoniac, tools, and a lot of things connected with a small engine—I took those things back to the Police-station, and showed them to the prisoner, and told him where they were found—he said, "Yes; I experiment a bit in chemistry."

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I only brought away these things as being material to the case.

CLARA LOWMAX . I live at 73, Haberdasher Street, Hoxton—the prisoner lodged with me from about the first week in February—a friend of his, who said he had known him for years, brought him there—the prisoner paid 2s. 3d. a week rent, and had a bed in the top front room, with some other men—on April 11th the police officer came, and I showed him the room in which the prisoner had lodged, and he opened his box and bag—the bag I knew to be the prisoner's—I saw what the constable found in the bag—I heard on that day of the prisoner's arrest—Ireceived this letter after his arrest from the prisoner; it asked me to send him some dinner.

WILLIAM GROOM , M.D. I practise at Wisbech—Mr. Godfrey Harris, who lives there, is my patient—I last saw him on Saturday—he is suffering from measles, and is quite unable to travel, or to be here to-day.

ABRAHAM MUSTOX (Re-examined). I was at the Police-court when the prisoner was charged with this offence—in his presence Mr. Harris was examined, and his deposition taken in writing, and the prisoner or his advocate had the opportunity of Cross-examining him—I saw Mr. Harris sign the deposition.

The deposition of Charles Godfrey Harris was read as folloivs: "I am an organist, of Newnham, Wisbech, Cambridge. On 21st February last I advertised in the Exchange and Mart, and received the postcard 'F.' (This, dated' from 73, Haberdasfar Street, and signed 'E. G. Conway,' asked him to send the Jubilee 6d., if it was of the first issue, and stated that he would remit 2s. 9d. by return.) On February 26th I sent by registered post a Jubilee 6d. of the first issue in this letter 'A.' (This was addressed to E. G. Conway, 73, Haberdasher Street.) I had no reply, and I then sent this letter 'C.' (Stating that if he did not receive back the Jubilee 6d. or the 2s. 6d. by Monday, he should put the matter in the hands of the police.) The coin produced is a Jubilee 6d. of the first issue, and appears to have been gilded.—CHARLES GODFREY HARRIS."

ADOLPHUS BAILEY DOWDEX . I am a warder of Her Majesty's Prison, Hollo way—on April 15th I handed this sheet of paper and envelope to the prisoner—he afterwards gave them back to me, written upon, as they are now, addressed to Mrs. Lowman—I did not see him write.

THOMAS HEXRY GURRIX . I am an expert in writing, of 59, Holborn Viaduct—I have compared this letter, addressed to Mrs. Lowman, and this

postcard "F," and I have no doubt they are in the same writing, undisguised.

WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . This is a Jubilee sixpence, of the second issue; it has been gilded over—you could gild a sixpence with this solution; this gold powder could be used for making the solution.

Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "Only what I have said. The Jubilee sixpence Mr. Harris sent me I lost; that one that is gilded over I gave 9s. 6d. change for.

The Prisoner, in a written defence, stated that a gentleman for whom he had carried a bag had given him the coin, asking for 9s. 6d. change; that he did not know it was a gilded sixpence; and that the sixpence received from Mr. Harris he had lost.

HENRY McKENNA (Re-examined). I found no other coin at the prisoner's lodgings.

GUILTY .— Two Months' Hard Labour.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-411
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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411. THOMAS MARSHALL (35) , with two other men unknown, Robbery with violence on Bernard Weber, and stealing part of his watch-chain.

MR. AITCHESON Prosecuted.

BERNARD WEBER . I am an enameller, living at 15, Osborne Street, Spitalfields—about 9.30 On May 4th, I was passing through Whitechapel, when three roughs set on me; one of them (I think the prisoner) caught me on the neck; one caught hold of my watch-chain, and broke it; the other man stood to prevent me catching the other men—I ran after the man who took my chain, when the prisoner caught me by my hands, and in about half a second the detective came and caught him—I kept my watch—I got half my chain back.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. This was outside the East London Music. Hall; it is always busy there—when the detective caught you I did not say you were not one of the three—no one was near me except you—it was done very quickly.

FREDERICK WENSLEY (Detective). On May 4th, at 9.30, I was in the Whitechapel Road—I saw the prisoner and two other men loitering about there in company—they went up to the prosecutor; the prisoner struck him at the back of the neck, one man butted him in the stomach, and the other man stole a portion of his chain—they all ran down Mary Street, a very dark thoroughfare—I chased and caught the prisoner, and took him to the station; he made no reply to the charge—the other two men got away.

Cross-examined. You ran till I got close to you, and then you stood still—the prosecutor did not say you were not the man—on the way to the station I handed you to another constable, while I went back to try and arrest the other men—I did not take the prosecutor on one side and have a talk with him at the Police-station.

The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that he heard aery of "Stop thief!" and ran, and was standing alongside tfie prosecutor when the detective came up and arrested him, and that the prosecutor said he was not the man.


The Prisoner then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in January, 1894, in the name of William Needham. Six other convictions were proved against the prisoner. He was upon licence which would not expire until January, 1897.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-412
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Miscellaneous > sureties

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412. WILLIAM TAYLOR, Unlawfully assaulting Catherine Taylor, and occasioning her actual bodily harm.

MR. OLIVER Prosecuted.

CATHERINE TAYLOR . I live at 1, Clegg Street, Shadwell, and am the prisoner's wife—I clean the offices at 27, Mincing Lane—I had left the prisoner about four weeks, because we had had a few words, and I was afraid—I was going to the offices in Mincing Lane about 6.35 on May 9th, when I met the prisoner—he said, "Where are my things?"—I said, "The landlord has got them"—the prisoner had sold a few things out of my home, and he told me to take the others and sell them—he was rather intoxicated—he is a stevedore, and had been working all night—he struck me, I don't know what with; I was in a fainting condition, and fell against the wall, and I was taken to Guy's Hospital—I cannot say if the prisoner gave me more than one blow—I walked to the hospital with a friend and a constable—I lost a lot of blood—the prisoner struck me with the wooden part of his hook—I do not wish him to be punished; I only want protection.

JOHN EVANS . I am housekeeper at 27, Mincing Lane, and live on the premises—at 6.30 a.m., on May 9th, I was at the door; I heard a scream, and went out and found Mrs. Taylor, one of my workwomen, in Mincing Lane, in the arms of a woman, streaming with blood—I called a constable, and said if the woman did not charge the prisoner I would, for his brutality—Mrs. Taylor was insensible—the prisoner was standing there; I gave him into custody.

ELIZABETH TRUEBY . I am the wife of Thomas Trueby, of 4, Queen Street, Tower Hill—on the morning of May 9th I was walking to work with Mrs. Taylor—we met the prisoner—he said to his wife, "Now I have got you," and he took this hook from under his coat and gave her four or five hard hits on the head with the iron part—it caused the blood to flow—Iheld her up, or she would have fallen—I went with her to the hospital—they were very heavy blows; he struck her with all his force.

JAMES DUNNING (877, City). On the morning of May 9th I was in Mincing Lane—a man made a motion to me, and I heard the screaming of a woman—I found the prosecutrix being held up by another woman, bleeding very much from a wound in her head—the prisoner was standing among fifty or sixty fish-porters—he came out from among them and said, "All right, governor, I shan't run away; had I used the other end, as I intended, I should have done for her"—he appeared quite sober—thewoman was in a fainting and kind of dazed condition—she said the, prisoner had struck her on the head with his hook—I took the prisoner into custody—I did not see the hook at the time; he had got it under his coat—onthe way to the station I handed him over to another constable, and took the woman to the hospital, where the matron dressed the wound—it was about one and a-half inch long; it looked like a clean cut.

The Prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, said that he had been working all night, and had had a few glasses; that, when he had done, at five a.m., and went home, he found nothing but a basket; that he did not, intend to do anything, but his temper rose, and he took his hook from his pocket and gave her a few blows.

The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that his wife had been tormenting him since Christmas, and had been away,


Twelve Months' Hard Labour, and at the expiration of that time to enter into Recognizance to keep the peace for a further period of Twelve Months, or, in the event of his failing, to enter into such Recognizances, to be imprisoned for a further period of Six Months.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-413
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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413. FREDERICK WEBB (38) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully and maliciously damaging a pane of glass, value £25, the goods of Hermann Schrader.

A constable stated that prisoner bore a bad character in the neighbourhood in which he lived.

Nine Months' Hard Labour.

OLD COURT.—Tuesday, May 19th, 1896, and two following days.

Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-414
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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414. ALBERT MILSOM (33) and HENRY FOWLER (31) were indicted for the wilful murder of Henry Smith.

MESSRS. C. F. GILL and HORACH AVORY Prosecuted; MESSRS. WOODFALL. and ABINGER Defended Milsem; and MESSRS. HUTTON and ROOTH Defended Fowler

Before the Jury were sworn MR. WOODFALL applied that the prisoners might be tried separately, on the ground that statements made by one of the prisoners would tind to prejudice the Jury with regard to the other. MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS refused the application.

FRANCIS ALLWRIGHT (Detective Y). I understand the making of planes—I made this block plan of the premises in question, known as Muswell Lodge, Muswell Hill—one plan shows the house and grounds—a red dotted line shows the position of a wire that was connected with an alarum at the back of the house—it ran from a fence to the end of a rockwork, where there was a gun—any person coming up the path would touch the wire—this other plan shows the ground floor of the house, front and back—there are two gates—one is called the tradesman's gate—at the back of the house there are a drawing-room, kitchen, and scullery—the plan shows the position of the furniture and the position of the body of the deceased, as pointed out to me by Dr. Webster—a window in the kitchen opens out into the garden at the back—the size of the kitchen is eleven feet three inches by ten feet two inches—I produce two photographs which I took of the house—there is a small window in the kitchen, three feet six incnes from the ground on the outside—I took these two photographs on the 17th of last month, after the arrest.

Cross-examined by Mr. ABINGER. There were some flower-pots standing on the outside of the kitchen window—standing outside that window, if the blind was up, you could see across the rooms to the door of the staircase.

CHARLES JOHN WEBBER . I live at Muswell Hill—I was employed as gardener to Mr. Henry Smith, at Muswell Lodge—I had been in his service ten years—he lived quite alone in the house—I occasionally assisted in the house work—he was nearly eighty years of age—his habit was to get up early in the morning—I used to get in by the front gate; Mr. Smith used to get up early to unlock that gate—he would be up as early as three in the morning in the summer, and in the winter as soon as it was light—he was a robust and active man; he worked in his garden

—it was his habit to lay the kitchen fire overnight, and to light it himself in the morning—he had no woman to clean the house—I was the only person that assisted him in the house—the garden runs down at the back of the house to what are called the Coldfall Woods, separated by a fence—since I have been there there was the alarum gun in the garden, to which a wire was attached; the wire was stretched across the garden at the back; this red dotted line on the plan shows exactly the way the wire was fixed; the gun was fixed just at the corner of the rock work—Iused to set it at night and unset it in the morning—it was set on two iron supports; you had to lift the wire from the gun, and set it on the supports; it was about two feet from the ground—the wire was set tight; if anybody ran against it the gun would go off—in the morning I should simply lift the wire off the supports and lay it on the ground, and then we used to put it into a basket and take it away—on Thursday, February 13th, I left the house about half-past five, as usual; I set the gun before I left—at that time my master was on the premises, in the house—I returned to the premises at 11.30 that night—I went to the shed to bank up the fire of the greenhouse, next to the vinery—I got in through the front gate; it was locked; I had a key—I had not to go past the wire—I did not see the wire; I don't know whether it was all right then—both the gates are front gates—I went in at the upper gate, the one nearest the vinery—I left the premises by the front gate—I should not be five minutes doing it; I left by the tradesman's gate—I did not see anyone about at the time—next morning, the 14th, I went to the house about a quarter to seven—I found the front gate still locked, that is the gate leading directly to the lodge—I unlocked the gate and knocked at the door—I received no answer—I had a key of the gate; I unlocked it—I went round to the back of the house—I saw that the small shrubs had been taken from the sill of the kitchen window—the window was shut; I saw marks on it, as if it had been prised open at the bottom by a chisel or something—I then examined the alarum gun—I found that the wire had been lifted off from the supports—the gun was in its position, and not exploded—I went back and looked through the kitchen window, and saw that there was something on the floor—I then went for Mr. Stanbrook, a neighbour; he returned with me, and went for the police—soon after, a policeman named Gobell, Dr. Webster, and Major Challen arrived—Major Challen opened the kitchen door—it was unlocked; he simply turned the handle—it was usually locked—on going into the kitchen I saw the body of Mr. Smith lying on the floor in his nightshirt, stockings, and one slipper—the door leading from the kitchen into the hall was open; it opens inwards—shortly afterwards I went with a policeman upstairs to my master's bedroom over the kitchen; that door was open—there was an iron safe in that room; that was wide open, and the drawer was pulled out—the safe stood on a pedestal about two feet high; there was a bunch of keys hanging in the lock of the drawer—the drawer had been unlocked, and the safe was quite empty—there was a tin box on the hearthrug, that was empty, and papers were strewed about the floor—the bed clothes were all in a heap, in the middle of the bed—the mattress appeared as if it had been disturbed, pulled up to see if there was anything under it—afterwards, on going into the kitchen, I saw in the sink a bull's-eye

lantern similar to this (produced), the police took possession of it—that same morning I picked up in the garden a tobacco-box; Major Challen was with me; it was by the side of the footpath leading to the wood—there is no entrance to the wood on that side, only a fence; there was some tobacco in the box—I knew nothing about that box; I do not smoke, nor did Mr. Smith, to my knowledge.

Cross-examined by MR. ABINGER. No other attempt had been made at the house in my time—I have heard of one, but not during my time.

JOSEPH ROBERT STANBROOK . I am a nurseryman, at 3, Tetherdown—I had known the deceased many years—on the morning of February 14th I was called to the place by Webber; I sent my boy for the police—I looked through the kitchen window—Major Challen then came, and he and Dr. Webster were the first to enter the house.

GEORGE CALEB CHALLEN . I live at Elm Road, Tetherdown, Muswell Hill—I am a retired major in the Volunteers—I knew the deceased in timately for about twelve years—I visited at his house—on Friday, February 14th, I was called about 7.25 a.m., in consequence of which I went at once to Muswell Lodge, where I found the gardener and Stanbrook—I looked through the kitchen window—I then opened the kitchen door, finding it unlocked—I there found the body of Henry Smith lying on the floor—the dotted line on this plan correctly represents its position, with the cross for the head—his legs were bound together at the ankles and at the knees—his hands were bound to his side—his head was bound up in pieces of rag and dusters, and the external cloth was this red table-cloth tied with string just below the chin—(a quantity of blood-stained rays were produced)—under the table-cloth the neck was tied round with a duster, and sundry pieces of rag appeared to have been placed over the mouth—rags were secured tightly over and round the nose and mouth by a towel, as if for a gag—the mouth was open, and some rag inside, but there was nothing absolutely stuffed into the mouth—on removing the rags I saw several wounds on the head—the limbs were cold, the chest just warm—soon afterwards Dr. Webster arrived, and in about two and a-half hours. Dr. Stott, the divisional surgeon—I noticed this drillbrace on the kitchen table—the drill was in it, as it is, with the exception of the cork—the kitchen cupboard was opened—I found a canvas bag, similar to this, lying on the kitchen floor, close by the deceased's head—the kitchen fire was laid, but not lighted—in the scullery adjoining I found a small basket on the floor, by the side of the pump—in it were a gold watch and chain, the watch was going, a gold-plated pencil-case, a silver pencil-case, I am not sure as to the gold seal, a gold brooch, a brooch with pearls and hair, I am not sure about the locket, a pair of gold spectacles, three gold rings, and portions of a necklace—I was with the gardener when he picked up this tobacco-box in the garden.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I assisted Dr. Webster to untie the ties round the legs—a great deal of blood was in two places on the floor—the deceased was in his nightshirt, which was removed when I was out of the room—blood was under the table, where he appeared to have fallen, and by the door, where I found him—he had been dragged from one place to the other, because the coals were dragged round with him, and were under his head when I out the ligatures—to the best of my belief, this is the bag I found.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I think I assisted to untie one ligature round the knees—I am not sure whether Dr. Webster or I untied that round the neck—Dr. Stott arrived while I was at the telegraph office—about 9.15 I returned—I telegraphed to relatives and friends—the ligatures were untied shortly after Dr. Webster's arrival.

Re-examined. I went upstairs to the front bedroom with the police, and, I think, Dr. Webster—I did not see any blood upstairs or on the way up.

By the COURT. The deceased was fairly active for his years, but moved slowly and heavily—I do not think he was sufficiently active to offer any serious resistance.

RIDLEY MANNING WEBSTER, M.D . I am a medical practitioner, of Rutland House, Muswell Hill—on February 14th I was called to Muswell Lodge, at 7.22 a.m., and arrived there at 7.37—I went round to the back, and entered the kitchen by the door from the garden—in the kitchen I found Major Challen, Mr. Stanbrook and Mr. Webber—on the floor I saw the dead body of Mr. Smith lying on his back diagonally, with his head beneath the sink, which stood behind the door—the deceased's foot was against the leg of one of the opposite tables—he was bound hand and foot—there were wraps about his head—they had been unbound before my arrival, but I stooped down and took a jack towel out of his mouth, with which he was gagged—the back of the head and chin had marks of blood upon it—these wraps (produced) were marked with blood—his lower jaw was fixed by rigor mortis; it was quite rigid—finding from that sign that he had been dead some time I lifted his legs, and found they were stiff—his fingers were clenched, and in his left hand he was grasping this string, which we had to open his fingers to pull out—this apron, with the string to it, was lying with the blood by the side of his arm—he was only attired in slippers, stockings, and this flannel dayshirt—the uncovered parts of his body were comparatively cool, but underneath it was quite warm—his ankles were bound in a duster like this, and on his legs, just above the knees, was a portion of a red figured table-cloth, such as this, which had been torn—the wrists were bound to his hips by a similar piece of table-cloth—the blood was dry on the body, except where he was lying—there was a pool of blood, in which he was lying on the left side, which soaked the wraps, a shirt, apron, and handkerchief—the knots were not unfastened till the police and divisional surgeon arrived—I thought they ought to see the position in which the deceased was, so I did not interfere, except to make a cursory examination—I saw he had a black eye, which was very much swollen up from his forehead—I wrote my note on the corner of the kitchen table, that I thought he had been dead between five and six hours—on the arrival of Dr. Stott and the inspector, I made a more complete examination, and, of course, a more complete one at post-mortem examination—en that morning I noticed he had wounds on his forehead, lacerated and some contused, and all round the left side of his head; about a dozen of them—I saw the injuries to the hands—the following Sunday, the 16th, with the assistance of Dr. Stott, I made a post-mortem examination—I have my rough notes, and a clean copy has been supplied—I said the deceased was six feet high, corpulent, weighing about seventeen stone—his body was well nourished—the riyor mortis was going off—

he was a healthy man, but I do not think he had much power, because of his excessive fat, and he had enormous hernia, reaching to his thighs, nine inches in length by seven inches in width, which would not allow him to reach about, or strain very well—his vessels were not degenerated—the wounds were done by a blunt instrument; the skin was torn—I cannot exactly say all were inflicted during life; the wounds in his knuckles gaped, and he had a simple fracture of the skull—all the wounds were on the left, from the centre of the forehead to the occipital protuberance, and it was the left eye that was black—his knucklejoints were laid open, and there was a compound fracture on the middle finger of the left hand—the wrists were very much discoloured, and the back of the left hand was very much cut and bruised—there was a out and lacerated wounds on the inner side of the thumb on the right hand, and the back of the hand and the knuckle of the middle finger swollen—the thumb, middle, and little fingers were much bruised—there were no marks on the legs of the bandages with which they were tied—the cause of death was concussion and loss of blood—I found a bruise on the opposite side of the brain to the fracture of the skull, which would come from the shaking of the brain in the skull-box—there was some blood coming from his nose—I saw marks of blood not only close to the tablet but on the fireplace, on the mantelpiece, and under the sink—on the two sides of the room where the head had been a quantity of blood was under the table and in the coal-scuttle, where there was a night-cap blood-stained—the coals had been tipped up and there was a pool of blood by the coals, a smear of blood over the coals and along the carpet, and a pool of blood under the table where the head was—in the wraps in which his head was wrapped were one or two pieces of coal—that indicated that he had fallen with his head under the table where the coal-scuttle was, and then the body had been moved across the carpet to where I saw it—I should think he lost nearly thirty ounces of blood—the wounds might have been caused by such an instrument as this jemmy—it would have required considerable force—the wounds were the result of separate blows—the inspector came a little after nine; I got there twenty-three minutes to eight—I looked into the sink to see if there was any trace of blood, but there was only a jam-pot, washings of the jam-pot, and the basin; and when I lifted up the basin the policeman said, "Here's a lantern"—that was at the corner of the sink—then I went from the kitchen into the bed-room, but found no traces of blood except in the kitchen.

Gross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Considerable strength was not necessary in blows from such a weapon as this—Major Challen had undone the string round the head to see whether he was dead—I took the towel out of his mouth, but none of the others were touched—I was there till nearly ten o'clock, nearly two hours and twenty minutes—the body was quite stiff by the time we came away—I could not say the blows were caused by one person—I did not say so at the Police-court, nor at one time—I was asked if they might have been, and I said, "Yes, they might be; of course you cannot possibly say"—they were all close together—death was only a few minutes after the last blow—I do not think he died at first, but be died rapidly afterwards, from the condition of his lung—all the blows were on the left side; there were none on the right side.

By the COURT. With this instrument it would not require great

strength to inflict those wounds—a boy could have done it. (The JURY examined the jemmy.)

HUGH STOTT . I am divisional surgeon for the Highgate Division of Police—I arrived at Muswell Lodge about 9.10 a.m. on February 14th—Inspector Lambert was there—Dr. Webster had just arrived—the bandages were still on the deceased's legs and on his hands—I made an independent examination—I untied the bandages of the hands and knees—I saw them untied about the ankles—the knot about the knees was a left-handed knot—the knot round the ankle was right-handed—I saw no blood on the knots—I assisted Dr. Webster in the post-mortem examination—judging from the amount of blood round the deceased's head, he lived an hour or so after he fell on the floor—he had fallen on the side of his face, with his head in the coal-scuttle and on the coals, and had been moved carefully from that position on his back and then tied, because the wounds on the side of his head correspond with the coals—they were marked with the coals—there was no disarrangement of the clothing, and no rubbing of blood along the floor—at the post-mortem I made a rough sketch of the wounds on the head (produced); it shows the top of the scalp—it is a bird's-eye view—as the head laid on the table I stood and drew it—you have a sight of the nose and the two eyes—there are five wounds on the forehead, seven posterior to the ear on the occipital protuberance at the back of the head. (This sketch was shown to the JURY.) The wounds on the forehead are smaller—I noticed the wounds on the hands—I formed the opinion that all the wounds were probably caused by more than one person, and while the deceased was standing.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I would say it is scarcely possible for the wounds to be caused by one man—those on the forehead and in front of the ear were inflicted in front—I do not think they would be caused by the left hand, or by striking downwards, because their direction was almost vertical from the back of the head, sideways—if given in falling, the resistance would not have been so great—that was scarcely possible; I would not say that it was utterly impossible, judging from the position—I have not heard Dr. Webster's evidence—I was not called at the Police-court—I made my report to the Inspector of Police after visiting the deceased, on February 15th—I have given another statement recently—I made my notes at the time—Dr. Webster and others were at the post-mortem.

By the COURT. The wounds at the back of the head are longer—it would be difficult for a person standing in front to inflict them—some of them extend across the head, and from the bottom of the neck upwards.

JOSEPH LAMBERT . I am police inspector at New Southgate Station—I arrived at Muswell Lodge on February 14th, about 8.50 a.m., with Dr. Stott, the divisional surgeon—I examined the premises—I found that a jemmy had been unsuccessfully used at the back drawing-room window—here are the marks on the sill-piece, which I have brought with a piece of the sash—I also found on the scullery window marks of the same jemmy, and the middle bar bent—the bars were outside—the pots had been removed from the kitchen widow, and the window had been forced from the bottom, (The sash was also produced.)

The clasp was broken off—I took possession of the bull's-eye lantern and canvas bag—T found these two pocket knives on the floor, about two feet from the deceased, with their blades open, lying between the body and the fireplace; also some bread, and a basin of ground cheese on the floor—the loaf had been cut—this drill brace was on the table behind the door—the key of the door leading into the passage to the stairs was on the outside or hall side—there were three marks on the kitchen side of the door, made with this drill brace—this other one would also fit—the look was intact—the door was unlocked—the leg of the kitchen table was broken, and bulged in under the table—the safe was open and empty, except that there was a photograph in it, on the carpet, in front of the fireplace—in a bedroom I found a wedding ring, a silver penknife, a silver pencil-case, an open tin japanned cash-tax, containing a two-shilling piece, a threepenny-piece, a fourpenny-piece (Normandy money), and under the safe I found this empty canvas money-bag (a second bag)—I saw the basket with jewellery in it that was found in the scullery—I saw marks of scratches on the back fence, as though a person had climbed over, and some mud on the middle bar, as though a person had put his foot on it—in the tradesmen's entrance I saw some mud on the centre rail, and some scratches—at the back of the garden, towards the woods, I saw footprints of two men—one was a large boot with very broad tread, without nails; the other was a smaller boot with pointed toes, without nails—following the marks, I formed the opinion the men had climbed the fence at the back into Coldfall Woods—I saw this hand gun in position, but the wires removed—it was lying about three inches-from the ground—I made a careful search, but found no traces of blood except in the kitchen—the same day Inspector Marshall examined the place.

HUGH STOTT (Re-called) pointed out the piece of the red table-cloth that bound the knees of the deceased, and added; "This is a portion of a table-cloth which has been torn up—it appears to have been cut across, not with scissors, but with a knife—similar knives to these would do it—this duster was on the floor—these other portions appear to have been cut in the same way, giving them the same jagged ends at both ends."

MARY BLAND . I am the widow of John George Bland, and niece of the deceased—I visited him occasionally at Muswell Lodge—he was a widower, of seventy-nine years of age—he had money invested and some property, for which he received rents—ho had no occupation, but had been a gas engineer—from my acquaintance with him at the house, I know he was in the habit of keeping money in his safe in the bedroom—the two diaries produced are his writing—these two warrants for £43 9s. 1d. each on the Bank of England are signed by him; also these five dividend warrants, amounting to £49 10s. 10d.—in the diary is an entry of August 1st, 1895, recording the receipt by him of £49 10s. 10d., and another, of November 8th, 1895, recording the receipt of £86 18s. 2d., both his writing.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. The house was my uncle's; he built it himself.

By the COURT. These pieces of red cloth are portions of the kitchen table-cloth; it was always in use over the tables.

ERNEST GARDNER . I am assistant accountant in the Bank of England—I produce five dividend warrants for £49 10s. 10d., which were paid at

the Bank on August 1st last in coin—on November 8th following I gave £86 18s. 2d. for these two warrants—I am under the impression it was to an elderly gentleman—the name was Henry Smith.

JOHN IFFER . I live at Bow Road—I am a baker—I have known the deceased for many years—I used to visit at his house—he was in the habit of keeping money in his safe in the bedroom—these two pocket knives produced by Lambert were Mr. Smith's—this one was used for taking the grass out of the path, for weeding in the garden, and sometimes this one—I have seen him use both of them—they were kept on the kitchen mantelshelf, and when he went in the garden he generally took one with him.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I have seen silver, but not gold, in his safe—at the Police-court I was asked about a trinket—this one is similar to that possessed by Mr. Smith.

KATE ALICE GOOD . I live at Porter's Green—I know Tetherdown Lane, and where Muswell Lodge is—on Tuesday, February 11th, I was walking in Tetherdown Lane—the prisoners came behind me, and one said, "I beg your pardon, madam; can you tell me where Coldfall Woods are?"—I said I could not; I did not know where they where—they then asked me if there was any entrance from the backs of the houses into Coldfall Woods—I said I could not tell them—they asked if there was a good train service late at night at Muswell Hill Station—I said I could not tell them, as Muswell Hill was a very out-of-the-way station, and the trains ran very infrequently—I am under the impression I next saw them at Paddington Station on February 17th—I identified them at Highgate Police-court, Coldfall Hall.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I believe Milsom was dressed in dark clothes—I am not sure whether he had an overcoat—on April 22nd I did not know I was going to identify the prisoners—I had been asked to go and identify a roan I had seen outside Mr. Smith's house—I had given a description of him—I did not know he had any connection with this case—I did not see that man, but I saw the prisoners—I had seen an account of the outrage—I had not read a description of the men who had been apprehended—I had not read an account of the capture—I had heard of it indirectly—the men spoke to me very civilly.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. The men were speaking to me five or six minutes—I did not take much interest in the capture of the prisoners—I did not read the details—Inspector Marshall called me to the room, and said, "If you see anybody there you know, say so at once; don't be afraid," or words to that effect—I saw the men in a row—I do not know that the prisoners looked serious, but I knew them perfectly—I cannot recollect if Fowler was bandaged, or had plaister on his face—I believe the prisoners were bare-headed—the police called when I was out with a message that they would take it as a kindness if I could see a sandy-haired man—I do not recollect the day—I saw the prisoners on a Paddington platform—I had spoken about a sandy-haired man who was carrying a blue bag—I told the police I had seen him looking at Mr. Smith's house—that was before the 17th—at Coldfall Hall I said, "I have seen those two men before"—I said that out loud, but not to anyone in particular.

Re-examined. I was going on a journey from Paddington, about twelve in the day, when I saw the prisoners.

ELLEN ROSAMOND WHEATON . I am the wife of Peter Wheaton, living at The Croft, Muswell Hill—on February 13th, about ten a.m., I was out for a walk in the Colney Hatch Lane, about twenty minutes from Muswell Lodge, when I met two men going towards the lodge—one, who was tall, had an expression I did not like—on April 22nd I identified Fowler at Coldfall Hall—I do not think Milsora is the other man.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I had spoken to several people about it, and an inspector called on me to go and identify the men I had seen—I had not spoken to Miss Good about them—I know her—my children go to her mother's school—I saw her, but did not go in the hall to identify the men at the same time—I have not heard her evidence—I have taken some interest in this alarming offence, as we were on neighhourly terms with Mr. Smith—I have read some of the details, as my husband brings home the Echo—I heard of the fight with the police at Bath, and that Fowler was knocked about—I saw about twenty men at Coldfall Hall, standing away from the wall in a half circle—I do not know how Fowler was looking, but as scon as I saw his face I knew him—he had that funny look that I was frightened at in the lane—I cannot say he was looking serious—Milsom might have been there, but I did not notice him—I think Fowler was white in the face—he looked pale—I did not notice bruises on his face—I think he had his cap on—I had seen no pictures of him.

HENRY MILLER . I shall be sixteen next birthday—up to some time in March last I was living with my mother at 133, Southam Street, North Kensington—Milsom married my sister Emily—since last summer they have been living at 133, Southam Street, with their two children—we all lived and slept in one room—I knew Fowler as "Bunny"—he came there to see Albert Milsom since Christmas—he stopped in the room and talked with Albert; he came at all times—I never saw them go out together—"I bought a bull's-eye lantern one day since Christmas at Cookson's, at the post-ottice in Coldbourne Road—the glass was red and green; it would turn so as to show a red or green light—there was some varnish on the bull's-eye, and I rubbed some sand-paper on it to move it, because it smeared the glass—I lit it; it burned paraffin oil—there was no wick when I bought it—I made a wick off some stuff my sister was making child's frocks out of; it burnt all right—I had to put a bit of a penholder round it, because it flared too much—it made it higher, it kept the flame further off the oil—when I went to get it, it was gone—I lit it every night out in the street—I broke the green glass—I kept it on the dresser—I took it out generally about eight or nine in the evening to play with; other boys had got them, too—I missed it at night, when I was going to take it out; it was gone from the dresser; that was between eight and nine—I had seen it that day on the dresser—I spoke to my mother about it; she was at home—I never saw it again till Marshall and Nutkins showed it to me; they asked me some questions—this is the lantern—this is the stuff I made the wick out of—this is the bit of penholder that I put on—this green glass is broken—here is where I used the sand-paper—Albert did not sleep at home the night I missed the lantern—he came in in the morning, about seven o'clock—he was dressed—I was in bed—he called me up—you could get in the house any time by turning the door-handle—I got up when he called me—I used to work next door—I helped

a tailoress—the Saturday after that I went with Albert Milsom to a clothes shop in the Harrow Road, to buy some clothes for myself—he bought a black overcoat, a black cap, and a waistcoat, and some striped trousers—he paid for them—I saw four gold pieces in his hand—I carried the new clothes home—I left Albert in the Harrow Road—my sister, his wife, was with him—he came back that Saturday, and dressed himself in new clothes—he had new brown boots—I believe the old clothes were left in the room—I never saw them afterwards—Fowler came into the room that morning, dressed in a new, long, black curly overcoat—he had new brown boots—I did not see Albert's brother Fred that day—he used to come once or twice—the next day Albert said of the lantern, "It very nigh caught us on fire"—I told the police Albert told me to say I had broken the lantern in dusting it, to anybody who asked me—Albert was at home on the Sunday morning—I did not see him afterwards—he did not come back—he left his wife and two children in the house—he came and fetched his wife and the two children on the Monday fortnight—that was before the police saw me—when Albert left on the Sunday my sister had some money—Albert smoked—I have seen him use a tobacco box like this one—when the police came I made a statement to them.

Cross-examined. They have been taking care of me since then.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Before Albert bought the new clothes he had a light brown overcoat and trousers.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I worked at Greenwood's all day—I went there the morning Albert told me it was time to go—on the Saturday I saw Fowler before I went—I sometimes went before eight, and sometimes before nine.

ELIZABETH MILLER . I formerly lived at 133, Southam Street—I occupied a room there—my daughter and her husband, the prisoner, Albert Milsom, came there, I took them in and their two children—the boy, Henry Miller, is my son—I know Fowler; he came to my place, he was quite an annoyance there—he came there to see Milsom—I remember on a Sunday Milsom going out, and not coming back—I don't know whether it was in February—I knew he was going away on the Sunday; he told me he was going to get a country job—I remember his having on a new suit of clothes; he had them on the Saturday before the Sunday—I saw Fowler in a new suit of clothes on the Friday—when Milsom went away his wife and the two children remained with me—when Milsom got the new clothes, I sold his old coat in the rag bag; he had had it twelve months ago—his brother, Fred, had the coat he had been wearing up to the time he had the new clothes—he had two coats—the one I sold was a brown overcoat—I tore it up before selling it—I sold it because I was hard up for a penny, and put it in the rag bag—that was seven weeks ago, a week after Milsom went away—the police had not been to the house before that—the trousers he had been wearing, I sold with the coat, all together, they were torn up, too, at the same time as the coat; he left them off two or three months ago; I put them both in the rag bag—Milsom afterwards came back one Sunday, and took away his wife and children; that was eight months ago last Monday—he stopped all night on the Sunday, and took them away on the Monday morning—I made a dress for one of the children; this (produced) is the skirt; I had not stuff enough to finish it; this is

part of the dress—I afterwards pawned it for a shilling—I was then living, at 133, Southam Street—when you pawn things they never ask you for any address; they put anything on the ticket—I gave the ticket to Inspector Marshall. (The ticket bore the name of Edward Harvey, of Kensal Road, Paddington, pawnbroker, etc.; the date of the pawning was March 28, in the name of Emma Milsom, 8, Kensal Road.)

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I do not remember reading anything about the murder—nobody came to the house about it on the following Monday—it was Inspector Marshall who came first; that was on Good Friday, a fortnight afterwards.

FREDERICK FOWLER . I am a coal-porter; the prisoner Fowler is my brother—I read of the Muswell Hill murder in the paper on the following Monday—I had seen my brother on the previous Friday; in the afternoon I noticed that he had a new coat on, and a pair of brown boots—he gave me half a crown that afternoon, nothing else—I afterwards pawned a pair of boots at Harvey's, the pawnbroker, in Kensal Road—these (produced) are the boots—my brother gave them to me on the following Sunday—I did not see him after that Sunday—I can't say that he was in the habit of wearing brown boots; I never remember seeing him in brown boots except these ones.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALT. I should not like to say I had not seen them before the Friday—he might have had them before—he told me he was in the habit of sleeping at common lodging-houses; I don't know where he was lodging, except from what he told me; I had no convenience for him.

Re-examined. He breakfasted with me on the Sunday morning, the last time I saw him; he sometimes came to breakfast with me in the morning.

EDWIN THOMAS NEVILL . I am a clothier, of 622, Harrow Road—on the morning of February 14th a man came to my shop, and purchased an overcoat, a jacket and vest, and pair of trousers; they came to about 50s.; he paid for them in gold; I think it was two sovereigns and a half-sovereign—he gave no name or address—he took them away with him—I believe it was Fowler—as he was going out he said his mate wanted some clothes, and he would send him to me—that same afternoon Milsom came; he had a lady and a boy with him—I think he mentioned that his mate had sent him—he bought a suit of clothes and an overcoat—I think he gave me three sovereigns; it was in gold, and I believe I gave him 8s. 6d. in change—the woman and the boy left with him; they gave the boy the clothes to carry.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I did not observe anything suspicious about the man who came in the morning; he came in as an ordinary customer, and paid cash—we do not ask any name or address if they pay cash.

SELINA WADDELL . I am the wife of Robert Waddell, of 62, St. Peter's Road, Bow—Albert Milsom is my nephew—on Sunday, February 16th, about half-past two, he came to my house—I had not seen him for about three years—I was just sitting down to dinner—I did not quite know him, not having seen him for such a long time—he said he had a friend with him; might he ask him in? I looked on the step, and said, "Yes, ask him in," and Fowler came in—Milsom introduced him as Mr. Jarvis

—Milsom said that he was going abroad, and he had come to bid me good-bye—I asked them to join me at dinner, and they did so—I asked Milsom if he was going to take his wife with him—he said, No, but as soon as he got a place abroad he was going to send for her—they stayed all day till tea-time; they went out once or twice, or three times; I did not take much notice—after tea Milsom asked me if I would let him remain the night; I consented, and for Fowler also—during the evening Milsom said he had written to his mother to come to see me, and to bring his wife with her, and they should not go away till the evening train—I think he said they were going to Australia; but I could not be positive—before they went to bed that night each of them took a revolver out of his pocket—they were like these (produced)—I did not go near enough to examine them; they were put in my daughter's room—I asked them what they wanted them for; I was rather alarmed to see them—they said, "Don't be afraid; we always have to carry these things when we go abroad"—I think it was Milsom that said that—next day my sister, Milsom's wife, came to the house, and the children and Milsom's father and mother—he bade his father and mother good-bye, and they left about three in the afternoon—as they were going I said to his wife, Would she like to see her husband to the station, and I would mind the children while she went?—of course she was pleased to go—it was after dinner that they went, about half-past two; the two children and Milsom and his wife and Fowler went away together—I did not see them again till I saw them in custody—his wife came back and stopped the night.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. They did not tell me that the revolvers had been purchased on the previous day.

FREDERICK MARRINGTON . I am manager to Mr. Thompson, pawnbroker, High Road, Kilburn—on Saturday, February 15th, I sold these two revolvers and fifty cartridges to two men; the price was 23s.—I did not take sufficient notice of the men to recognise them again; the two came together—the cartridges were similar to those produced.

THOMAS YOUNG . I am a pawnbroker, of 277, Kensal Road—this coat and waistcoat (produced) were pledged at my shop on March 6th for 7s., in the name of Lander, by a woman—I produce the ticket, and this is the duplicate—it was a woman I knew by sight—I afterwards saw her at Highgate, when the inquiry on the case was going on.

ROBERT POCOCK . I am assistant to Edward Harvey, pawnbroker, of 31, Westbourne Park, Kilburn—this bundle of things was pawned on March 26th by Ann Milsom, and on March 26th these boots were pledged in the name of Ann Fowler for a shilling.

FREDERICK MILSOM . I am a painter, and live at 82, Southam Street—the prisoner, Albert Milsom, is my brother—on Friday, February 14th, I read in the papers an account of the murder at Muswell Hill—during the earlier part of that week I had seen my brother in the company of Fowler on the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday—in the early part of the week my brother was wearing a brown overcoat—he had got it on the Tuesday evening or Wednesday, I could not be sure which—he taught the ticket of a friend of mine—I don't think I saw the prisoners together on the Thursday; I did on the Friday evening, at the Warwick public-house, in Southam Street—my brother lived at 133, Southam Street—he told me he had a brown overcoat down home, and if I liked to go and get

it, I should have it—Fowler said, "There is a pair of trousers of mine you can have at Albert's place"—I noticed that they both had on new brown boots—my brother said he had met a good man who had plenty of money, and he was going away—I left them in the public-house, and went to 133, and got the overcoat and trousers, and when I got back to the public-house they wtere gone—next afternoon (Saturday) I saw them together in the Goulbourne Road—my brother said to Fowler, "That coat and waistcoat that is down at my place, let Fred get it; it will be safer to put with yours, and I can square it up with you, and Fred can square it up with my missus"—I went to Southam Street, and found the coat and waistcoat there, and took them away—these (produced) are they; they were pawned on March 6th, at Mr. Young's, by my mother, for 7s, in the name of Lander, and she handed me the ticket—a week or a fortnight afterwards I gave my brother's wife the 7s.—the overcoat my mother gave me I wore for some time afterwards, up to the time that Burrell, the detective, spoke to me, the day before I left it off, and the trousers, that Fowler gave me also—I never saw Inspector Marshall until the day before—Burrell came and told me. that the inspector wanted to see me—mybrother told me on the Saturday that he was going away, I did not know when—I saw him on Saturday, February 24th; I did not know that he was going that day I afterwards knew that he had gone—after he had gone I saw some police officers in Southam Street, making inquiries, and I had some conversation with my brother's wife—she gave me a letter and £2 to take to my brother; that was on February 24th, the some morning as my child was born—there was an address on the letter, "14, Chichester Street, Liverpool"—I sent a telegram to that address, and went there, and got there at 5.30; I saw the landlady of the house, and in the kitchen I saw Fowler and my brother Albert—I gave the letter to my brother; he read it himself, and said he wanted money—Fowler asked me if any body had been inquiring for him—I said, "No"—he said, "They only want me for failing to report myself"—one of them, I cannot say which, asked me, Did I hear anything about a job that was done at Harlesden?—Isaid "No"—my brother wentdown to Liverpool, with a wantof money—hedid not say anything about what it cost to come down—I stayed there that night; I slept in the kitchen—I got their breakfast next day—I went into the room where they were sleeping, and gave it them in bed—fowlergot up after breakfast; my brother stayed in bod; I afterwards made the bed—I noticed a revolver under the pillow—they slept in the same bed—my brother got up while I made the bed, and then he got back again; he was queer—I asked them what the revolvers were for, and they said all travellers would have them—I spent the day there; it was Tuesday—in the afternoon I went out for a walk with Fowler to lime Street—a female was in his company—he went to a dentist's there, and had four moulds done for his teeth—I went home on the Wednesday; before going my brother gave me a message for his wife, that he had no more money to send her, and he would soon be home—I knew before I went to Liverpool that the police were making inquiries at Southam Street—Idid not speak to my brother about that while I was there—I did not know what was in the letter; it was fastened down by gum—I left them there, and came back and saw his wife—I afterwards got a letter from my brother—I remember his coming one night to my mother's house in

Goulbourne Gardens; he did not stay there that night—he came out with me and went to his mother in-law's house; that was two weeks after I had been to Liverpool—he told me he had come from Bristol, and he said he was going to Bristol, and then up to Scotland—I saw him on the Sunday evening; he took his wife and two children with him—I saw them off; I took the tickets for them to Bristol on the Monday—I afterwards got a letter from him, which I lost—that was the last time I saw him until I saw him in custody in Holloway—at the time I got the overcoat and trousers my brother gave me a hat; it was a new one, a common one; he had worn it; it was a hard felt hat, more like a compo; this is it; I broke it on Good Friday evening—I afterwards gave it up to the police with the other things—on Thursday, April 23rd, after the second hearing before the Magistrates at Highgate, I went and saw my brother at Holloway—he asked me whether I had the coat and waistcoat that I had of Fowler—I told him I had pledged them—he told me to hand the ticket over to Inspector Marshall or Inspector Nutkins; to take notice of the front of the coat where it had been washed—I did so—on arriving from Holloway I met Mr. Marshall and Mr. Nutkins, and handed the ticket to them—on April 27th I went again to Holloway, and saw my brother; on that occasion he said to me, "I am going to make a statement, and I wish to see Inspector Marshall and Inspector Nutkins about the charge that he was concerned with"—I can't say the exact words; there were so many people talking; as near as I can nay, it was the crime that he was concerned in—he said, "Fowler killed the old man, and I begged and prayed of Fowler to save the old man's life; I ran away, and Fowler ran after me; he ran away from the room, and Fowler fetched him back, and Fowler went and done the robbery"—I don't remember anything further that he said to me on that occasion.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. There were a number of people there, and there was a noise going on when he said these words to me—I cannot say whether anyone else heard what he said; I was the only person there to visit him—I did not write down what he said—I first told what he said to Inspector Nash, at Westbourne Park Station, the same morning, after I left Holloway—the noise and confusion flurried me a bit—I could not be sure whether he said, "I saw a light under the door"—he was upset.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. He told me that he begged and prayed Fowler to save the old man's life—I could not say whether he said he ran out of the house, or out of the room—I may have said before the Magistrate that he said he ran out of the house—he said that Fowler ran after him and pulled him back—he asked me to go and tell the police—I was not in Court this morning when Mrs. Miller gave her evidence—I think it was before I went to Liverpool that the police first came to Southam Street—it may have been a week before, or a wepk after, I could not be sure; I believe it was before I went to Liverpool; it may have been a week or two weeks after the burglary, I could not say—I was at work; I only go by what I was told; I know nothing about it myself, only by reading the paper, and what his mother told me after I had come back from Liverpool—I did not notice any blood on the overcoat my brother gave me.

WILLIAM SINCLAIR . I am a public entertainer—I go from place to

place, giving some form of entertainment—in February, this year, I was at Cardiff with my wife, giving entertainments—on the 26th or 27th the two prisoners were present—two or three days after the show was over I met them repeatedly, and they said they would like to go into the show business; they said they had been abroad; they did not name any stated place—they said they had some little funds which they would like to expend in some kind of business—they appeared to be in possession of a certain amount of money, nothing extraordinary, but they appeared to be well provided—I saw gold in their possession—it was arranged that they should join me upon sharing terms—they gave their names as Taylor and Scott—Milsom was Taylor—I can't answer for the date we left Cardiff; it was on the Tuesday we went from there to Newport, and remained there some days, giving a show; from there we went to Pontypool, and from there to Bristol, where we remained a fortnight—while there Milsom went to London, and brought back his wife and two children—we stayed at Bristol till March 10th, and then went from there to Swindon—there was then, I believe, an alteration in their names to Stevenson and Walsh—Fowler was Walsh—on Sunday, April 5th, we went to Chippenham, and that same night, at eleven at night, we went to Bath; we travelled at night, and stayed in the room at the station, and were at Bath next day, Easter Monday—we took a room there, at 36, Monmouth Street—up to that time we had been very unsuccessful—they had been sharing the expenses—soon after they joined me I noticed that they carried revolvers—one of them was pledged at Bath; there was a deficiency of money, and it was pledged to refund the firm—I was in the room at the house in Monmouth Street on April 26th, when the arrest was made—up to that time I did not know either of the prisoners as Milsom or Fowler.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I never knew what money they had—I saw them with money—I was not supposed to know how much they had; I saw them put their hands in their pockets and take out money; I saw them with a handful of money, consisting of copper and silver, or whatever it might be, and gold it might have been—I said before the Magistrate, as I say now, that I had seen Fowler with three or four coins; for what I knew, he had gold with them in his possession—we had bad luck; we had takings, of course; we shared in the takings—I have occasionally seen Fowler excited when he had had drink.

WILLIAM BURRELL . I am a plain clothes constable in the X Division—in January this year, from instructions, I kept Milsom under observation from time to time—in February I saw him in company with Fowler up to the 12th—on Sunday, the 16th, I saw them again—I then saw an alteration in their dress; they were then in dark clothes, long coats and hard felt hats; that was on Tarlton Bridge, Westbourne Park; they were standing together; that was the last time I saw them until the arrest—in the meantime I was making inquiries, and reporting the result to my inspector—I was one of the officers that went to Bath on 12th April, and I recognised the two prisoners going into the house in Monmouth Street—I recognised them as Milsom and Fowler, before the house was raided—after they had gone in Marshall and the other officers entered; subsequently, after the arrest was made, Milsom was in my custody—at the Police-station, at Bath, on the night of

the 12th, Milsom addressed me, and said, "Mr. Burrell, what have they brought Emily here for" meaning his wife, "as she can't help what I have done?"—she had also been arrested—I said, "You will be told presently" he then said, "Who put you on to this job?" I said I had found it out myself; he said, "Oh, no, you didn't; it was that light-headed little b—"—that was all that was said at that time—the brown overcoat, trousers and broken felt hat, produced, I obtained from Frederick Milsom.

Cross-examined by MR. BUTTON. This conversation happened in the room—two or three officers of the local police and an inspector were present; no one that is here—he had not been told the charge at that time; he was first charged with murder at Highgate—I was present when he was charged, also Marshall and Nutkins—I did not hear him then say, "God forbid that I should take the life of anyone."

HENRY MARSHALL . I am Chief Inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department, Scotland Yard—on the morning of February 14th information was received at Scotland Yard with regard to the burglary and murder at Muswell Hill—I was instructed to put myself in communication with the local police there—that same morning I went and made a careful examination of the premises—I have heard Lambert's description of what he found—I confirm what he has said with regard to the condition of the premises—from that date I was engaged with other officers, especially with Inspector Nutkins in the investigation of the matter, and in consequence of what I learnt from time to time, up to March 28th, I was in active pursuit of the two prisoners—on April 9th I went to 133, Southam Street, and went into the room there occupied by Mrs. Miller, and with her found there, in a teapot, a pawn ticket—I went with it to the shop of Mr. Harvey, and there saw the bundle that had been pledged, including the child's frock—the police had been in possession of the lantern found in the sink at the house at Muswell Hill from the time the murder was discovered—I examined that lamp carefully—I purchased a lamp at the shop mentioned by the boy, Henry Miller, in Goulbourn Road; I produce it; it has upon it marks of varnish—inside it there is a red and green glass, so that a red or green light can be shown—the wick of that lantern is much shorter than the one the boy had—that lamp was sold without wick or oil—the lamp found at Muswell Hill had on it part of a pen-holder put on it by the boy; that lengthens the burner very much—there was a wick in that lamp; I examined it, and compared it with the dress material that I found at the pawnbroker's, and it is precisely the same; the piece used as wick is discoloured—I tried the effect of a similar wick cut off the gown piece, and found it discoloured in the same way, but not quite so much, as it had not been so long in use—I traced the two prisoners from Swindon, Chippenham, and other places on to Bath, and ascertained that they were staying at 36, Monmouth Street—I kept observation on that house on Sunday, the 12th—I had with me Nutkins, Burrell, and other officers, who could identify the prisoners, and about eleven on Sunday night I saw the two prisoners, with Sinclair and two women, go into the house—I had found out the room thoy occupied there—I waited outside till they had got into the front room first floor—I saw they were in, from the light in the window—I knew that they had been in possession of revolvers—I had with ine Sergeant Smith, of the

Bath Police—lie crept up first to see if the door was fastened—as soon as he found that the dcor was not fastened we went up with a rush into the room—Nutkins and Smith, I think, were the first that got in, and I followed with Burrell—Nutkins shouted "Hands up," and I shouted that we were police—Nutkins made for Milsorn, someone made for Sinclair, and I made for Fowler—the room was very poorly lighted, quite a simple gleam of a lamp—we could not see very much—I seized Fowler, and another officer or two seized him almost instantly—he became most desperate—he aimed a blow which caught me across the top of the hat I was wearing, and smashed it, and I think I smashed his—there was a general row—he nearly swayed some of us down—I drew my revolver, and struck him across the head with it—Nutkins presented a loaded revolver—that seemed to have no effect, and as a last resort, I struck him with an unloaded revolver, I think two or three times, that caught his forehead—he fell down eventually, and we got the handcuffs on him—search was made for revolvers, and one was found—we tried to search him—we were afraid he had got it in his pocket; but he had not, it was at the head of the couch—this (produced) is it; it was loaded with these six cartridges—we then took him from the house on a stretcher, assisted by the Bath police, to one of the hospitals, where the wound on his forehead was attended to by the medical gentleman—he was detained there for the night up to about three that afternoon, and was then taken to the Bath Police-station, where I told him what he would be charged with—I had visited him at the hospital earlier in the morning, and told him who I was, and at the station I told him the charge—I first cautioned him, and told him that anything he might say I should have to give in evidence against him—I told him the charge on which I had arrested him was for burglariously breaking and entering Muswell Lodge, Tetherdown, Muswell Hill, during the night of February 13th last, and murdering the occupier, Mr. Henry Smith; I said, "You will be charged with being concerned with Milsom in this occurrence"—he said, "I did not; I was not along of the man; I do not know anything about it; I was not with Milsom; I was at a lodging-house at Kensal Town, and I am innocent of the charge"—I then said to him, "We are most anxious to do what is right and fair in this matter, and if you care to give me the address and name of the people with whom you were staying on that night, I will take good care to call them up on your behalf"; he then said, "I do not know the name of the lodging-house, or the people; I thought you wanted me for not reporting"—I said that I did want him for that offence, too, but that was a minor charge; and "I am rather surprised that you should have shown such a desperate resistance, as you thought that—he said, "I was in beer"—with assistance I brought them both to London that afternoon—the case was first heard against them before the Highgate magistrates on the 14th—on that day I gave evidence, not only as to the arrest, but as to the circumstances surrounding the crime—they were remanded to the 22nd—the boy, Henry Miller, was then examined with regard to the two prisoners being together, and about the lantern—after that hearing, the pawn-ticket relating to the jacket and waistcoat was handed to me by Fred Milsom, and they have been produced—they were subsequently submitted to Dr. Stevenson—I had the sill and frame of the drawing-room window cut out, and the scullery-window taken out,

and they were produced yesterday—the case was remanded from April 22nd to the 29th—on the 28th I received a letter from Milsoin; it is annexed to the depositions—this is it—Read: "To Mr. Marshall, Chief Inspector, Scotland Yard, from Holloway Prison, Holloway, April 27th, 1896.—If you can kindly call and see me to-morrow, I shall be much obliged, as I should like to make a statement with regard to this dreadful case which I am now under charge with.—Yours truly, A. Milsom"—in consequence of that letter I went with Inspector Nutkins to the prison on the 28th, and there saw Milsom—I said to him, "I have come to see you in response to this letter you have sent me"—I held the letter in my hand—he said, "You are too late; I have just made a statement to my solicitor, and instructed him to take it to the Treasury. He has gone on there with it. It is hardly worth while making two"—I said, "Very well; it is a matter for you; I am here to write down anything you may wish to state"—he again said he had already made one, and I was preparing with Nutkins to leave; where upon he said that he might as well make the statement to us as well—I then sat down at the table, and reduced to writing exactly what he said, first writing down the conditions upon which the statement was made, which I read over to him before he started on his statement—then I took down his story precisely, as he told it, word for word—when I had finished read it over to him, and he signed it—when he had signed it: I said, "If you do not mind I should like you to initial every sheet; so that there shall be no mistake about it, and he initialled every sheet. Read: "H.M. Prison, Hollowav, April 28th, 1896.—I, Albert Milsom, now under remand in the above prison for being concerned, with Henry Fowler, in the murder of Mr. Henry Smith at Muswell Lodge, Muswell Hill, during the night of 13th February last, after having been cautioned that anything I may say may be given in evidence against me, and also told that no promise or hope whatever can be held out to me, do hereby voluntarily desire to make a statement about the crime, and request that it be put forward, and read to the proper authorities. "That is what I wrote before the statement was made. "In the first place, I wish to say that I had nothing to do with the killing of Mr. Smith at all. I never put a hand on him, and wasn't in the room. Fowler came to my place about eight o'clock on the night of the 13th February, at 133, Southam Street. Fowler said, 'I have had a look round with another man who done a lagging with me, and he pointed out several places. There is one place especially, where an old miser lives. You know what them people are. Any little hole or corner they put their money in. We might find something there. Will you come?' After a lot of persuasion, I said, 'Yes' He said, 'Have you got a bit of candle?' I said, 'No.' Fowler, on turning round, saw the lantern on the dresser. I said, 'That belongs to my little brother-in-law,' meaning Harry Miller. Fowler said, 'We will take that, it won't throw the reflections so.' We then went to Kilburn, had a drink with three or four of Fowler's mates, and he asked them the best May to get to Muswell Hill. I don't know their names, but two of them had been with him at Dartmoor. We then went to a station near there (I think, Kilburn), and he took tickets to a station near Muswell Hill. After arrival there, we went to a public-house (corner house), and had a drink, and then Fowler and I went straight to the deceased's

premises. Fowler got over the front gate, and I followed. It was the first gate we came to. All of a sudden Fowler pushed me and said, 'Be careful, there are electric bells here; we shall be surrounded by the police.' He said,'Step over.' We then crept to the lawn, where there are a group of shrubs in the centre. We lay there for about an hour. Then Fowler said, 'We will get to work.' With that, we got up and tried the drawing-room window, but it would not yield to Fowler's strength. Then we tried a little window that opened, but it was found to have bars, and prevented our entrance there. We then went to the next window, and took all the flower-pots down. Fowler putting the chisel under the window, it gave way; Fowler then got in, and had scarcely been there a second—I was outside, and see a light coming down the stairs that showed under the crack of the door. I said, 'Bunny, out you come, as there is somebody coming down the stairs.' But he stood his ground, till the key was turned and the door opened. I made a run for the front entrance, and scarcely got there before I heard shouts of 'Police!' 'Murder!' I stood for some minutes, trembling, thinking I should be surrounded by police. I looked this way and that way, and also up at the windows, and saw no lights, to give me suspicion they had heared anything; and, seeing no police, I thought nobody could have heard the cries. I then crept back and saw Fowler standing at the back door. He was covered with blood—his face, coat, and hands. I said, 'Good God, Fowler! What have you done?' He said, 'It is outing do's. And it's all through you, you cur, for leaving a man on his own.' I said 'I am surprised at you, who brags about your strength, to kill an old man.' With that he raised his hand to strike me. I said,'If that's your game, I'm off. 'He cooled down, and said, 'Oh well; it's no good crying. Stop there! I'll go upstairs, and see if I can find any money.' He came down after some time, with a watch and chain and some jewellery. He said, 'I have found the "Peter,"' meaning the safe, 'and the key in the old man's trousers.' He said, 'I won't take the jewellery, in case of detection.' Fowler then washed himself, and rubbed the blood off his coat with the towel in the kitchen. We then crept to the same place as I told you, in the centre of the lawn, and buried the tools, which are a brace, a worm-bit, chisel and screw-driver. After a lapse of a few minutes we made for the woods. Creeping about, we came to a tree or stump of a tree, and sat there three or four hours, waiting for six o'clock, when the police would be scarce, thinking of escaping detection. We came out on to the same path as we went on, then walked all the way home through Kilburn. Fowler wore my brown coat to hide his blood-stained clothes. We got as far as Goldbourne Road, near home. He said he would go to his brother's to breakfast, and see me in a couple of hours' time. I went home, 133, Southam Street, and went to bed. Fowler called on me about ten o'clock in the morning, and had a parcel under his arm that contained new clothes. He said, 'Send the missus out, so that I can change my clothes.' She went out while he done so, leaving his old clothes at my place. Fowler then gave me £50, and said, 'That's more than some would give you after leaving a man in a hole.'I took the £50, and said nothing. He said,'Ain't you going to buy new clothes?' I said, 'There is plenty of time for that.' A few minutes after Fowler goes out, and I never saw him any more till about six in the evening. He had a ring on his finger and a chain, but

no watch attached to it. He said he had been to see some of his old friends, as I understood, who had come home from penal. He said he had come home in a cab to the Craven—that is a public-house. He stopped, and had tea; him, I, and my wife, and Fowler's sweet-heart went over to Kilburn to a concert at a public-house, the name of which I don't know. We stayed till about 12.30. I, seeing Fowler the worse for drink, and violent with his girl—he knocked her down several times—thought the best thing I could do was to get a cab, and so fetched a hansom. After a lot of persuasion I got him and her into it, my wife and me getting in also. We rode as far as Southampton Street, paid the cabman, and bid Fowler good-night. I see no more of Fowler till one or half-past the next day, Sunday. He said, 'I am off; I have got to show myself on the 16th, and don't intend to give my face away. Will you come abroad?' I, having been abroad before myself, had a longing desire to go, and said 'Yes.' We walked to Kilburn, hailed a cab to Edgware Road. We changed cabs there, and then rode to Mile End. I called upon my aunt, Mrs. Waddell, 62, St. Peter's Road, and introduced Fowler as Mr. Jarvis. We stayed to dinner, and in the course of conversation I said the reason I had come was to say 'good-bye,' as I was going abroad. During the evening, I and Fowler, and my cousin, Jack Waddell, went to have a drink, and, whilst drinking, I asked my cousin to get an envelope, paper, and stamp. I sat down in the public-house and wrote a letter to this effect: 'Dear Mother,—Call upon me to-morrow as early as you can at aunt's; also my wife and two children, as I am about to go away, and want to see you.' We returned to 62, St. Peter's Road, and aunt gave us a lied for the night. We slept with my cousin Jack. Before going out I said to my cousin, 'Put this away,' and Fowler and I both handed over our revolvers. We had bought them on the Saturday before, with fifty cartridges, at Thompson's, pawnbroker, High Road, Kilburn. On Monday my wife and children and mother and father came to aunt's to see me. I stayed with them for a couple of hours, and then had a parting drink. I said, 'Well, I must be off.' Aunt said, 'Would you like your wife to come a little way with you? We will mind the children.' I and my wife and Fowler went to Mile End Station, and inquired for the next train to Liverpool. Being too long to wait for the train, we hailed a cab and rode to Kuston Station just in time to catch a train for Liverpool. I bid my wife good-bye at Mile End before getting into the cab. We lodged at a place in Liverpool for a week. I wrote home to my wife, and let her know where I was. Bunny was with me, andsaid I hadn't been very well. She sent me a telegram to say Fred would be there to-morrow. He brought a closed letter from my wife that ran to this effect:—'Dear Albert,—The police have been down here asking where you are. They know you are alonj: with Fowler, and you'll get twelve months for being in his company, as he is wanted on his licence.' My brother stayed one night, and went home the next day. My wife and my brother knew nothing that I was in any way concerned in the Muswell Hill affair. As regards our travels, we left Liverpool and went to Cardiff. The reason we left Liverpool was that Fowler brought a low woman to the house, and the landlady objected. Fowler took her at her word, left the house, and we stayed at an hotel one night, and then went on to Cardiff.

While in Liverpool I went with Fowler to a dentist, and he had some artificial teeth put in. He said he was short of teath on his licence; that is why he had them. We met the Sinclairs at Cardiff, at Madame D'Arc's waxwork show, where they were engaged for a month. Whilst there we had a private consultation about phrenology. After that was over Sinclair followed us down to the door. Fowler asked him to have a drink. We had several, and agreed to see him at night We asked each other questions at the meeting, which was at the Ship and Castle public-house. Sinclair asked us where we were going to sleep. We said we wanted lodgings. He said, 'Come along with me and took us to a place. There we had rooms at 10s. a week, and stayed there till Sinclair broke his engagement. He went to Newport, leaving me, Fowler, and Mrs. Sinclair at Cardiff. He went to find a shop, and sent a telegram to say he had succeeded. We then all went on to Newport to the shop there. Sinclair can say I am not a violent man, but that Fowler was most violent, and chased him with his revolver and fired up the chimney at Bristol. He is a most violent man. I had to pay Sinclair's lodgings one night to prevent Fowler doing him an injury. I have to-day made a statement to my solicitor before you arrived, and told him where the tools are in the grounds at Muswell Lodge, on the lawn. Fowler had the job put up by another man. (Signed) A. MILSOM."—I instructed Macey, a sergeant of police, to go and search the grounds for the tools mentioned in that statement—the tools handed to me by Macey are produced—the marks on the back drawing-room, scullery, and kitchen windows are such as could have been caused by tools like these, and by the jemmy found at Bath by Nutkins—the marks on the drawing-room window were very distinct.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I could not say whether Milsom struggled at the arrest—I struggled with Fowler, and the other officers came to my assistance.

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. I ran my hands over Fowler hurriedly to feel for the revolver—I struck him on the forehead, probably on the head, severely two or three times—he was partially stunned—he fell down, at any rate; I think he struck other people as well as me—his head was plaistered in the infirmary that night or the next day, when he was brought to London—his head was in plaister on April 14th at High-gate, but not on the 22nd—the marks were on his forehead, as they are now, discernible with his cap off; his cap was smashed, and I bought him a new one—he ought to have reported himself on February 16th; he was liberated on licence—I do not think police supervision had commenced—he was liable to arrest for not reporting himself—he would then have to serve the remainder of his term, and perhaps something else—Harlesden is four or five miles from Muswell Hill—a little metal leg was produced at the Police-court as part of the property of Mr. Smith—in consequence of what I heard from Mr. Iffer, I got it from the Swindon Police—they got it from Mr. Price, a publican at Swindon, whom I have seen—it was not found in possession of either of the prisoners—frum information I received, I went to the publican, who bought it, I was told, from an associate of the prisoners.

CHARLES NUTKINS (Inspector Y). On April 12th, I went with Inspector Marshall to arrest the prisoners—as we rushed into the room

we told them we were police officers—I arrested Milsom, and sent him by one of the Bath Police to the Police-station—I arrested Mrs. Milsom—the charge against her was withdrawn—I told Milsom at the station it was a serious charge, that what he might say might be used for or against him, and that he would be charged with burglary in the house of Mr. Henry Smith, and murdering him, and that Fowler would be charged with being concerned with him—he said, "God forbid that I should take the life of anyone"—I found a portmanteau in the room occupied by the prisoners at Bath—in it were a jemmy, two centre-bits, and a brace, and about forty cartridges, which fit the revolver that was found under the couch.

RICHARD MACEY (Sergeant Y). In consequence of a statement made by Milsom, I searched the grounds at Muswell Lodge on April 29th—in a shrubbery on the lawn at the back I found buried from three to six inches these two iron chisels and two bradawls—on May 1st I made a further search in the grounds, and found the brace and bit produced buried in a bed under a tree at the end of the right-hand path leading to the laundry, at the Coldfall Woods end of the grounds, about twenty yards from where the other things were found.

HENRY REYNOLDS (Sergeant 71 Y). I am warrant officer and gaoler at Highgate Petty Sessions—on Wednesday, April 29th, the prisoners were in my charge at Highgate Police-court—the statement made by Milsom was read by Inspector Marshall, in Fowler's presence—at the midday adjournment Police Constable McDonald took Fowler to the prisoners' room, where, in McDonald's presence (neither of us had spoken to him), Fowler said, "My pal, the dirty dog, has turned Queen's evidence, and our mouthpiece is no use; but I can tell a tale as well as he. There was £112 in the bag in the safe, and I gave him £53 and some shillings, which was an equal share of the money after what I had spent. Is it likely that I should give that to a man who stood outside? He put his foot on the old man's neck until he made sure he was dead; and then we went upstairs, he first, and found the old man's trousers, with the keys of the safe in the pocket; but thieves would cut one another's throat for half a loaf."

Cross-examined by MR. WOODFALL. Fowler was extremely angry with Milsom—two YR constables were in the room—I cannot think of their names—Fowler did not speak until after he had been there some minutes—none of us spoke to him—I did not caution him when he began to make a statement; not a word—I think it was entirely a fair thing—they were entirely voluntary remarks—I think it was my duty to allow him to make them—I thought it was a very important statement—I did not write it down at that time—I did write it about 5.30 that evening in my official pocket-book (produced)—next month I shall have completed eighteen years in the force—I have been present at some criminal trials—it did not occur to me I had better make a note of it at the time; rather the contrary—I thought, did I produce my book, it would close Fowler's mouth—it was a voluntary statement, and had I produced my book the moment he began to speak I should not have heard it—he would have had the notion it would be produced against him—I did not produce my book—the Court adjourned at 1.15—at two o'clock the Court reassembled—the proceedings went on till four—I mentioned it to no one then—that afternoon I mentioned

it to Inspector Mountefield, of the Y Division—I had to take the prisoner back to gaol—I went to the dock at two—I had to be at the side of the dock—I took Fowler to Holloway—I came back to Highgate—Inspector Mountefield rode with me in the cab, and I told him—McDonald went with us to Holloway—McDonald came back with us a little way, and got out in the Holloway Road—I did not speak to McDonald in the cab about the statement—it was not mentioned between us—about half an hour after leaving McDonald I made my note—the next morning I asked McDonald if he had made a note of the words used by Fowler—he did not ask me—that was at Highgate Police-station as soon as I saw him—he said he had—I had my note-book with me then—he did not see my note—he has never seen it, nor heard me read it—I told no one else about it—I gave the evidence at the next adjournment on May 6th that I have given to-day—I asked McDonald, because I thought the words were significant, and that he would have made a note.

Re-examined. In consequence of Fowler being angry, I had to keep close observation on him all the afternoon—the dock is a temporary stand in the middle of the Court, and the prisoner could have jumped out immediately—I made a verbal report to my inspector—he asked if I had entered it in my book—I said, "No"—he said, "Put it in at once," and I did—I made a written report the next morning to my inspector—this is it.

JOHN MCDONALD (46 Y). On April 29th I was assisting in taking charge of Fowler at the Highgate Petty Sessions—at the mid-day adjournment I took him to the prisoners' room in company with Sergeant Reynolds—neither of us had spoken to him—I can remember, without referring to my book, that he said, "My pal, the dirty dog, has turned Queen's evidence, and our mouthpiece is no use; but I could tell a tale as well as he. There was £112 in the bag in the safe. I gave him £53 and some shillings, which was an equal share of the money, after what I had spent. Is it likely that I should give that to a man who stood out-side? But thieves will cut one another's throats for half a loaf"—there was nothing else—I made a note of it about 6.30 the same night, after I came back from Holloway Prison—in the meantime, I had been in charge of the prisoner—I had no communication with Reynolds before I made a note about it. (The witness ivas asked to read his note,) I have left out "He first put his foot on the old man's neck until he made sure he was dead. Then we went upstairs, he first, and found the old man's trousers, with the keys in the pocket."

Cross-examined by MR. WOODPALL. I have not looked at my note for two or three days—someone was sent for refreshments—I do not remember who was in the room when the statement was made—I have been in the force about eleven years—I thought the statement very important; that is why I paid very particular attention to it—I did not caution Fowler—I did not think it was my duty, because my superior officer, Reynolds, was there—if I had been alone I should have thought it my duty to caution him—Fowler had his dinner in the room—neither of us spoke to him—Fowler was very excited after he heard Milsom's statement read out—he was furious at Milsom—I had my note-book in my pocket—I did not make a note at the time—I was in charge of the

prisoner; I could not do it—my instructions were to watch the prisoner very closely—that was the reason I had no conversation with Reynolds before I made the note—I went with Reynolds to take the prisoners from Highgate to Holloway—I went back with Mountefield and Reynolds as far as the Holloway Road—nothing was then said about the statement—the next day Reynolds asked me if I had made a note of the remarks Fowler had made, and I said I had—I did not show him the note—I have a good memory—one sentence slipped my memory.

Objection having been taken that these notes could only be put in and used by the Defence to contradict the witnesses, MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS observed: "If you think the notes can do you the smallest good, you have a right to put tliem in; they are useful only for the purpose of confirming the testimony of the witness, or, rather, of enabling him to refresh his memory; they are not evidence, and are only capable of being used jor that purpose by the Crown. If the Crown said, We will put these books in for the purpose of corroborating the statement made by the witness,' Counsel for the Defence might properly object, became a man cannot corroborate himself by writing the same thing. I am quite satisfied, if the Crown felt those statements would do you any good, they would put them in. You can put tliem in if you like to put questions upon them"

THOMAS STEVENSON . I am a Doctor of Medicine, Lecturer on Jurisprudence at Guy's Hospital, and Scientific Analyst to the Home Office—on April 25th I received from Inspector Marshall this overcoat and jacket, waistcoat, pair of trousers, and damaged felt hat—on April 30th received from Sergeant Macey these two iron chisels—I have carefully examined those articles for blood-stains, as well as this pair of boots produced from the pawnbroker—the jacket is the only article upon which I found blood-stains; on its left sleeve there is a small spot near the armpit, on the right sleeve a spot or smear an inch above the edge of the sleeve, and two small ones about three and a-half inches from the edge—they are stains of mammalian blood of the same age—when I received them I formed the opinion they were a month, or it might be two or three months, old—there was this peculiarity: the front of the coat had a different feel from the rest, such as would be produced by wearing it in rain, and rubbing it down, or by washing; the surface of the texture is a little different from that of the rest of the jacket—the action of moisture and the process of rust would destroy any blood-stains on the chisels when they had been buried; the earth is most destructive of blood—when I received the bits there were still traces of soil upon them—it corresponded in character with the soil upon the chisels and the brace and bit, the ordinary London soil—if blood were quite fresh, wetting and rubbing would be an effectual means of removing blood-stains to such an extent that any traces would disappear in a few weeks.

Cross-examined by MR. ABINGER. I cannot go so far as to say it was human blood in this case.


The JURY handed a paper to MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS, highly commending the conduct of ilie police concerned in the case, in which his Lordship joined, expressing his admiration of their absolute propriety and intelligence, especially as to the two inspectors, Marshall and Nutkins.

NEW COURT.—Tuesday, May 19th, 1896.

Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-415
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceNo Punishment > sentence respited

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415. PHILIP HENRY SPARROW (39) PLEADED GUILTY to Feloniously marrying Lily Gibson, his wife being alive. Judgment respited, to see, whether he will make any compensation to the prosecutrix, she being in the family way.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-416
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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416. WILLIAM RODGERS (35) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Emma Bettesworth, and stealing 2,500 cigars and other articles, and 10s, in money.

GEORGE HORACE BETTESWORTH . I manage the Bull's Head, New Oxford Street, for my mother—on Easter Sunday I saw the place locked up properly—about five a.m. I heard a noise in the bar parlour—I thought it was the barman, and took no notice—at 6.5 I heard the front door slam, and again thought it was the potman; but the policeman aroused me, and I went down and found the bar had been entered—a rope was tied to the skylight, and the glass removed—it appeared that the rope had been put to let someone down—the whole of the bar was strewed with cigars and clean linen, the till was turned upside down on the bar, and I missed 10s. from it—my loss is £25 or £26—it was possible to get on the roof and through the skylight, by getting on the urinal, under where I was sleeping—it would have to be a thin man to get through the opening; I could not get through.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. A great number of the cigar-boxes were left behind—I missed about 2,500 cigars, which would be a greatdeal for one man to carry—I feel certain that these are my cigars—by buying a quantity I get them at 8s. 9d. a box.

JAMES COHEN . I am a cigar manufacturer, of 388, Old Kent Road—I packed these cigars myself, and here is my writing on the bottom of the boxes—I supplied them to Mr. Bettesworth—he said that the label would be a detriment to his business, and the lock label was not put on—they are worth 9s. 6d. a hundred.

SILVIO LUGLI . I am a restaurant keeper, of 52, Dean Street, Soho—on the Tuesday in Easter week, the prisoner came and offered some cigars for sale—I asked if he was in the trade—he said, "Yes," and showed me four boxes packed in paper—I gave him 15s. for the lot; that was 7s. 6d. a hundred, which was very cheap—these are the four boxes—I afterwards picked him out—he is the man.

JAMES CUNNINGHAM (Detective C.) On April 11th I went to Mr. Lugli's shop—he produced these cigar-boxes to me, and described the man who brought them—on April 16th I saw the prisoner, and said, "I am a police officer, and shall take you in custody on suspicion of being concerned with a man not in custody in breaking into the Bull's Head and stealing a quantity of cigars"—he said "When was it done?"—I said, "On the day befora Bank Holiday"—he said, "I suppose it was a short man that done it"—I took him to Bow Street Station, where he was placed with six other men, and Lugli picked him out—I found three keys on him, one of which belonged to his box at his lodgings—while being searched he said, "This is all right; I got a bob for my whack."

WALTER DEVINI (Police Inspector.) I inspected the premises at the Bull's Head; the skylight was broken open, and a piece of rope attached to the bars—it was a very small pane of glass, and it must have been a very small man who got through.

JAMES LOVELL (122 E.) On Easter Monday, about 6.25 a.m., I was on duty in High Street, Oxford Street, and saw the door of No. 1 open—I obtained assistance, roused the landlord, and found somebody had got through the skylight and stolen some cigars.

The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that he knew nothing of the burglary, and that he bought the cigars in a public-house.

GUILTY of receiving.

He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this Court on June 20th, 1894, and seven other convictions were proved against him.— Four Years' Penal Servitude.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-417
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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417. GEORGE KNUTT (25) , Robbery, with others, on Harris Rose, and stealing a watch and chain, his property.

MR. COOPER Prosecuted.

HARRIS ROSE . I live at 80, Elder Street, Norton Folgate—on April 24th, at 4.15 p.m., I was in White Lion Street, and was attacked by several persons—the prisoner snatched my watch and chain, and tried to escape; I nearly caught him, but the other fellows blocked up the road—I went to the Police-court and reported it—at eight p.m. I saw the prisoner at the Police-court, but, being 'excited, and having been ill, I failed to recognize him, but I recognized him next day—the prisoner is the man.

ARTHUR BRETT . I am eleven years old, and live at 4, Chapel Street, Spitalfields—on. the day before I gave evidence at the Police-court I saw the prisoner running in Chapel Street, with a gold chain in his hand, and boys running after him, calling "Stop thief!"—I am sure he is the man; I knew him before—he works with a shrimp-man—I picked him out the same evening.

GEORGE HOLLOWAY (330 H.) I took the prisoner, on April 24th, in Hanbury Street, Spitalfields—I said, "I am going to arrest you on suspicion of snatching a watch and chain"—he said, "I have been taken in two or three times before"—he was with three other men—the prosecutor could not identify him, but the boy went up to him and said, "That is the man I saw with the watch and chain"—I arrested him in consequence of the boy's description.

Prisoner's Defence: I know nothing whatever about the case.


He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Clerkenwell, on February 18th, 1895.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-418
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty; Guilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude; Imprisonment > hard labour

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418. EDWARD BOTHAM (30) and SAMUEL JOHN READ (31) , Stealing eight bags of cloth cuttings, the property of Frederick Compton and others, the masters of Botham, to which


MR. BEARD and MR. A. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS Defended.

FREDERICK COMPTON . I am one of the firm of Compton and Sons, Army contractors for clothing—Botham has been in our employ; it, is sixteen years since he came, but he was seven years in the Army, and came back—he was in the packing department—we have a very large amount of cuttings, which Roberts and Co., of Goswell Road, contract to take; and we communicate with them by telephone—we have had no transactions

with Read—the cuttings are bagged according to the colours—Botham had no authority to tell anybody to take away cuttings—I identify these eight bags of cuttings (produced;) they are worth between £16 and £17—we usually have the cuttings taken tvway at ten a.m., never as early as eight a.m.—this is a plan of the premises (produced.)

Cross-examined. We never have them cleared before work begins; I do not know what other people do—we have plenty of storage room—we had implicit confidence in him—he only had to put the cuttings in a bag—he would not be known to people in our business; he never appeared.

Re-examined. The reason he had to do with cuttings was that he had to put them in a bag; a porter helped him.

WILLIAM HILL . I am a carman in the employ of Mr. Lighten, of Leather Lane—Read hired vans of him from time to time—on April 21st, about 7.30 a.m, I took out a covered van, and met Read in Leather Lane—he told me to drive to Aldgate—I drove to the Saracen's Head Yard, which is next door to Messrs. Compton's—Botham brought some bags, Read loaded them—I did not see where they were taken from—Read said, "Go over Tower Bridge"—that is in the direction of Deptford, not in the direction of his shop; that is in Hatton Wall—after we had gone some distance, a detective caught hold of my horse's head—I have driven to Deptford once or twice before, but cannot tell you the name of the firm.

Cross-examined. This is an ordinary van—the licensee's name was in front, where everybody could see it—Read rode at my side—when he has hired a van before, which I have driven, he has gone quite openly, always with a van with a name on it—I did not think there was anything wrong—I have driven for him very often.

Re-examined. I have driven to Compton and Sons about six times, about eight a.m.—when I go to Compton's I always load up the van.

ALFRED DANDRIDGE . I am one of the firm of J. and A. Dandridge, metal merchants, of High Street, Deptford—we have from time to time bought cloth cuttings of Read, similar to these, by the hundredweight, and took receipts from him—a sack holds a little more than 1 cwt.—the price we paid varied from 15s. to 42s. per cwt.—you would go over the Tower Bridge, from Aldgate, to our premises—I cannot find any receipt for fine blue cuttings or green; we paid 28s. for violet—I have not got any cotton down; these are woollen, but we paid him 15s. 6d. per cwt. for cotton, and 26s. for list—I have fine blue here at 43s., but no green.

Cross-examined. We bought 2 cwt. 10lbs. of pilots on January 14th, and 2 qrs. 1 lb. on the same day, and 1 3/4 cwt. of blue—those prices differ according to the price of wool, but they were all fair prices—we have dealt with Read seven or eight years, and in all the transactions, as far as I know, have been perfectly straightforward, and he bears a good character, as far as I know—we are in a bigger way of business than Read; he is not much of a scholar; he signed the receipts—it is usual for rags from large houses to be bought by small men, and they usually take them home to sort them, as they are mixed—there is nothing unusual in the stuff being cleared away at eight or nine a.m.—that is the best time; I should not think it suspicious.

Re-examined. I should have the goods weighed—I should not think of paying a mere porter £16 without communicating with his principal.

DANIEL DENNING (City Detective Sergeant.) I am in charge of this case—these samples of cuttings were taken fairly from each of the eight bags; each bag was sorted as to colour, but we mixed them.

MAURICE JACOBS . I trade as Jacobs and Co., rag merchants—I have bought rags of Read—the average price I pay for fine blue is 40s. to 45s. per cwt., and about 40s. for green, and 28s. for list.

Cross-examined. I always knew Head as a respectable man—when he has sold things there has been no secrecy about it—warehouses are sometimes cleared early in the morning and sometimes late at night—there is nothing unusual in a warehouse being cleared of cuttings at eight a.m.—a great many small dealers clear their place of cuttings and bring them to me.

DANIEL DENNING (Re-examined.) On April 21st, between 7.30 and 8 a.m., I was, with Sergeant Crouch and other officers, keeping watch on Messrs. Compton's premises, and about eight o'clock saw a covered van go to the Saracen's Head—Hill was driving, and Head was with him—after ten minutes, Read came to the top of the court, looked about, went back, and came out with the van; he went about twenty-five yards, and we stopped him—I had seen something put into the van from Compton's back premises—I said, "We are police officers; what have you got in this van?"—he said, "Cuttings"—I said, "Where did you get them? What is his name?"—he said, "I don't know," but he went back, and pointed out Roberts—I said, "What did you pay for them?"—he said, "I have not paid for them; I am going to take them home to get them weighed"—Roberts said, "I know nothing about it"—I went into the van, and found eight sacks—these are samples taken from each—he was not going towards Hatton Wall.

Cross-examined. We were in plain clothes—I could not see the name on the van distinctly, as the tarpaulin was tied back, but it was visible—I do not wish to say anything about Read's character.

EDWARD BOTHAM (the Prisoner. I) have pleaded guilty to this charge; I was employed by Messrs. Compton as a porter—I left and went into the Army, and came back—I made Read's acquaintance about ten months ago—I saw him at the shop in Hatton Wail—I told him I worked at Compton's in Aldgate, and said that I had some cuttings, of which I showed him samples, and asked if he would buy them—three working men who are not in custody were with me—I went there by accident—I told Read to come at eight o'clock, not later—after that he came to Compton's at eight o'clock, on an average, once a fortnight—I did not tell him why he was to come at eight; he did not ask me—that is before anybody would be about—I let him have cuttings, sometimes four bags and sometimes five—he came with a van, and it was driven away—there was no contract or document between us—I used to go up at the dinner hour, and he would pay me; I and the others—he paid me 28s. per cwt. for fine green and fine blue, 18s. for pile and list, and 10s. for cotton—when I let him have four or five bags we used to divide sometimes £4 and sometimes £6—we went back to our work and divided the money.

Cross-examined. I have been robbing my master ten months—I did not tell Read that the stuff was stolen—I was not in charge of the cuttings at that time; he was at Christmas—I did not tell him they were my own, or that my master allowed me to sell them, or that I was the foreman in charge of the cuttings—one man is named Misk, another Stokes, and the other Edes—we all four went together the first time—that was not my suggestion; we were out to find someone to sell them to—I cannot say who started the idea of stealing—Edes has been employed there the longest—I have not been anywhere else with my master's things—I pleaded Not Guilty at the Police-court; I have pleaded Guilty, thinking I might get bail, but I did not—I have a solicitor—I have pleaded Guilty now because I find that I am guilty—I knew that at the Police-court—I have not seen the solicitor for the prosecution—Misk was in charge of the cuttings before Christmas, but after Christmas he met with an accident, and I took charge of the cuttings—I do not think I told Read that Misk was in charge of the cuttings when I first went to him—I did not tell him what I was; I said I was in the warehouse—I did not tell him I was in charge of the cuttings—I have seen cuttings weighed for people who bought them honestly, but I never helped to load—all four of us did not always go up when the money was paid, sometimes two—Hatton Wall is three miles from Aldgate, but you can go for 1d.—I took his word that he had weighed it, and took what money he chose to give me—he eaul that there was so much blue, and so much green, and I was satisfied—I have not often been there by myself—he paid in cash—I have seen two fellows working in the shop; he did not send them away when I "was coming.

HENRY COMPTON . I am one of the firm of Compton and Sons—our contract price for fine blue and fine green cuttings is 62s., and pilot, cotton, and list 26s. each—these contracts are entered into once a year.

Cross-examined. Cuttings are called "rags" in the trade.

READ received a good character.

GUILTYThree Years' Penal Servitude. BOTHAM—Recommended to mercy by the Prosecutor.Eight Months Hard Labour.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-419
VerdictGuilty > with recommendation
SentenceMiscellaneous > sureties

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419. ELLEN BANNOUIN (34) , Stealing a post-letter containing a valuable security, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster General.

MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended.

SIDNEY THOMAS RICHARDS . I live at 25, Beulah Road, Thornton Heath—on the morning of April 17th I saw my mother put a cheque for £7 4s. 6d. into a letter, and I addressed the envelope to "C. Bourne, Esq., 21, New Oxford Street," and gave it to a messenger to post.

GEORGE SEWELL . I am a messenger, of 9, Fenchurch Street—I took a letter from Mr. Richards on a Thursday evening, between 7 and 7.30, and posted it in Earl Street; I did not see who it was addressed to.

MARY ANN MILLBANK . I am employed by Mr. Herman Smith, of 10, Alfred Place, South Kensington—on April 15th, about five o'clock, the prisoner called and asked to write a note—I gave her pen and paper—she showed me a cheque, and said she wanted change, as she wanted to pay Mr. Smith what she owed him, and it would be all right, he would

know about it—she enclosed the cheque in the letter; I took possession of it, and gave it to Mr. Smith the following Monday—she said that she never had a cheque before.

Cross-examined. She spoke in English—I do not speak French—I will not pledge my oath to the exact words she used.

HERMAN SMITH . I live at 10, Alfred Place West, South Kensington—on April 20th the last witness handed me a letter in German, containing a cheque—I only kept it till after the cheque was cashed—it said, "I hand you a cheque for £7 4s. 6d. I wish you to take the £3 owing by my husband, and hand me the balance"—I paid it into Lloyd's Bank, and on the following Friday gave the prisoner £4—I had known her about fifteen months—she had a good character all the time she was in the house—she was a servant in a respectable family, and then she married.

JOHN JOSEPH BOX . I am overseer at the Post Office, St. Martin's-le-Grand—a letter posted at seven o'clock would be taken there, and remain there till midnight, and then be taken to the central office—the last delivery from a branch office would be 7.15.

THOMAS JAMES BOURD . I am Secretary to the National Guardian, 21, New Oxford Street, nearly opposite Hyde Street—I never received this cheque, and never authorised anybody to deal with it.

WILLIAM ROBSHAW . I am a postman in the W.C. office—it is my duty to deliver letters in New Oxford Street and Hyde Street—this letter would come into my hands the first thing in the morning; we sort them before we take them out—the next house I delivered at after No. 21 would be 23; Hyde Street comes first, and then I cross to 21—I make mistakes sometimes.

WALTER HURST . I am a constable attached to the Post Office—on May 4th I saw the prisoner at 2, High Street, Bloomsbury, and said, "I have come to see you about this cheque (producing it); I am told you disposed of it to Mr. Smith, 10, Alfred Place, South Kensington"—she said, "Yes, that is right"—I said, "I want you to tell me where you got it from?"—she said, "From a gentleman"—I said, "Who is he?—she said, "I don't know; I met him in Oxford Street, and took him home; he said it was all right; I could get it to-morrow," and that she took it to Mr. Smith, and asked him to take the £3 she owed him—I asked her on what day the gentleman gave it her, and she said she did not know, but she thought it was Thursday—I asked her to describe him, which she did—I took her to Bow street on the 7th, and charged her; she said, "Me know it; no."

Cross-examined. All the conversation was in English—it lasted half an hour—I was alone with her—I took a note of it, but not of the whole of it—she spoke broken English—I had not a long conversation with her the next day; I simply told her the charge—she put her things on, and I took her to the station.

Cross-examined. She said that she had never stolen anything in her life.

By the COURT. I found her husband living there; at least, there was a man there—he is something in the fruit trade.

GUILTY.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY . Discharged on recognizances.

THIRD COURT.—Tuesday, May 19th, 1896.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-420
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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420. HAROLD LINES (30) , Stealing £1 2s. 10d., £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. and 17s. 1 1/2 d., the moneys of the Licensed Trades' Protectorate, Limited, his masters.

MR. DAVID Prosecuted.

THOMAS MILWARD MIDDLETON . I live at 13, Hart Street, Bloomsbury—I am manager of the Licensed Trades' Protectorate, Limited, the proprietors of the Licensed Victuallers' Gazette—the prisoner was employed as book-keeper, under my supervision, at 303, Strand, the company's office—he was paid £2 10s. a week salary, and had no commission—part of his duty was to receive every Thursday, £1 8s. 6d. from Mr. Minton, one of the clerks, for the purchase of wrappers—the prisoner kept this petty disbursement book under my supervision, entering on one side moneys he received, and on the other the disbursements—the book was balanced every week—the Gazette came out on the Friday, and ought to be posted on that day—the exact sum of £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. was expended every week, so that he had no balance to account for—in the petty disbursement book on January 16th, 23rd and 30th appear the entries in the prisoner's writing, "By wrappers, £1 8s. 6 1/2 d."—all the other disbursements appearing under these dates would be sums expended by Minton, who would be responsible for it; the prisoner would enter them from particulars furnished to him by Minton—it would not be part of the prisoner's duty to let Minton have any of the £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. if he required "it—I did not receive any communication from the prisoner during either of those three weeks about any portion of the money not having been used in the ordinary course—we received complaints on January 16th from Waterloo Station about the contents bills, for which these wrappers were used, not having reached their destination, and then we caused observation to be made—in February I was present at an interview between Mr. Weekes, the managing director, and the prisoner—Mr. Weekes drew the prisoner's attention to certain discrepancies with regard to certain items, particularly the item of £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. expended for wrappers, as from inquiries we had come to the conclusion that that amount had not been properly expended on wrappers; he drew attention to these three entries among others—the prisoner said he would take the entire responsibility for the amount of £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. delivered to him weekly—Weekes called in the office-boy, Fenton, to prove that the prisoner had hot sent the wrappers out—the office-boy has to address the wrappers and post them—the contents bills always go to the same places—the prisoner sent the boy to purchase the wrappers—the boy was sent for and asked whether he had purchased the wrappers on these dates, January 17th, 23rd, and 30th—the boy replied he bought certain wrappers, but not to the extent of £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. each week—the prisoner said, "Am I suspected?"—Weekes replied that, with these facts, he was—the prisoner said he would take the responsibility of the £1 8s. 6 1/2 d., and then he left—I asked him in the outer office to make up his stamp account, that I was instnicted to suspend him—he took up his hat and said, "Good-day, you will not see me again"—there was a general stamp account for ordinary letters, irrespective of these wrappers—he received so much a week for. that, and had to account for it;

the amount varied—if he had too little, he would apply to Minton for money to purchase stamps—he would not be entitled to use any portion of the £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. for it—that stamp account was also entered in this book.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I have been manager of the newspaper for about sixteen years—I engaged you as book-keeper about six or seven years ago; I should not have employed you if you had not had a good character—I knew nothing against you previous to this wrapper question—I first heard about the wrappers from Mr. Weekes, who got his information from the office-boy and porter—I was under the impression that the office-boy was called in to the interview with you on February 18th—I will not swear he was there when you were—you did not receive any caution that the evidence then taken would be used against you—Mr. Weekes is managing director of the company, including the paper; I am under his control, subject to appeal to the Board—you told Mr. Weekes that exigencies of post had caused you to make inroads on the wrapper account—I investigated the stamp account, and found it was not so—I followed you out of the room, and said, "If anything is wrong you had better confess"—you only took up your hat, and said, "Good-day; you will not see me again"—I don't think you indignantly denied that there was anything wrong—the interview was very short; you practically made no reply, but took up your hat and left the office—you did not say you would rather leave—I watched you out of the office—under me in the office were Minton, the cashier, you, the office-boy, Fenton, the porter, Boxall, the collector, and Miss Woodcock, a type-writer—Minton and you were pretty well on equal terms—Minton would be responsible for all cask—he was clerk for the office generally—he drew up a list of what he had spent out of money received during the week—I was responsible for it, and also for petty cash—a cheque was drawn each week for petty cash—the balance of petty cash existed in hard cash—as to certain items, it was not possible to balance the cash weekly, and it was carried on to next week—the balance was struck weekly—that had nothing to do with you—you would get money you wanted from Minton, who would come to me for it; we were never at a loss for cash—I have been to Minton during the early part of the week for money for little expenses—Minton got the petty cash on Thursday; he would receive the amount represented in this book as "Petty cash"—if, during the next week he expended more than he had received, he would get the additional money from money paid over the counter in the office, which amounted to about £14 or £15 a week—there was always something to be handed over by him—I never knew the amount received during the week insufficient to pay petty expenses—most of the cash came in on Thursday and Friday—Minton was not without money from Monday to Thursday; he had not to go to his private pocket—about 600 newsagents have to receive contents bills—these wrappers are used solely for the contents bills, not for office use—no other wrappers are used—we have show cards, which we were sending out rather largely at this period—you should have kept a record of show cards despatched—show cards were despatched by parcels post at 3d. each; wrappers werenot used for them—you would have to go to Minton for money for that, and it would appear in this book—I find on January 23rd an entry, "30 show cards, postage

7s. 6d."—I find no charge for postage for show cards on January 30th or February 7th—no one except you sent out the show cards; you were responsible for sending out the entire postage—the show-card book would show what show cards were sent out—a boy would despatch the show cards, and you should enter in the show card book those sent out, and in the postage book you should enter the postage—all the writing in this postage book is yours—the office-boy would make the entries in the show card book; you were not responsible for it—if you wanted money to pay for the wrappers, you should have gone to the cashier first, and it would appear in the postage account—it ought to have been made up every week—if the cashier had no money, you should have come tome—the cashier would not have been justified in instructing you to pay for the show cards out of the wrapper money; I will not swear he has not done so—if Minton told you to do so, you would be short in your wrapper money—Minton has been summarily discharged—we had a colonial issue at this time; neither you nor the cashier had anything to do with sending it out—the postage money for that issue did not pass through his hands; I paid for them—the postage for the colonial issue would appear in this stamp book, all the entries in which are from figures you received from the cashier, so that he was responsible for the colonial issue postage—a certain number were sent, not 12,000—none of them were paid for out of the wrapper money—the cashier may have told you to take money for the colonial issue postage out of the wrapper money—I cannot say whether we have been charged for. all the colonial issue that was sent off.

Re-examined. It was the prisoner's duty to procure 600 wrappers every week for the purpose of sending out these contents bills, and for that purpose alone—when Weekes and I called his attention to the matter he suggested that possibly the money would be required for certain show cards—money would be given every week for general postage purposes, and that money would have to be accounted for by this postage book which the prisoner kept—on January 18th there is an entry of "nineteen show cards, 4s. 9d."—on January 25th "ten show cards, 3s. 6d.," and on January 31st "forty-five show cards, 11s. 3d.," all in the prisoner's writing—during those weeks the show cards postage money was taken out of the general account—Minton had nothing to do with the £1 8s. 6 1/2 d.—at the interview in February, when the prisoner was asked to account, he said nothing about the colonial issue—I think the colonial issue was sent out in December, February, and March—I do not think any were sent out in January—the charges for sending out that issue would be entered in the petty disbursements book—the prisoner had nothing to do with the colonial issue; I and the cashier had to do with it.

BARTHOLOMEW WEEKES . I am managing director of the Licensed Trades' Protectorate—in January, in consequence of a communication made to me, I gave instructions to Fenton and Percival—in February I had an interview with the prisoner—I told him that we had reason to suspect there was something wrong in reference to the sending out those of the contents bills which went by post, and I asked him to describe to me the whole system in the office, which I had never gone into, and he did so—he said he could better make me understand by bringing in the books, and he brought in the petty-cash book and the newsagents' book,

which contains a list of the agents to whom bills are posted—he said there were about 600 bills per week sent out by post—I asked him what check there was over the proper expenditure of the money, and that the bills were posted after the wrappers had been bought—he said Minton had money in his hands each Friday morning, which was the result of receipts from ready-money sales over the counter the day before, and that Minton gave £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. each week to the boy to buy five bundles of wrappers on the Friday morning; it was the boy's duty to direct those wrappers during the week, and on the following Wednesday night the wrappers were posted, with the contents bills inside—I asked him what check there was—he said he himself examined these wrappers, and saw they were posted—he produced this book, which is in his writing, and pointed out how the entries were made each week, and that there was £1 8s. 6 1/2 d. each week—I saw the entry, "By Wrappers" on January 16th, and said, "Are those all used for the purpose?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "How should you describe those?"—he said, "Contents bills," and I wrote that in pencil against the entry—he said the entry "office" was for stamps bought—I intimated my suspicion that they did not all go out, and I must consider what system could be adopted, and I was going generally into the petty cash, and asked him to make me a copy of these entries, with my pencil additions, and post to me—that copy was put in at the Police-court—I went into the matter with Minton and the boy; their statements did not tally with what the prisoner said, so I went into the matter with our solicitor, Mr. Moseley, and on the following Tuesday, February 15th, when Mr. Moseley and Mr. Middleton were present, the prisoner was called in, and I said, "I want to have some further explanation with you about these contents bills. I will read this to you, and then tell you what Minton and the boy said"—I read to him a memorandum which I had made on the 11th. (Thin was to the effect that the prisoner had stated that the wrappers were for contents bills, and were sent out each week as per the list produced, Minton giving the cash to the boy to get five bundles of wrappers, which the boy addressed during the week and posted after they had been called over by the prisoner.) I said, "Minton says that he gave you the cash, £1 8s. 6 1/2 d., each week, and that you therefore debit yourself with it here, and that he has never on any occasion given it to the boy"—Mr. Moseley took down what was said—the prisoner replied, "I have the impression that Minton has given the boy the money sometimes. However, why are you putting these questions to me? Am I suspected?"—I replied, I did not suspect anyone; I was only getting information in order that the cap might be fitted on the proper head—he said he would admit that Minton had given him the money, and he would take the responsibility of having sent the wrappers out—Mr. Moseley read to him what he had said, and said, "Have you anything else to say?"—the prisoner said, "No"—he said, "Sometimes all the wrappers have not gone off; sometimes the necessities of post have occasioned inroads upon the money which Otherwise would have been used upon wrappers"—Mr. Middleton said, "Oh, that is nonsense; because your postage book shows that you have always had £3 or £5 in hand; so you never had any necessity to go to him for money"—the prisoner said, "Well, I have had £1 8s. 6d. each week, and I take the responsibility"—the three weeks I spoke of were those

being January 16th, 23rd and 30th; I called his attention specifically to those—there is doubt he said he had these three sums—I refer to the postage book kept by the prisoner, and find that for tje week ending January 18th he had £5 5s. in hand; on the other side, it shows £17s. expended for postage, leaving a balance of £3 8s.; so that he would have £3 8s. 3d. to start the next week with—between January 18th and 30th I find that on each day he had a balance of £3 at least in hand on the general postage account—when he left on February 18th, when Mr. Middleton told him after the inteerview that he was suspended, we opened his drawer and counted his stamps and everything, and found he was £4 1s. 3d. deficient—he ought to have had £4 4s. 0 1/2d., and he had only 2s. 9 1/2d.—he run down he could have got mony for postage directly.

Cross-examined. You would have been able to get money for stamps from Mr. Middleton, who would draw a cheque for them—I cannot show where he has drawn such a cheque—I don't know the date of the last colonial issue—about February 1st, I first gave instructions for notes to be taken, and began to make inquiries about these wrappers—I started making inquiries direct from you. on February 11th—before that I had the porter and boy into the office, and went into the number that was sent off—I cannot remember if the boy was in the room when you were; I think, as you were leaving the room, both Minton and the boy were called in.

CHARLES FENTON . I have been a clerk in the office of the Licensed Victuallers' Gazette for two years—it was my duty to. address the wrappers for the contents bills every woek—574 was the proper number to send each week—in consequence of something said to me, I made a memorandum of the number sent for three weeks; the week beginning January 16th, I received from the prisoner 5s. 8 1/2d. for wrappers for the contents bills, and sent out ninety-four—twenty-six wrappers were kept for office use—I do not know what became of the other contents bills for that week—the prisoner did not give me any reason for only giving me 5s. 8 1/2d—I had received less than £1 8s. 6 1/2d. in previous weeks—I first began to receive less about nine months ago—for the week relating to January 23rd I received no money for wrappers from the prisoner—he did not give me any reason for not giving me any—no wrappers at all were sent out that week—fur the week beginning January 30th I received 5s. 8 1/2d. from the prisoner for wrappers on January 31st, and 5s. 8 1/2d. on February 4th, and I sent out 220 wrappers that week—I do not know, what became of the rest of the contents bills that week—I have seen them since in a packet on the company's premises.

Cross-examined. I took these notes, at Mr. Moore's instructions, at the end of January—he is a clerk in Mr. Weekes' employment—I began to take notes in the week ending February 1st—I am not in the habit of receiving instructions from Mr. Moore—I thought there was something wrong with these wrappers—the manager engaged me—Mr. Moore told me to keep quiet—I was brought before the two directors on the Saturday afternoon, after business hours—neither of them threatened me with imprisonment—I was not present at the time Mr. Weekes asked you questions—on one occasion sin of these wrappers were used for office purposes—on other occasions some were put into next week's supply.

Re-examined. I made a rough copy of these notes as soon as I had addressed all the wrappers, and I made a full copy from the rough copy at home the same night; the first note relates to the week ending January 25th, the others relate to the weeks ending February 1st and February 8th.

FBEDERICK ARTHUR PERCIVAL . I am a porter in the employment of this company.

Cross-examined. Mr. "Weekes gave me instructions to take notes—I was told not to take the information to Mr. Middleton.

SIDNEY TEMLETT (Detective, E). On April 13th I arrested the prisoner at 70, Meadow Road, South Lambeth—I asked him if his name was Lines—he said it was—I told him he would be charged with stealing, on January 17th, £1 2s. 10d., and other sums on other dates—he said, "You have made a mistake; where is your warrant?"—the warrant was at the station—I conveyed him to Bow Street, and read the warrant to him there—he said, "Is that all?"

The Prisoner, in his defence, asserted that the prosecution had not shown that the money alleged to have been stolen had not been used in paying other postages, or that lie had appropriated any of it. He received a good character.

GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.—There was another indictment against the prisoner for forgery.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-421
VerdictGuilty > pleaded part guilty; Guilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude; Imprisonment > hard labour

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421. WILLIAM PHILIPS (20) and HENRY SMITH (23) , Bobbery, with violence, on Herman Conrad, and stealing from him a watch, chain, and locket, his property.


MR. MONTGOMERY Prosecuted.

HERMAN CONRAD (Interpreted). I live at 47, Cooper Street, City Road—at 10 p.m. on May 2nd, I came along the City Eoad and turned into Cooper Street with Lind—the prisoners and two men passed me on my right side from behind—they turned back, and one of them struck me a blow in the stomach—Land at the same moment said, "Your watch is gone"—the men ran away—I put the bag I was carrying on the ground, and, with Lind, pursued them—Lind caught them, and they were taken iuto custody—at the Police-station the inspector asked mo, "What have you lost?"—I said, "I have lost my watch, chain, and locket"—Philips laughed, and said, "Feel in your left-hand watch-pocket"—I understand some English, not much—I felt in my pocket, and my watch was there, but it was not there when Lind called out, or when the prisoners were taken—I do not know how it got back into my pocket.

Cross-examined by Philips. I was not robbed before you came up and asked me what was the matter—I had my bag in my left hand, ana you came up right in front of me, and I struck you to protect rm self.

JOHAN LIND (Interpreted). I am a plumber, of 47, Cooper Street—on the evening of May 2nd I was with Conrad in Cooper Stroet—the prisoners and two men came up—Smith struck Conrad in the stomach or chest, and Philips snatched his watch, chain, and locket—I ran after them, and caught Philips in the City Road—Smith wanted to rescue him, and I holloaed out "Police!"—a policeman came up, and the prisoners were taken.

Cross-examined by Philips. A policeman stopped you—two other men came against you, stopping you, and then I got hold of you.

Cross-examined by Smith. You were trying to rescue Philips.

JOHN WHITTAL (59 G). About 10.30 p.m. on May 2nd, I was in Cooper Street—I heard cries of "Stop thief" and saw Philips running, closely followed by Conrad and Lind. who caught him—I saw Smith running; he turned the corner of Old Street, closely followed by Poole, who brought Ijim back—Wilcox brought back a locket, which he said, in Smith's presence at the Police-station, he had seen Smith throw away—I said I should take him into custody for assaulting and robbing Conrad of his watch and chain.

Cross-examined by Philips. You asked Conrad, "Are you sure you have lost your watch?"—Conrad said, "Yes"—you said, "Just look in your left-hand waistcoat pocket, and you will find it there"—he found it there.

BENJAMIN POOLE (164 G). On the night of May 2nd I was in Old Street, and saw Smith running—I took him into custody—he threw away something, and Wilcox, who picked it up, brought me a locket, and said, in Smith's presence, "I found this which was thrown away by the prisoner"—Smith made no reply.

WILLIAM WILCOX . I live at 15, B Block, Old Street—on May 2nd I was in Old Street—I saw Smith running; he threw away a locket, which I picked up and gave to the constable.

Cross-examined by Smith. You did not knock the constable down.

BENJAMIN POOLE (Re-examined). Smith did not knock me down; he ran against me when I went to stop him.

Smith received a good character.

Philips, in his defence, stated that he was going home, when, hearing a woman scream, he asked the prosecutor what was the matter; that the prosecutor struck him, and he ran off and was taken into custody. Smith stated that he snatched the gentleman's watch, and ran away; that he had had some drink, and was enticed by others to do it; that he used no violence; and that he did not know Philips.

HERMAN CONRAD (Re-examined), My watch was in my left-hand waisstuoat pocket before I was robbed—I found it in the same pocket at the station—no piece of chain was hanging out of my pocket—when Lind called out I felt two or three times, and I also felt in the City Road, and the watch was not there—how it got into my pocket at the station I do not know.

JOHN LIND (Re-examined). I am quite sure Philips snatched the chain—I never lost siht of him till he was in custody.

GUILTY .—Philips then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in October, 1895, in the name of Arthur Gunstone; and Smith** to one in December, 1894, in the name of William White. Eight other convictions were proved against Philips, and two against Smith.

PHILIPS— Three Years' Penal Servitude. SMITH— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-422
VerdictGuilty > pleaded part guilty

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422. WILLIAM HENRY PAGE (21) , Unlawfully assaulting Ada Berry, with intent to ravish her; Second Count, indecently assaulting her.

The Prisoner, in the liearing of the JURY, stated that he was guilty of a common assault. They found that verdict.Two Days' Imprisonment.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-423
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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423. THOMAS EASEY (42) PLEADED GUILTY ** to burglary in the dwelling-house of Frederick George Vohman, with intent to steal, having been convicted of felony in August, 1889, in the name of Thomas Hussey. (A warder stated that since the prisoner's last conviction he had worked honestly.)— Two Month's Hard Labour .

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-424
VerdictsGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentencesImprisonment > hard labour

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424. HENRY BLOXAM (42) , to embezzling £4 7s. 3d., received by him for and on account of Benjamin Jeffreys and another, his masters; also to forging and uttering an order for the payment of £2, and to a conviction of felony in September, 1884, in the name of Henry Maxwell. ( A constable stated that for the last five years he had got his living honestly.)— Two Months' Hard Labour . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-425
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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425. WILLIAM WATTS *† (22), to burglary in the dwelling-house of Mary Ann Hesketh, and stealing 1,200 cigars and other articles; having been convicted of felony in November, 1894, in the name of William Garnham. ( A constable stated that the prisoner was a trainer of young thieves and an associate of thieves.)— Three Years' Penal Servitude . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-426
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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426. ARTHUR DILLON †** (21), to burglary in the dwelling-house of Edwin Isaacs, and stealing £27; having been convicted of felony in August, 1895, in the name of William Peck. Six other convictions were proved against him and lie was said to be the associate of thieves, and nevertowork.— Three Years'Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-427
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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427. FREDERICK ALFRED BENTLEY , to unlawfully obtaining from Robert William Tomlinson a banker's cheque for £10, and postal orders from other portions by false pretences, with intent to defraud. He received a good character.— Twelve Months'Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-428
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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428. JEREMIAH LEAKY , to unlawfully and wilfully damaging a window. Several convictions of being drunk and of assault were proved against him, and he was stated to be a terror to his neighbourhood, and one of tlie worst characters in the Eastend of London.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-429
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceMiscellaneous > sureties; Imprisonment

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429. THOMAS PATRICK COLLINS (26) and JOHN JOSEPH CONNOR (26) , to forging and uttering a certificate of character or discharge on transfer to the Army Reserve, a document made evidence by Act of Parliament. CONNOR received a good character in the Army.Discharged on Recognizances. COLLINS— Six Months' Imprisonment . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-430
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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430. WILLIAM HERBERT JONES (30) , to two indictments for embezzling £15 8s. 9d. and other sums, the moneys of Messrs. Kearley and Tonge, Limited, his masters.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-431
VerdictsGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentencesImprisonment > hard labour

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431. ARTHUR STRACEY (38) , to unlawfully obtaining a diamond ring from Frederick Knight, and other articles from other persons, by false pretences, with intent to defraud; also to five indictments lor feloniously obtaining the same articles by means of forged instruments; and to a conviction of felony at this Court in May, 1883.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

NEW COURT.—Wednesday, May 20th, 1896.

Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-432
VerdictsGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentencesImprisonment > penal servitude

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432. WALTER BILLINGS (62) PLEADED GUILTY to obtaining a cheque for £50, with intent to defraud; also to unlawfully making a falte declaration.— Four Years' Penal Servitude.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-433
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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433. JAMES GIBBS (24) to uttering a forged order for £10 10s., with intent to defraud.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-434
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceMiscellaneous > sureties

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434. KITTY MARY MORAN , to a malicious libel on Minna Lynch.— Discharged on her own Recognizances. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-435
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence

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435. ALFRED CHAMBERS (32) , Forging and uttering an order for £4 10s., with intent to defraud.

MR. KENRICK Prosecuted.

HENRY WATHEN . I am a greengrocer, of 47, Clephne Road, Canon bury—on April 8th, a boy came into my shop with a note which I opened; it contained a cheque for £4 10s. and this letter: "19, Canonbury Park, North, Wednesday. Dear Sir,—Will you do me the favour of cashing enclosed cheque? If so, send by bearer, and oblige, yours, A. CULROSS." (The cheque was signed "Water Pullen, April 8th, 1896, payable to A. Culross Esq.") I went to a neighbour, who at once said that it was a forgery, as he was in the habit of having Mr. Culross' cheaues—I told the boy to go back, and say that I would rather he would come himself, or send a servant—the boy went back to the man, and a man I had to assist me caught hold of him—Mr. Cooper, who was with me, said, "Are you Mr. Culross?"—the prisoner said, "Yes," and raised his stick to strike Mr. Cooper, but a policeman collared him, and took him to the station.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You had the stick up at arm' length.

GLADSTONE WALLIS I am eleven years old, live at 6, Alwyne Place, Canonbury—on April 8th I met the prisoner in Canonbury Square—he Said, "Take this note to Mr. Wathem, with Mr. Culross' compliment, and bring me an answer back"—I took the note—Mr. Wathen Opened it, and went out, and came back and gave me a message to give to the man—I went back to him, and said, "Will you send a servant? He won't trust the money to me"—I saw some gentlemen coming, and the prisoner ran across the road, and tried to get away.

WILLIAM COPPER . I am a grocer' assistant, of 53, Clephane Riad Canon bury—on April 8th I was in the shop and Mr. Wathen brought in a cheque, purporting to come from Mr. Culross. And A letter—I saw that it was not Mr. Culross' writing, and went with Mr. Wathen to Canonbury Square and saw the prisoner, and asked him if he was Mr. Culross; He Said, "Yes"—I said "You had better come to Mr. Wathem"—he tried To get away, but I caught hold of him.

ALLEN CULROSS . I am secretary to a company, and live at 19, Canonbury Park, North—the endorsement of tthis cheque (Signed "Walter Pullen") is not mine, neither is this letter. (The address on the letter was printed in colours.) I never saw it till the policeman brought iut—I have no account at that bank.

WILLIAM HALL (240 M). On the evening of April 8th I saw the prisoner talking to the boy on canonbury Square—on seeing me he tried to run away—I caught him—he became very violent, but, with the assistance of another constable, I took him station.

O MAN MACPHEE . I am ledger clerk in the Manchester and Liver-pool Bank, Cornhill—this cheque is from the book of a customer of ours who gave notice that he had lost his cheque-book—no one named Walter Pullen had an account there.

The Prisoner, in his statement before the magistrate, said that the letter was not in his writing, but that he received it from a man whom he met in a billiard-room, and foolishly sent it, and that he had given the man's name and desciption, and stated where he was likely toi be found.

CHARLES DOLAN (Police Sergeant N). The prisoner gave no address, but two or three days afterwards his wife called, and then we got the address.— GUILTY of the uttering .

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-436
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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436. ALFRED CHAMBERS was again indicted for forging and uttering an order for £5 10s., with intent to defraud.

JAMES EDWARD VEEEIEZ . On February 14th I met the prisoner at Ealing; he asked me if I would run on a message for him, and gave me a note, and told me to take it to Carey's, the fruiterer's, and wait for an answer, and bring it to the third house round the corner—I did so, and they gave me some money, which I took to the prisoner, who gave me 2d.—I afterwards identified him at the station.

Cross-examined. You were wearing dark trousers and a dark coat and waistcoat, as you are now—I did not say at the Police-court that you had an overcoat on—this happened about 7.50 p.m.—it was about a minute from the time the man accosted me to the time I started, and in that short time I recognised your clothing; you were in front of an electric light, and I am certain of you.

MARTHA CAREY . I am the wife of Thomas Carey, a fruiterer, of 38, Broadway, Ealing—on February 14th a boy brought me a note; it contained this cheque, with the name of Hewitt on it, who is a customer of ours—I sent the money back with the envelope—I do not know the prisoner.

THOMAS GAILY HEWITT . I am a veterinary surgeon, of South View, Ealing—this cheque is made payable to G. Hewitt—the endorsement is not mine, or written by my authority—I do not know the prisoner.

GERALD D'ARCY HIGGINS . I am a clerk at the London and Midland Bank, Blackfriars Road—I see the name of Booth on this cheque; he is a customer of ours, and we have had notice from him that his book is lost.

CHARLES DOLDEN (Detective Sergeant N). When the charge was read over to the prisoner he said he had never been to Ealing.

The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I say the same as before; the writing of the cheque and letter is not mine."

Prisoner's Defence. I know nothing about it. No doubt the writer of the cheque is the man who has been doing it all along. It is a case of mistaken identity. Several boys came in front of me, and the officers said, "Don't be afraid, touch him." I think I was dealt with most unfairly; these two boys were almost the last to pick me out, the others walked away.

GUILTY of uttering. There were other similar indictments against the prisoner.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-437
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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437. ALFRED FITCH (32) , Feloniously marrying Caroline Saul his wife being alive.

MR. HAWKE Prosecuted.

MART COOPER . I know the prisoner—I was at his wedding to Sarah Jane Wheeler, on February 25th, 1883—he lived with her; I saw her three weeks ago—my last communication with him was in 1886 or 1887, three or four years after the marriage—they lived together some years, but I cannot say how long; at one time they lived at Leadenhall Street, Leicester, and at another time at Clapham Park—when I last heard of them they had parted; that is ten years ago.

WILLIAM SAULL . I am a shoemaker, of 34, Marley Road, Homerton—I was present at the prisoner's marriage to my daughter Caroline on November 9th, 1894.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I knew that you had been married before—you stole my daughter away by false means seven years ago, and went away for three or four months—I never knew whether she was

dead or alive till I had a letter from Yorkshire, and soon after that they came back, and came to my place, and you told me you would never have stolen her away, but you were determined to have her, but could not marry her, as you had got a wife at Leicester; that ie seven years ago; I sat up for my daughter till two a.m., and a letter was put under the door, saying that she had gone; afterwards you came and said that you had had news from your wife's father at Leicester, that she was dead—that was in 1894, and you asked me whether I would give my daughter away, and I did so—she has had one child by you.

GEORGE BROWN (Police Sergeant J). I took the prisoner, and told him he would be charged with bigamy—he said, "All right, don't hold me, I will go quiet"—on the way to the station he said, "Carrie is not my wife, but my wife is dead; do the women know of this?"—I produce a certificate of the marriage of Alfred Fitch and Sarah Jane Wheeler at a church, at Leicester; it is correct; also a certificate of the marriage of Alfred Fitch and Caroline Saul, at Hackney, in which he describes himself as a bachelor.

Cross-examined. You said that you heard your wife was dead, two or three years ago, and that she died eighteen months before you married Miss Saull.

Re-examined. I arrested him for marrying another woman, not this prosecutrix.

CAROLINE SAULL . I went away with the prisoner; he said he could not marry me because his wife was alive—he afterwards told me his wife was dead, and I went through the form of marriage with him on November 4th, 1894.

Cross-examined. I first knew that you were married the same day that you took me away, and I stopped with you—I went to live with you on Whitsun Saturday—I did not then know that you were married—my father would not allow you there because there was another woman, and you said that you were only living with her; she was not your wife—you said you would marry me when you were free; but after I left my home you said that you had a wife living.

Re-examined. I left my home with him six or seven years ago from now, and after that he said that he was married and could not marry me.

By the COURT. I went with him to Yorkshire, Wellington Street—I afterwards went with him and stayed at an hotel in Homerton—it was after I had slept with him that he told me he could not marry me because he had got a wife—he wrote me this letter before I left my father's house. (In this letter the prisoner stated that nn power on earth could separate him from her; that Lizzie was going to Leicester the next week, but he had told her nothing because lie could not trust her, and that the witness must arrange to leave home with him the next week, and tftat he was going to put up the banns the next Saturday, and wished her to send him her full name and the number of the house in her reply.—Signed, "Your very true lover, and soon to be husband.")

The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, said that he and his wife disagreed, and parted, and came together again twice; that he asked Miss Saul to live with him, and afterwards married her on hearing of his wife's death. He handed in a written defence to the same effect.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-438
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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438. ALFRED FITCH was again indicted for feloniously marrying Alice Amelia Barr, his wife being alive.

GEORGE BROWN (Policeman J). I produce a certificate of the prisoner's marriage with Alice Amelia Barr, on February 2nd, 1896.

ALFRED BARR . I am a saw-maker, of 189, Goldsmith Eoad, Lisson Road—the prisoner was married to my daughter, Alice Amelia—I gave her away—he represented himself as a single man—I paid, "Alf., you are not a young man, is there anything in your past life you think you. ought to tell me before your marriage?" he said, Nothing except that he had quarrelled with his father—I asked him if he had been married, he said, "Certainly not."

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. That conversation took place in my kitchen—I asked you, distinctly, whether you had been married before as I had doubts because you had the appearance of a married man—you could give me no information where I could find your father—I never knew where you worked till the night you were arrested.

ALICE AMELIA BARR . On February 2nd I was married to the prisoner at St. Phillip's Church—he represented himself as a single man—after he had been courting me some time he said that he had a wife at Leicester, but she was dead.

GEORGE BROWN . This is the same certificate of the first marriage as I produced in the last case.

MARY COOPER . I was present at the prisoner's marriage to a woman named Wheeler in 1883—I saw her three weeks ago, since the Police-court proceedings.

Cross-examined. I merely went with the detective to see that she was still alive, and I am quite positive of her—I did not see much of her after her marriage.

The prisoner, in a written defence, stated that he told Alice Barr that his wife was dead, and that his marriage with Caroline Saull way not legal, as his wife was living at that time, and that had he not heard of his wife's death he should not have told the detective that he had been married.

A. A. BARR (Re-examined). The prisoner told me first that Caroline was his landlady; he did not tell me that he had married her, and found out that the marriage was invalid, and that he was free to marry me—Carolina's sister told me that Alfred was walking out with her—I believed he was a bachelor.

By the Prisoner. You put "bachelor" on the certificate—you said that your wife was dead, and that you were free to marry me; afterwards I paid, "Did you agree with your wife at Leicester?" You said, "Not very well "; I said, "I hope you will with me"—you never told me about Caroline; I thought it was the landlady you were talking about—you spoke about a little boy, and I understood it was the land-lady's little boy, and you looked after him.

GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-439
VerdictsNot Guilty > unknown

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439. FREDERICK GEORGE (55) , Committing an act of gross indecency with James Robert Townsley, and JAMES ROBERT TOWNSLEY (25) , for a like offence with the said Frederick George.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-440
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceNo Punishment > sentence respited

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440. GEORGE HENRY BEVILLE (34) , Feloniously setting fire to his warehouse, persons being therein.

MR. GRIFFITHS Prosecuted.

WILLIAM McDONALD (34 E R). On the night of May 14th, I was on duty near Seymour Street, and heard a cry of "Fire"—I went to No. 276, and saw the prisoner's wife—from something she said I proceeded to the basement—the floor was all in flames, and the bed and match-boarding and wainscot—I proceeded to put out the fire, and the prisoner came down and said, "I wish to give myself up for doing this—I poured paraffin over the place and set fire to it"—he made a rush at the lamp, and said he meant to do it, and would do it again—he lives in the basement with his wife, and above the basement is an umbrella shop, and above that it is let out in tenements, and eleven people were sleeping there that night—I took him to the station.

INSPECTOR RICHARDSON (V). In the early morning of May 15th I was on duty at Molineux Station, when the prisoner was brought in. charged with setting fire to 76, Seymour Place—he had been drinking—I cautioned him—he said, "I meant to do it"—I then took his statement—down: "I, George Henry Beville, a messenger at the General Post Office, Vere Street, do hereby wish to give myself up for setting fire to my room at 76, Seymour Place. I am not insured. About ten minutes past twelve o'clock this morning, 15th inst., I sprinkled the paraffin on the mattress and all over the room. I could not get the carpet to burn, so set light to the mattress. I meant to do it. I went to work at ten minutes to eight last night, and left work at eleven o'clock at the Vere Street Post Office. I flinch for nothing; what I done to-night I meant to do"—when the cuarge was made, he said, "My intention was for my own place only. I am sorry for the upper tenants. That was my only intention to burn my own goods. I confess to it all"—on the articles being produced, he said, "I did not touch that little one; you need not bring that up."

The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I simply done it from temper."

Prisoner's Defence. On the night I came home I went downstairs, and what I done was done in temper, through having too much drink.

GUILTY.— Judgment respited.

THIRD COURT.—Wednesday and Thursday, May 20th, and 21st, 1896.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-441
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceNo Punishment > sentence respited

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441. ARTHUR JAMESON, Unlawfully obtaining from Selina Wakeley £25 and other sums from other persons, by false pretences, with intent to defraud; Other Counts, for obtaining credit, under false pretences, for those sums.

MESSRS. BODKIN and A. GILL Prosecuted, and MESSRS. C. MATHEWS and RANDOLPH Defended.

SELINA WAKELEY . I am the wife of Charles Wakeley, and live at 33, Dartmouth Park Road—in 1891 my attention was called toan advertisement in a daily paper, in consequence of which my husband wrote a letter, and afterwards the prisoner called at our residence—he gave the name of Arthur Clifford, of Osnaburgh Street, and said he wanted to borrow the money

and would pay £3 interest, and offered pawn-tickets for jewellery as security—he called a second time, and then I lent him the money—he left the pawn-tickets with us, and accepted this bill of exchange. (This was drawn on, and accepted payable by A. Clifford, 28, Osnaburgh Street, for £28 at fifteen days after date.) I paid him £25—when the fifteen days elapsed he wrote a letter, which I have destroyed—he said he had to go to Portsmouth—I did not see or hear of him again till I saw him in custody—my husband went to 28, Osnaburgh Street; I did not go—I have not been repaid.

Cross-examined. My husband is not here; he answered the advertisement—the prisoner left two, three, or four pawn-tickets; I cannot say—I never tried to realise then—I cannot tell the value of the articles pawned—I have destroyed the tickets.

Re-examined. I only signed this bill—I did not go and see the pawned articles.

ELIZA DESBOROUGH . I live at 28, Osnaburgh Street, Regent's Park—I lived there in September, 1891—I do not know the prisoner; no person named Clifford lived there in 1891, to my knowledge—I let lodgings there—no business was carried on there—I do not often see the lodgers; a man named Clifford might have lodged there for a short time; my niece attends to the house.

Cross-examined. I cannot say he did not lodge there; I think he might have done so—my niece has had to go into the country.

Re-examined. I have no recollection of having seen the prisoner before I saw him at the Police-court.

SIMON SEIJAS . I am a commission merchant, at 48, West Regent Street, Glasgow—in February, 1892, when I lived at Streatham, I saw an advertisement in the Daily Telegraph, and answered it—after that the prisoner called on me, and said he was Arthur Jameson, and that he was engaged in the jewellery trade at 8, Doughty Street; that he had some orders in hand that would produce him a large return, and he wanted £35 for a short time to carry out the orders, and he would repay me within a few days—he offered me £8 interest, as he expected to make so large a profit—he gave me eight or ten pawn-tickets for jewellery as security, and this promissory note—he represented that the articles had been pawned for about one-third their value, and that there would be ample security for the loan I made—I advanced him the money in cash—after eight days I called at 8, Doughty Street, which was a private house, and I made inquiries there—I did not see the prisoner again till he was in custody—I put the matter in the hands of my solicitor—I called at 8, Doughty Street a great many times—I kept the pawn-tickets for a time; I redeemed one of the articles, a gold chain; it was pawned for £10; I paid the pawnbroker £12, capital and interest—I sold it for £9 10s. to a melter in Clerkenwell—I did not redeem any of the other pawn-tickets; I do not know what has become of them—I got no money through my solicitor in reference to this matter—I wrote to 8, Doughty Street; the letters were returned to me through the Post Office.

Cross-examined. I think there were about ten pawn-tickets; I won't swear to the number; I think the aggregate value on the face of the tickets was over £100—the £8 offered as interest influenced me, but I believed the security offered was good—I also believed the bonus was

good—I did not calculate the rate of interest; he offered me the £8—it was not denied at 8, Doughty Street that the prisoner had lived there—the prisoner did not state he had a shop there—I took his representations as true—I could not say whether the business of a jeweller was carried on there, nor whether he had orders or not—£9 10s. was the fullest value I could obtain for the chain from an assayer for the intrinsic value of the gold.

Re-examined. The chain was of a very old pattern with very large links—I should not care to wear it.

ELIZABETH MACDONALD . I live at 33, Greycoat Gardens, Westminster—I am married—on April 14th, 1892, I saw this advertisement in the Daily Telegraph. (This advertisement stated that a tradesman wanted to borrow£25 for ten days, to enable him to complete a profitable cash order, and that the lender would be paid most liberally, and could hold security value£100; it was signed "Brett, 13, Tysoe Street") I answered that—a day or two after the prisoner called on me, and gave the name of Arthur Jameson, and said he was a working jeweller, and wanted the money to complete a very profitable transaction; that he was going to buy stones on the market, and could get them at much better advantage if he had the cash—I asked him what security he offered; he said, "Pawn-tickets"—I said I did not know anything about those; they were of no use to me—he said he did not wish me to keep them; he should come back for them; they were much too valuable; the articles were worth three times more than they had been pledged for—the tickets were for a diamond bracelet and a diamond necklet, pledged with Brabbington; the necklet for £70, and the bracelet for £16, I think—he also gave me this promissory note, dated April 16th, for £45 at ten days—I lent him £35, and he said he would give me a bonus of £10—I kept the tickets and the promissory note—on April 19th he came again, bringing a ring; he said he was a working jeweller, and had an order for about twelve dozen of these rings, or some large number, and would I mind lending him another sum?—I lent him £30, I think it was—he gave me about ten more pawn-tickets for jewellery; he only wanted me to keep them for a day or so; he said they were pledged for one-third their trade value—he gave me this promissory note for £35 at four days—I got this letter on April 23rd, signed "A. Jameson." (This stated that he had had a money disappointment, but that he would call on Tuesday, and then take up both his bills.) He never came again, and I did not see him again till he was in custody—I went with a friend to 8, Doughty Street; it was a lodging-house—I made inquiries there about the prisoner—there was no appearance of business at the place; there was no name of a working jeweller up there, and no name of Jameson, Clifford, or Knight—this was the £30 cheque for the second advance; I have my own banking account—I made inquiries of the pawnbrokers about the articles in pledge, but I did not redeem any of them—in May, 1892, I laid an information before the Magistrate, and a summons was granted—I attended on the day of hearing; the prisoner did not appear.

Cross-examined. The warrant remained unexecuted from May, 1892—I am speaking of events that happened four years ago—I have lost the contract note for the diamond necklet pledged with Mr. Babbington—I forgot, when I was before the Magistrate, about the prisoner bringing a

ring on the second occasion—the ten pawn-tickets were of considerable face value—there was no shop at 8, Doughty Street; he said he was a working jeweller; I do not remember that he said he had a shop—it was after going there that I went to the Magistrate.

BARNEY BARNETT . I am a pawnbroker, at 318, High Holborn—F is a contract note for a ring pawned with me for £10; it was never redeemed, and, in accordance with the usual practice, the ring was sent to Debenham and Storr's auction sale, and we bought it in there at £9 10s.—I suppose we have sold it since—its trade value was not more than £10 10s.—the trade value of jewellery is what it would fetch under the hammer, or out of a shop.

Cross-examined. I know, by nearly fifty years'experience, that the prices arrived at under the hammer are a fair, reasonable, approximate value—we can very nearly tell what things will fetch before they are put up—we anticipated buying this ring in when it was put up—the law required us, after keeping it for a certain time, to send it at an auction; we knew it would not fetch the amount for which it was pawned—it was a public auction—I have seen other people than those in the trade there—for the most part, the buyers are dealers—if we find we have lent too much, we sometimes buy in for more than was advanced, and then try to self it afterwaids to a private person—the value in a shop would be greater than the auction value—we should put a fixed profit on it; it would not depend on how much a customer was willing to give—there is a difference between prices in the West-end and the City, but, in the one case, cash is given and in the other generally credit—the value of this ring could be defined exactly, because the diamonds would be worth so much per carat, and the cost to make could not exceed 30s.; a justifiable selling price is a different thing—diamond goods of this kind do not become second-hand in the trade when once pawned; there is no fancy workmanship here or fashion to pay for—it was a marquise cluster—I should not send goods for sale at Debenham and Storr's if I did not think it a good place to get a fair price at—things sold there are sometimes afterwards resold, among the people attending, at an increase—this ring will fetch me 25 per cent, more than I bought it in for—I presume it is sold; I cannot say for how much—Parliament considered that the difference between the actual value of an article and the amount lent upon it by a pawnbroker was 25 per cent., and, by an Act, a pawnbroker has to pay that difference of 25 per cent. more to the pawner if goods are destroyed by fire—it was estimated that the pawnbroker would not advance more than 75 per cent, of the value of an article.

Re-examined. The difference between shop value and auction value is 25 per cent., and you would expect to make that 25 per cent, upon selling the article at Debenham and Storr's—sometimes we make losses—if we buy things in we take them back to the shop and sell over the counter, and we expect to get 25 per cent, more than we have bought in for—it is absurd to say that this ring was pledged for one-third of its trade value—we charge 20 to 25 per cent, interest on these pledges.,

EDWIN REYNOLDS . I am manager to Mr. Shopland, pawnbroker, of 207, High Holborn—this ticket, F 2, is for a diamond brooch pawned with us for £7 on February 8th, 1892—that was sold on April 21st, 1893, at Messrs. Johnson and Dymond's, for £7 15s., it being an

unredeemed pledge—the trade value of jewellery is what it will realise by sale at public auction, at Johnson and Dymond's, or Debenham and Storr's, or any other.

Cross-examined. Debenham and Storr's is conducted on much the same lines as Johnson and Dyinond's—the auction value is the true value—I should be able to accurately determine before an article was put up what it would fetch; there would not be two opinions in the trade as to what it would fetch—it is a matter of opinion with regard to different people's valuation—the value may be a matter of opinion before the sale.

Re-examined. I have had somewhat over forty years' experience—a number of pawnbrokers of many years' experience would put the value of an article at within a few shillings of each other—the actual price is not ascertained till the sale, but there are very few shillings' difference between what it realises at the sale and what our opinion of its value was—I do not agree that we advance 75 per cent, of its value and leave a margin of 25 per cent.; we lend as much as we think the article will realise at a sale; we do not suppose that any article will be left with us to realise on; we rely on pledges being redeemed—eight out of every ten pledges are redeemed, I should say, and the interest paid—because they are redeemed, we are able to advance more nearly to the real value.

HARRY LEET . I am assistant to Mr. Greaves, a pawnbroker, of 189, Mile End Road—this ticket, F 3, is for a diamond and pearl pin pledged with us on April 9th, 1892, for £5—it was afterwards sent to Debenham and Storr's sale, and bought in for £4 10s.

Cross-examined. The sale at Debenham and Storr's was on November 30th, 1893—we get our standard of value from what articles fetch at sales—we can pretty nearly tell the value before that, generally—we can estimate it within very little, but cannot determine it—what it would fetch is a matter of opinion up to the time of the auction—a dealer might give more for it if a customer wanted it—there is one value to those who buy, and another to those who sell.

Re-examined. Sometimes a customer would give a limit of price; it is not usual.

JOHN ALEXANDER GUTHRIE . I am an assistant to Mr. Pilling, a pawnbroker, of 616, King's Road, Fulham—this contract note refers to a diamond half-hooped ring pledged with us on March 28th, 1892, for £7—it was not redeemed—it was sold by auction for £7 15s.

Cross-examined. Until a thing is auctioned, it is very much a matter of opinion what it will fetch.

ANDREW MCGORE . I am a pawnbroker, at Seymour Place—this ticket F 6, relates to earrings pawned with me on April 2nd, 1892, for £4 10s., in the name of F. R. Leslie, of Cambridge University—they were sold at an auction in August, 1895, for £5 2s. 6d.

CHARLES HERBERT BINGHAM I am a pawnbroker, trading as E. W. Thompson, 19 and 21, Illingdoni Road, Bermondsey—this contract note, FA2, relates to a diamond and pearl bracelet, pledged with me on February 1st, 1892, for £16—it was not redeemed; it was submitted to auction, bought in, and subsequently sold for £15 to another member of the trade.

Cross-examined. You get more from a private individual than from the

trade—we try and dispose of it out of the window, and if we cannot we sell it to the trade.

ARTHUR WOODTHORPE . I am assistant to Joseph Hawes and Son, pawnbrokers, of 14, Cranbourne Street—this ticket relates to a gold keyless American watch, pawned with us for £7 10s.—it was sold by auction for £7 15s.

CHARLES ROSSNER . I live at 206, Croydon Road, Anerley, and am an investment broker—I first knew the prisoner in January, 1891, in the name of Arthur Jameson—I came to know him through answering an advertisement in the newspaper—after conversation with him, I lent him £20—he gave me pawn-tickets as security, and a promissory note for £25, at fourteen days—he offered a £5 bonus—he described himself as a jeweller, at 86, Guilford Street, Russell Square—after the time had expired within which the money was to be repaid, I went to 86, Guilford Street, and found it was a boarding-house, with no appearance of a jeweller's business there—there was no name to indicate that he was there—I met the prisoner two or three months afterwards in the street, and got £10 back—I continued to know him up to 1895; I never knew him as doing jeweller's work—I knew a public-house and the street he frequented, and I went there and met him up to 1895—I asked him for the other £15; he said I could not get any more, because I had compounded a felony—that was shortly after he paid me the £10.

Cross-examined. I kept the pawn-tickets—when he paid me £10 I gave him this document, "Received from Mr. Jameson £10 in settlement of all claims."

ARTHUR CLARK (Detective). I held the warrant for the prisoner's arrest in 1892, in consequence of McDonald's complaint, and endeavoured to execute it, but could not do so until March 31st this year—I then arrested him at Bow Street, and read the warrant to him—he said, "Yes"—I conveyed him to the Kilburn Police-station, and searched him, and found £20 in notes and £14 in gold, nine pawnbroker's contract notes for jewellery and seven pawn-tickets for jewellery, two blank promis-sory notes, a cheque-book, and a number of letters and postcards, with American stamps upon them, addressed to boxes at newspaper offices in New York—the prisoner went abroad in November last, and there advertised about loans, and these letters and postcards related to proposed loans—he was passing in the name of Knight when I arrested him—I found a list of passengers crossing from New York, in which the name of James Knight appeared—I left the summons in the Mrs. McDonald's case at 8, Doughty Street; I found it was a boarding-house, with no trace of any business carried on there.

Cross-examined. When arrested he gave the address, 46, Osnaburgh Street; he had been living there.

MR. MATHEWS asked that the evidence of Rampton, a witness upon the depositions, with regard to an alleged offence at Brighton, should not be admitted. MR. BODKIN stated that he should not call him. MR. MATHEWR submitted that the last four Counts, 9, 10, 11, and 12, dealing with the case of Rampton, should be withdrawn, as there was no evidence to go to the JURY upon them; and that the Counts charging the obtaining of money by false pretences from the other persons should be withdrawn

as there no evidence negativing the alleged false pretences. With regard to the Counts for obtaining credit under false pretences, he urged that the section under which they were drawn was not meant to apply to this class of case; that although the false pretences need not be set out, yet operative false pretences, other than those set out in the Counts charging the obtaining of money by false pretences, must be proved; and that, moreover, the facts here showed that credit was not obtained, but that cash was obtained. MR. BODKIN pointed out the distinction between the words, obtaining "by false pretences" and "under false pretences," and contended that it a person were chared with obtaining credit under false pretence, his general conduct must be looked at. In this case, false pretences were made to the prosecutors, upon the faith of which they parted with money, and the prisoner at the same time handed a negotialble document, upon which he was liable at a future date; in so obtaining credit, he was acting under the false pretences that he would pay at the date named in the document, and that the transaction was a genuine one, and therefore the false pretences by which he obtained the money might be attached to the charges of obtaining credit (Q. v. Pearce, 16 Cox's ruled Case, Q. v Lord Mayour and soloman). The COMMON SERJEANT ruled that the case must go to the JURY upon all Counts, with the exception of the (charging the obtaining money from Mrs. Wakelyn) and the last four Counts relating to Mr. Rampton.

Witnesses for the Defence.

MORRIS DAVIS . I live at Grove Road, and am a dealer in precious stones—I have frequented the market in Hatton Garden for the last twenty years—I had an office there, but I gave it up about six months ago, as I do not require it for my business—I have known the prisoner for fourteen or fifteen years—he has been a customer of mine, and has bought precious stones of me to the amount of £50 and £60 at a time, and he has paid me in the aggregate perhaps £2,000—he alwasys pays cash for his goods.

Cross-examined. I am commission agent, and buy precious stones—I buy on commission for myself—books are not required in my business; I buy and sell for cash—I make a note of the transaction if I take goods on approbation—my dealings with the prisoner were not no approbation—I last sold to the prisoner three or four months ago in London; I sold him £50 or £60 worth—I have always known him as a dealer in jewellery—I could not say if I should describle him as a working jeweller; I should say he was—I could not say where he works; he has bought goods of me in Hatton Garden—I had no occassion to write to him—I never dealt in pawn-tickets with him—I never saw pawn-tickets sold in Hatton Garden; they can be bought at almost any price, from what I know; I am not acquainted with the pawn-ticket business—the prisoner has often come to me, and said, "I have got an order?" I have sold him rings and stones—my commission is 1 per cent. for losse diamonds—I do not know whence he has got the money to pay me.

Re-examined. He has always paid me—I would have given him credit to any amount if he wanted it; he has always been very straightforward with me in his dealings—I should say it would be a fair description to say I have known him as a working jeweller; he has bought stones to put

in mounts which he has shown ine, and sometimes he has bought the mounts of me.

ALFRED GOLDSTEIN . I live at 21, St. Peter's Road, Mile End—I deal in precious stones—I am generally in Hatton Garden; I have no shop—I carry what I have to sell in my pockets, where I can place a lot of jewele—I have known the prisoner as a customer for about ten or twelve years—I have had business transactions with him involving the payment by him to me of several thousand pounds, I should think—he has always paid me in cash—he has always conducted himself well with me, and, so far as I know, with other people—his general reputation in Hatton Garden is that of a straightforward man.

Cross-examined. I only knew him as Arthur Knight—I believe he lived in Gibson Square, Islington; I know no other address of his—I supposed he bought jewels to sell again, the quantity he bought—I don't know about his being a working jeweller—I know something of the working jeweller's trade—it would be necessary for a working jeweller to have a workshop and tools.

Re-examined. I have sold him loose and mounted stones, loose stones that he might mount or get mounted—I have sold him goods nearly every day for ten or twelve years; two or three times a week sometimes, and sometimes not for a month or two—I last sold him a diamond pendant and ring for £50 or £60 about four months ago.

GUILTY on all Counts, exclusive of Counts 1, 9, 10, 11 and 12.— Judg ment respited.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-442
VerdictNot Guilty > fault

Related Material

442. ALBERT HARDING CARPENTER ( ), Stealing twenty-six, twenty, and forty boxes of borax, the property of Thomas William Tyndale and another, his masters.

MR. ROSE INNES Prosecuted, and MR. LAWLESS Defended.

CHARLES WALTER HARRIS . I am clerk to Messrs. Bishop and Co., borax manufacturers, trading as the Harmony Borax Company—Messrs. Picktord made application for certain charges of which I knew nothing, And in consequence I went to Brewer's Wharf, and made inquiries; and I there saw 121 boxes of borax, the property of the Harmony Borax Company; each of the boxes was marked with that name—this is a sample tin—our firm at one time had an office in Quality Court—these goods had been manufactured in Warrington; I cannot say how many boxes had come from Warrington and how many from Quality Court.

Cross-examined. I have been for four years in the employment of the firm—there were only two partners, Tyndale and Bishop—I am a clerk in the firm of W. A. Bishop and Co., and I do not interfere with the Borax Company in any way—I know nothing of the prisoner's powers or duties—at the Police-court the prisoner was charged with stealing the whole of the twenty-one boxes; they are all safely at the wharf now—there are two indictments charging the whole of the 121 boxes; the value of them altogether is about £35, or rather more.

Re-examined. The goods were at the wharf to the order of H. Carpenter—he left the firm some time in December, I believe.

ARTHUR NICHOLS BAILEY . I am manager to Messrs. Pickford and Co.—on December 4th, the prisoner, whom I had known previously, called upon me and gave me these instructions, which I wrote down, to collect twenty-six boxes from Carter, Patereon and Co., Goswell Road—

on December 14th I got further instructions frooi the prisoner with regard to nineteen boxes, and on January 3rd further instructions with regard to sixteen boxes—I collected all those boxes, the last two lots from the company's office in Chancery Lane—they were all delivered at Brewer's Wharf, pursuant to the orders I had received—these are the delivery sheets with receipts.

Cross-examined. There was no concealment about the matter.

MAURICE, WHITE . I am delivery foreman to Carter, Paterson and Co.—I received this letter F: "Please deliver to Pickford and Co. all the goods you now hold to the order of the Harmony Company." (MR. LAWLESS said he did not dispute that this was in the prisoner's writing.) I delivered them to Pickford and Co.

ARTHUR CHARLES DAWSON . I am a clerk at Brewer's Wharf—I received eighty-six, sixteen, and nineteen boxes of borax, and I issued warrants for the delivery of all of them to the prisoner in his own name, so that they would be delivered to him or his assigns.

Cross-examined. The boxes have remained there from December to the present time—the prisoner has not asked for them.

THOMAS NICHOLSON TTKDALE . I trade in partnership as the Harmony Borax Company, Cheapside, and Idol Lane—at one time we had an office in Quality Court—from August to December the prisoner was in our employment at a salary of £3 a week at first, and afterwards at a salary of 30s. a week and commission—his duty was to obtain the stuff when required for stock from Warrington—ho had no authority to transfer the eighty-six, nineteen, or sixteen boxes to Brewer's Wharf, or to have warrants made out in his own name—if he got orders they should have been executed out of those lots—the goods were ours—this authority is ia his writing; he had no authority from us to give it to Pickford—roughly speaking, the value of the whole 121 boxes would be rather over £35—there is no trace of these documents signed by him in our letter book.

Cross-examined. I should not think he was in the habit of signing such orders as these in the course of his business—he had general orders from us to sell what he could, and carry on the London business—his duties were to obtain orders and execute them, and on every order he obtained he would get commission—if he took out warrants in his own name, so that he could more speedily transfer them to a customer, and accounted to us for the proceeds, we should not object to the warrants being in bis name—he had authority to do what he could in our interests—whether he lodged the stock at the wharf and in he own name, it would not matter if he accounted to us for the proceeds—I did not dismiss him—he contributed to many advertisements to the papers, with a view to putting commission into his own pocket—we have sixtythree claims against us for a Ivertisements of our business—from October 12th he was paid 30s. and commission on sales—he had no authority to advertise—we told him not to advertise—my partner, Mr. Bishop, is here—the prisoner has on more than one occasion said we ought to advertise, and we have said we had no money to do it—the business has been monstrously neglected; it is only six months old; we took it over from Mr. Stretton, who started it in June—we had the manufactory in Warrington, and the London office was a depot for selling the tins and packets—our general

business is wholesale—the prisoner had no authority to sell the goods in his own name; we never imagined he would.

Re-examined. We have successfully contested the actions about the advertisements.

WILLIAM ALFRED BISHOP . I am a partner of the last witness—I gave no authority for these warrants to be pawned—I did not know that the goods were at Brewer's Wharf till I saw these advices from Pickford in April.

Cross-examined. The stock-sheets are at Warrington—the prisoner got the stock all mixed up, because he gave a lot of bogus orders—I cannot say whether these boxes were entered in the stock-sheets—I have not looked.

Re-examined. Notice to produce the sheets was served last night.

RICHARD FASTNEDGE . I am an East India commission agent, of 5, Lime Street—about February 1st the prisoner came to me for an advance, bringing this warrant, dated December 25th, 1895, for 105 boxes of borax, as security, and I advanced £12 by this cheque, payable to him—three or four days after he came again, bringing this other warrant, and I advanced him £3 by this cheque—I had seen him several times before February 1st, and arranged to advance him £15 as against about one ton of borax—I took his promissory note for £18; it has not been paid—I claimed a lien on the warrants for my money—he gave me this delivery-order, dated February 1st. (This was addressed to Brewer's Wharf, and was an authority to deliver the goods to Fastnedge's order.) It was arranged that I was to sell the goods if he did not pay, and if they realised more than was enough to pay his debt, the balance was to be handed to the prisoner.

Cross-examined. I took the warrants as collateral security—I took the promissory note to show what he owed me, and because it gave a date when it was due—I should not have lent him a penny on the note—I was first asked to make an advance against warrants for borax, and I said, later on, "You must give me apromissory note with it"—I did not know then that he had been in the Harmony Company's employment; I first knew that when he was at the Mansion House—unless he repaid me in three weeks I was to sell the borax—I did not deal with it; I gave notice, and each time an excuse was given; he gave me an invoice, and said he had sold it for £35, and the man was to pay me the balance—I sent over to the City office, and asked if I could get them; that was after the prisoner was arrested, I believe, but before I knew he had been—a friend of mine and his asked whether I would advance £15 on a ton of borax—I did not act on the warrants till May, when he was arrested—the prisoner did not tell me he was only an agent for the sale of the borax—I should not like to say he said distinctly it was his own property—he told me he had sold it, and gave me a copy of a supposed invoice in his own writing—Mr. Whiting is in my office, but not in partnership with me.

THOMAS NICHOLSON TYNDALE (Re-examined). The prisoner really ceased to be in our employment in December, 1895—he was not in our employment in February—after he left us he was supposed to be "negotiating the sale of our business; we had authorised him to try and do so—he was coming to see us about it.

By MR. ROSE INNES. Between the time he left us and April I had no reason to suspect he had been dealing with these goods; the first intimaition

we had was from Pickford—we found we were about a ton wrong nour stock when we made up our books—this quantity made about a ton.

HENRY COX (Detective Inspector, City). I arrested the prisoner on April 18th—he said he had got a complete answer to the charge—I read the warrant to him.

MR. LAWLESS submitted that the prisoner could not be convicted upon this indictment; if any offence had been committed, it was one under Section 78 of the Larceny Act, relating to factors or agents; and, moreover, there was no larceny upon the days named in the indictment. After hearing MR. ROSE INNES, the COMMON SERJEANT ruled that there was no larceny of the boxes of borax, although there might have been subsequent larceny of the warrants, as the prosecutor had stated that the prisoner might have dealt with the boxes as he did if he had accounted for the proceeds. He directed the JURY to acquit the prisoner.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-443
VerdictNot Guilty > no evidence

Related Material

443. ALBERT HARDING CARPENTER was again indicted for stealing thirty tive boxes of borax.

No evidence was offered by the Prosecution.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-444
VerdictGuilty > with recommendation
SentenceMiscellaneous > sureties

Related Material

444. JAMES DONEGAL RYAN (42) , Unlawfully obtaining from Ernest Louis Schreck three pieces of check coating by false pretences, with intent to defraud.


ERNEST LOUIS SCHRECK . I am an agent for manufacturers of soft goods, at 17, Coleiaan Street—in February this year the prisoner came to my office in my absence—on March 9th he came again for some patterns—in reference to the business he had come on before, he said it was not carried out then because my terms did not suit his principals, Messrs. Ramsay, at Suffolk House, whom I knew in business—"he selected some patterns, including check linings, and instructed me to send them to Messrs. Ramsay's office—he said their terms were three months' credit—I agreed to that—I did not see him again till April 13th, when he called and asked me if the parcel he offered me for in February was still there—I said some of the pieces had been sold, but others we still had—he made me an offer of a penny less for three pieces of worsted coat-lining, which I declined—he said he would consider the price, and return later, and asked me if I would send the three pieces on a written order, as they had to be shipped the same day, if his customers would take them—in the afternoon he called in my absence; my brother saw him—my brother was present in the morning when the prisoner called, and made the arrangement with me—when I came back to the office in the afternoon the prisoner had gone—my brother showed me this document B (requesting him to deliver to bearer the three pieces of check coating at 2s. 6d., and to send the other goods to E. Hornsby and Sons; duplicate invoice; terms as arranged), and on seeing it I allowed the licensed messenger to take away, and saw him take away, the three pieces of check linings, of the value of about £24 altogether—I sent the other things to Hornsby and Sons—I afterwards stopped them—I allowed the goods to be taken away under the impression that the prisoner was Mr. Ramsey's buyer, and acting by his authority, and that the order was signed by a Mr. "Ramsay—the prisoner was introduced to me as a Mr. Ryan—I do

not know his writing—I sent a duplicate invoice to Messrs. Ramsey that afternoon—I got an answer from them, and then communicated with the police—I have since been shown the property, and have identified it.

WILLIAM SCHRECK . I am the brother of the last witness, and assist him in business—I was present on April 13th, when the prisoner called, and I heard the arrangement made between him and my brother—in the afternoon the prisoner called again, when my brother was out—he referred to that morning's arrangement with my brother, and said he would take the pieces at 2s. 6d.—I said, "We must have a written order"—he paid, "Well, the written order is on the road altogether; the bearer will come in a minute, and you must deliver him the three pieces, which are to be shipped to-night"—he went away—in about one and a-half minutes he came back with a messenger, Hurley, and gave me this written order—he said, "Here is the written order, and here is another letter for the packer about the other pieces"—he went away, and the messenger stayed—my brother came back just as the goods were going to be delivered to the messenger—in the presence of us both the messenger took away the three pieces, which I gave him.

JOHN HURLEY . I am a licensed messenger, living at 1, Booth Street, Hoxton—on April 13th, at four p.m., the prisoner came up and asked me if I was engaged; I said, "No"—he said, "I want you to go to 17, Coleman Stroet to fetch some goods away"—I went to Schreck'n office at the top off the house, and I was given three pieces of cloth—I took the goods on a barrow to London Wall, where I saw the prisoner waiting for me—he had not arranged to meet me there; I thought he would meet me at the office—I then went to Houndwditch, where the prisoner took a piece otf the barrow and took it down Houndsditch; he came back without it—I went with the other two pieces to Liverpool Street Station, and left the prisoner there with them—he asked me my charge, and I said, "Two shillings," and he gave me a florin, and I went away.

JOSEPH CAMPBELL . I am assistant to the executors of E. A. Barker, pawnbroker, of 91, Houndsditch—this piece of check coating was pawned with us on April 13th for £1 10s.—the manager took it in my presence—I did not know the person pawning; he was a stranger—this is the duplicate.

WALTER OUTRAM (Inspector, City). I saw the prisoner detained at Moor Lane Police-station on April; 20th—I read to him a warrant which had been obtained against him on the 17th—he said, "I had no intention to defraud"—I bad a counterclaim against Mr. Ramsay—I searched and found on him a pawn-ticket for a piece of check coating, a duplicate of the one produced by the pawnbroker—I also found these three printed memorandum forms of Messrs. Ramsay, similar to the one on which the order is written; and a ticket for the other two pieces of stuff which were at the cloak-room of Liverpool Street Station—I said, "I have traced the two pieces of lining to Liverpool Street Station"—he said, "Yes, you will find the cloak-room ticket with those papers," which I had just taken from him; and he said he had pawned the other piece at Hounds-ditch—I went to Liverpool Street Station, and got the other two pieces there—Mr. Schreck identified them.

Cross-examined. I received the warrant on the Friday—you had had these goods in your possession for five days, since the 13th.

CLAUD LOUIS RAMSAY . I am a member of the firm of Ramsay and

Co., East India merchants, of Suffolk House, Laurence Pountney Hill—I have known the prisoner for fifteen or sixteen years as a traveller in the soft goods line, and also in business for himself—he was never in our employ—prior to April 13th he had once or twice ordered goods on our account without our authority—I got no invoice of those goods, but I got a statement a month afterwards, and I spoke to the prisoner about it, and he said he was very sorry; he would never do it again without my permissions—he had a general authority from us that if he got orders on our account which we accepted, we would give him commissian; we should have given him commission if he got an order which we executed—he had no authority to order goods in our name without our consent—he had no right to have any of our memorandum forms in his possession—I did not know he had any—the whole of this order is in his writing, which I know—he had no authority to sign our name,"Ramsay and Co., pp. D. R.," without my permission—I never spoke to me about the order in this document; I knew nothing about it till I got the invoice from Mr. Schreck—this order was not written by me, or sent with my authority in any way—I never had the goods.

Cross-examined by the Priwner. You gave an order with my authority, twelve months ago, for goods from Walker and Co., to the value of about £20—I believe you sent an order by telegram in June, with my permission—I have the book here—you used to come to the office to tell me what you had done—goods were purchased from another tirm with my consent—if an order was given in July to Walker and Co., it was with my consent; there is no record of it here—you had to get my authority before acting; nothing could be done without my authority—everything that was bought before this last case was put before me—in all cases you consulted me first—in the majority of cases the orders are copied on regular order sheets; I do not know why it was not done in these cases—we got patterns from manufacturers for you, and you went out and sold at different prices from those we paid the manufacturers; you would not get your commission till you resold—you did not bring the goods personally; they are on our order forms; I cannot show from these copies whether they were on order forms or not—you bought goods last May with my permission—you only had the right to use the invoices given you with our office—you came there perhaps once a week; you had a table in the outer office and a book—a clerk would not give you a lot of invoices; I should not have thought anything of your having three or four of these order forms—I have settled up with you about your commission—I have no statement of your commission account made out—we cannot settle up with you, because there is an outstanding debt due from a man who is gone; you sold £100 worth of goods to a man who is not known, and we cannot trace him; you have been paid, in all cases except that, more than the commission was altogether—if the £100 is a bad debt, we have overpaid you; I have kept you really—during the last twelve months I have given you hundreds of pounds out of my own pocket; the books do not show it—I told you if we got in the £100 I would give you a lump sum—if the £100 were paid you would be entitled to commission; perhaps a little would be due to him upon the accounts—before buying the goods in each instance you had to consult me or the firm.

Re examined. The £100 worth of goods were sold to Longman and

Company, who cannot be found; the account is three months overdue—their first address turned out to be a tobacco shop, then next a house-keeper's, and the third a tobacco shop—he had promised not to order goods again without our authorty—I did not get the goods he said he had ordered in our name—I paid for them, and they went to Longman who cannot be found—that was in February.

By the Prisoner. Messrs. Long and Company's name was given to me to make trade inquiries—you came and said you had sold goods to him, and he was all right, and I delivered them—I made inquiries through a private friend not connected with the prisoner—I was not to trust him to a very large amount; he had only been known for so many years—the prisoner may have been deceived as well as my friend; I should not like to say the prisoner was any party to that.

The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that Mr. Ramsay had given him leave to buy and sell on his account, and that the balance of commission due to him last Christmas was abcut£20, and that, as he could not get it settled up, he thought he was entitled to buy these goods and set them off against Mr. Ramsay; and that he had no intention to defraud.

GUILTY. The JURY recommended him to mercy, as they thought he had made a mistake. The Police stated that he had borne a good character and occupied a good position, but had been ruined by drink. The prisoner undertook to take the pledge. Discharged on Recognizances.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-445
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty

Related Material

445. CLARISSA SMITH OSBORN (alias CLARISSA TILBURY ) PLEADED GUILTY to marrying John Henry Squire Tilbury during the lifetime of her husband.— Three Days' Imprisonment.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-446
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

Related Material

446. CHARLES BAKER* (43) , to marrying Elizabeth Griffiths during the lifetime of his wife. There were other indictments against the prisoner lor making false entries in registers of marriages; for obtaining money by false pretences, and for stealing a tankard and other articles.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-447
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceNo Punishment > sentence respited

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447. ARTHUR BLAKE (20) , to feloniously receiving certain roperty, well knowing it to have been stolen. A police inspector, and the prisoner's father stated that he prisoner bore a good character. His father stated that he would try and obtain employment for him at some distance from London.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited . And

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-448
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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448. WILLIAM FROST (52) , to marrying Annie Smith during the lifetime of his wife. Annie Smith stated that the prisoner had represented himself as a widower, and that after their marriage he had ill-treated her. A police sergeant stated that the prisoner had contracted a second bigamous marriage with Elizabeth Jackson .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

NEW COURT.—Thursday and Friday, May 21st and 22nd, 1896.

Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-449
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty; Not Guilty > no evidence
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

Related Material

449. HERBERT SAMUEL READING (30) and EDWARD ERNEST JAMES (26) , Unlawfully conspiring to obtain credit and money by false pretences, to which

JAMES PLEADED GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude. MR. C. MATHEWS, or the Prosecution, offered no evidence against READING.— NOT GUILTY .

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-450
VerdictGuilty > with recommendation
SentenceNo Punishment > sentence respited

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450. SIDNEY THOMAS COPPEN, Unlawfully obtaining eighteen chests of tea on credit, within four months of his bankruptcy.

MR. C. MATHEWS and MR. BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. GRAIN Defended.

MR. GRAIN stated that he would admit the shorthand notes, and all the formal proofs, and they were taken as read. The prisoner's examination in bankruptcy was also read.

GEORGE COMPTON . I am one of the firm of Compton and Roper, tea dealers, of 39, Seething Lane—we had dealings with the prisoner, and on June 27th, 1895, we sold him nineteen half chests of tea, ex Ben Larin, Nos. 4,988 to 4,995, and No. 4,915, in return for which we received a bill at four months, drawn July 9th, 1895, and accepted by Coppen, Deacon and Co., payable at the London Joint Stock Bank—on June 28th I sold the defendant twenty chests of tea, ex Bohemia, 325 to 346, and on the same day eleven chests, ex Golconda, 255 t 266—on June 29th, twenty-seven half chests, ex Ben venue, 10,607 to 10,693—this bill was given in relation to those four transactions—it is a bill of £1,000 of Currans, between July 1st and 16th—this is dated April 1st, at four months, for £66, which became due on August 4th, and was dishonoured, as was bill No. 11, of July 1st, and we were creditors against the estate for £186 6s. 11d.—we believed that he was in solvent circumstances, and able to pay us the liabilities he was contracting—the warrants were handed to his clerk, receipts being given to us for them.

Cross-examined. I allege that the defendant obtained the goods by means of false representations—I never spoke to him, or his brother, in my life; but I was dealing with the firm, I knew Coppen, Deacon and Co. only—I only knew the defendant by sight—I do not know that the acceptance was in his writing, upon which my claim in bankruptcy was founded—I have taken warrants for tea to the bank, but I do not buy on four months' credit, I buy at public sales, and pay before delivery—if a person came to me and bought tea, I would take his bill if he gave satisfactory, references—those were the terms on which I dealt with the defendant—the moment he gave me the acceptance I should hand him over the warrants for the tea so sold—he would be entitled to sell them for cash next morning, although the bill was at four months, and put the cash in his pocket, but he certainly would not be entitled to take them to his bankers and deposit them for a temporary advance; if I knew he was doing it, I should refuse to give him the warrant—he has the warrants from us for the purposes of his trade—we have lodged warrants at the bank as cover, which have been paid for, but not warrants which have not been paid for; we cannot obtain warrants till we pay for them, because we buy at sales—when acceptances are given, warrants are delivered, but it would be wrong to deposit them for a temporary advance at the bank—this is right: "The general rule is three months' credit, and in some cases longer, if we draw on a customer at four months, and receive his acceptance, he is entitled to his warrants for trade purposes; he may sell the goods at a profit for cash, and put the cash at his bank and draw out the cash next day, and if he likes to go to the next sale at Mincing Lane, and buys goods for cash, he may take the warrants to his bank."

Re-examined. If a man buys from me, and I hand him the warrants, and he sells that which he buys, but does not deliver the warrants, but deposits them after the sale, that is out of all business character.

By the COURT. I would not deal with a man, and give him warrants,

if I knew he was going to take them to his bank next day, and borrow money on them.

SIR HENRY PEEK . I am one of the firm of Peek Brothers, of East-cheap, and have had experience of the tea trade of London—it is not the custom for a person who buys goods, and does not pay for them, to deposit them for cash at his bankers, and if after having obtained the goods he sells them, and then pledges the warrants, that would be doubly duhonest—pledging warrants which are paid for, is perfectly legitimate and common—there never was an arrangement for paying once a month.

Cross-examined. This is true: "A merchant in the ordinary way may deposit warrants with his banker as cover, even if he has given an acceptance in respect of the warrants which is not then due"—but that is an hypothetical case; no such case arises in legitimate business—we gave credit to his firm for £1,000, and he was not to exceed that—that was on a four months' acceptance—the goods were applied for one day, and the bills given the second day. and they wore taken to the bank on the third day—that was not legitimate business—he had a credit of £1,000, but not for fifteen years—his firm has very likely been paying us £2,000 or £3,000 a year for upwards of fourteen years, but there have been hitches—I think we have made complaints during that time, but I cannot recollect without the books—I have left the City for more than twelve months—I have only deposited warrants which have been paid for, with my bankers—I cannot get them without paying for them by cash, not by acceptances—I have not known of cases where warrants have been delivered on arceptances, and then used by way of temporary cover to the bankers—I have not done it myself, nor has my firm, to my knowledge—I deny it—I do not recollect the prisoner's father being in our service.

ROBERT H. LANCDESTER . I am now at Challen's, in Cannon Street?—up to November. 1879, I was at Peek Brothers, wholesale tea merchants—up to that time the firm was Goppen, Deacon and Co.—on May 7th, the firm sold eighteen chests of tea, ex Gourka; 113 to 127 were the numbers of fifteen nf them—on May 8th Isold him twenty-eight half-chests, ex Ajax, 4,491 to 4,518; the terms were four months, a bill to be drawn a week or ten days afier the date of the order—the warrants of both lots were handed to the defendant on May 8th—those two lots and others were included in an acceptance for £95 19s. 4d., dated May 10th—on June 14th the firm sold sixteen chests of tea, ex Allandale, 5,791 to 5,805, the warrants being handed to the defendant the same day, and an acceptance given and taken for £18 14s. 7d., dated June 19th—on June 13th I sold some tea, ex Clyde, cheats 395 to 402, and this bill (produced) was drawn and accepted, for £62 16s. 4d., dated June 13th, at four months—on June 4th I sold the defendant eleven chests of tea, ex Cyprus, 1,495 to 1,467; they were included in a bill for £50 Os. lid. on June 29th—in those instances ihe warrants were handed over within forty-eight hours, and in each case before we got the acceptance—when I handed over the warrants of June 29th I had no knowledge that the warrants handed over on May 18th had been pledged by the defendant with his banker, or I would not have allowed the warrants to go—I had no knowledge that he was pledging warrants with his bankers—I had every reason to believe in his firm's solvency in

May and June—we were creditors in his bankruptcy to the amount of £1,057;10s. 11d.

Cross-examined. I was seven years with Mr. Peek as ledger-keeper—his transactions for many years were somewhere about £3,000 a year, and we never had a bill returned—there was four months' credit for tea only, but we had transactions in coffee—if a con tract was made the purchaser was entitled to the warrants at once, and it does not mutter whether he gives the acceptance first or afterwards; it is simply a matter of convenience between the contracting parties; there is not a general custom in the matter, so far as I am aware, but on the contract it says, "All warrants and goods in bond are held as security against the debts of the arm"—when he makes purchases he is not entitled to his warrants, according to the custom of the'trade; I should say there is no custom; it is a matter of courtesy—it is not the general custom of our firm to deliver warrants to customers directly the contract is clear, but it is done in certain cases; we always did it with him, but not in many other cases—it is usual, directly the acceptance is given, to hand over the document of title; but if I had any idea that the buyer was anything but a good firm, we should not do so, we should not take the contract—Coppen made no representation to me as to his financial position; he paid our firm £20,000, or perhaps £30,000 during the seven years that I was ledger clerk—we occasionally paid duty for him; at other times we delivered the warrants—it did not matter to us, when we had once made the contract, whether it was fur export or for home trade, but the word "export" being on it, we should expect it to be shipped abroad; all that that would convey to my mind is that there would be no duty to pay—he could change his mind afterwards, we had no control over that—there' would be nothing wrong commercially in it; but it does not happen frequently in my experience.

Re-examined. This was an exceptional arrangement with Coppen as to handing over the warrants; it is not customary; it was founded on our absolute belief in his solvency.

By the COURT. When the purchase was made, the purchaser was entitled to the warrant at once; if there was a mere contract, we should not hand over the warrants unless we had absolute confidence in the firm—none of the bills have been met.

WILLIAM BURTON . I am manager to Messrs. Twiniog and Co., tea dealers, of Mincing Lane—the defendant bought tea of them—on June 24th, 1895, I sold him twenty-tour chests of tea, ex Dictator, drawing this bill on him (produced) for £114 18s. 3d., including other transactions—the numbers were 213 to 236 inclusive—we nave a memorandum, "Pleaso hand warrants for export ex Dictator"; that means that they were to be exported—on June 15th I sold him thirty-four chests of tea, Nos. 7,023 to 7,025, and 11 to 38, and 7,155—the bill for £35 7s. 2d. includes those half-chests; neither of the bills has been met—part of the Dictator warrants were handed to the defendant on June 24th, and for the three ohests on Junn 17th—I find, with regard to the Dictator, the duty on three chests was paid on the 25th, nnd on three chests on the 12th, and the warrants lor the balance were handed in un June 12th, accompanied by a request.

Cross-examined. There is no payment in the pass-book of £23 13s.; there was a bill due on May 4th, of £23 13s., which was met, and on June 4th

one for £89 1s., which was met; there was another bill of July 4th of £108 8s. 10d., which was not paid; we had to help him with £80—we drew on him for £80, and the bill was not met—I do not know whether that was after the bankruptcy, but it was on August 8th—I knew that he had taken over his brother's business then—the brother owed us £500 on May 16th, which had been reduced to £446 at the time of the failure—the only purchases he made of me within four mouths of his bankruptcy were £130 in June and £15 in May—their business with us amounted to £1,000 or £1,500 a year—we had to give them a little assistance sometimes—they had £500 or £600 credit—we thought they were good for £500, or we should not have trusted them.

Re-examined. I did not know that the defendant was pledging warrants with his bankers, or I should not have parted with the warrants, or entertained the transaction of the 15th.

By the COURT. I know how large firms carry on their business; probably they deposit warrants with their bankers—the smaller houses get credit, and then the warrants are delivered to them, if they require them—we find out when a man is bankrupt.

JAMES H. EVEKETT . I am ledger clerk to Elwards and Son, tea dealerb—on May 10th they sold the defendant eighteen chests of Ceylon tea, ex Cruttco, amounting to £58—the warrants were handed to him or his representative, and paid ior by a bill of May 15th, which has not been met—on June loth they sold him some tea, and I saw a bill for £36 4s., which was not met, though the warrant was handed over—in July they sold hiu: some tea, ex Yorkshire. 185, 186. and 187—the warrants were handed over to him—no bill was given for that.

Cross-examined. We handed over the warrants on application—that is not a common custom—we had dealings with his brother as a firm—they have paid us about £8,000—their dealings were £600 or £700 a year—we are creditors for £197 13s.—we did not receive a cheque to settle up the brother's account—we have not done any business for him for eight years—everything was settled in 1888, and we re-opeued the account in 1894—we had a separate transaction with the defendant for £19, which he paid—he took over the business.

MCRTON LEWIS . I am tea buyer to Jacob Langford and Co., of Grace-church Street—they Sold the defendant six chests of Ceylon tea, ex Tradition; and eighteen chests, ex Vandur,£25 0s. 10d. and £578s. 9d., Nos. 215 to 264—they were paid for by this bill for £112, including two other small items, and the warrants hauded to Coppeu—that bill has been dishonoured.

Cross-examined. I knew of the dissolution of partnership between the defendant and his brother—we dealt with his brother after that, irrespective of him—in 1895 an account was due from the brother, which was, I believe, paid off by the defendant—on June 4th the defendant paid us £28 3s. 4d., that was a bill at four months; on June 18th he met a bill for £41 17s. 2d.—the amount due by the brother when he took the business over was something like £208 10s., which the defendant reduced to £110, which we have proved for—the defendant has also bought goods in June which he has not paid for—they were his brother's bills which he met—he did business with us to about £100 a month for several years.

CHARLES CATHIL WEBB . I am managing bankruptcy clerk to Mr.

Berry, the trustee of the defendant's estate, and have had his books in my custody; among them was a bought ledger and a clearing stock book—there are entries of tea bought—in the clearing stock book I find entries of goods sold to the Native Brand Company, which are identitied by the marks and numbers—from my examination of the books, I prepared this schedule showing, in a tabulated form, the person from whom purchased, the date, the marks on the goods, and the ship from which the tea came—I also prepared a statement of the bills of exchange given for those goods, showing the dates and amounts; that is correctly scheduled.

Cross-examined. I have had a good deal of experience as clerk to Mr. Berry in bankruptcy matters—all the ordinary books of trade were kept by the defendant, and from them I have abstracted this list—all the entries were properly made; I did it with assistance—the disposition of all warrants is contained in the books, so that you eould see where they went to—there is no concealment of any kind in the books—during the four months we are dealing with, from April 11th, the defendant's purchases amounted to between £1,600 and £1,700, and the cash book shows that his payments during the same period amounted to £3,700—I have had all the books before me, from 1880 up to the failure; during that time payment was made in respect of goods to a very large amouut—I have' no reason to doubt that all those payments were fairly regular—I have not been able to trace that, all sums borrowed were paid into his bankers, but they were, generally speaking—from the account he has filed, his personal expenses were about £350 a year—he has given me every assistance—he was ordered by the trustees to tile a cash account and a goods account; that was of material assistance to me.

Re-examined. He was ordered to file a deficiency account; he did so, and it gave liabilities over assets,£906 6s. 11d., on January 31st, 1894—he seems to have left the business about January 31st, 1894, but the formal announcement was not given till June, after which he returned, and conducted the business from April, 1895, and he was solely responsible—the gross deficiency was £8,900.

GEORGE ANKERSON . I am Secretary to the Native Brand Tea Company, Limited, 76, Lower Thames Street, which has about fifty-two share-holders—there was an issue of shares, most of them fully paid, and they have paid over £10,000 in relation to those shares—up to July. 1894, the defendant was a director of the company, and up to that month his brother was the managing director—in March, 1895, the defendant was appointed chairman; his brother going out, he took over his brother's interest—I kept the company's books—I was not employed also by the defendant in 1895, but I did some of the clerical work—I include his transactions with the Native Brand Company—this is the contract signed by the defendant (produced)—the company paid him from time to time for tea which he had bought under that contract, and at his bankruptcy proved against his estate for £2,245 10s. 11d. in relation to tea which he had invoiced to the company, but had never delivered—I kept the company's books and the defendant's books; the entries in the company's books correspond with the tea the prisoner sold—it was an open account between him and his brother, but from April, 1895, paid solely to him—those payments would be made from Mr. Coppen's instructions; but if he was away, I should make the payment to his firm

—there was no one else in his firm from April, 1895—I acted generally on his instructions—after April,£2,300 was due from his brother—I paid over to the chairman of the company £2.34-7 from April, 1895, to the bankruptcy, when the warrants have not been delivered, and over that in the shape of goods—I represent to the Jury that he has delivered all the goods lie has been paid for—he took over bis brother's liability in relation to goods invoiced to the company, but not delivered—I cannot say for which payment has been made, but of which there has been no delivery—an excess of £2,241 paid beyond the amount of goods delivered existed on March 26th, and continued down to August 26th, and it was in relation to that, excess that I proved against the estate—he failed in July 6th—I did not ask him tor delivery when I knew he could not deliver ihe goods which he had already paid for, but I did not buy the goods elsewhere—I knew he had borrowed money on the warrants; when I said, "I did not ask him for delivery when I knew he could not deliver, we would buy the goods some where else," that meant after December—£2,200 was the amount brought down; the liability was his brother's—he was working off his brother's indebtedness, and setting off his own indebtedness against it—I have said, "The hypothecating the warrants prevented the delivery of the goods to us; we never asked Coppen for delivery of the goods till we stopped them; I did not ask him for delivery when I knew he could not deliver"—I went on to say that we would then buy the goods elsewhere.

By the COURT. I really mean to tell the Jury that when I said that I was speaking of what took place after his bankruptcy—this was in 1895.

Cross-examined. There is a debt due by the brother of £2,000 odd; he took over that liability, and I can tell you from the books that from that time he has delivered as much goods as he has paid money for.

FREDERICK ALFRED ROOK . I am a clerk at the London Joint Stock Bank, Great Tower Street—the defendant had an account there up to September, 1895, and was in the habit of pledging warrants for tea—he has had the account since 1884 with his brother, and this system of pledging has been going on all the time—he would hand a batch of warrants to us for £300—this is one of his letters of hypothecation, dated May 9th, and in the schedule to it there are numbers corresponding to the numbers on the warrants, and the names of the ships by which the goods came—this, of June 17th, for £240 against the warrants named in the schedule, and this, of July 9th, for £120 against the warrants mentioned in the schedule—each of those letters hypothecates the warrants for three months—the amounts were not paid in each of those cases, part was redeemed, and the bank appropriated the warrants for the rest, and sold the goods on the market.

Cross-examined. The first amount was £300; we do not know that he paid off £275 of his brother's debt, ard only got £25—this is a general form very largely in use at all our branches—it is a very common thing for the bank to advance money on warrants—when the warrants are lodged by a dealer we assume that they have been paid for.

THOMAS CAMERON TANNER . I am a partner in Reginald, Son and Barker, of Cannon Street, in the tea trade—I am not aware of any custom of pledging warrants for tea which has not been paid for, against cash advances.

Cross-examined. I know that warrants are frequently deposided by large brokers for advances; we have not done so; it is a very bad thing for merchants to pledge warrants whcih they have not paid for—we did a large business with him some years ago, but we were unaware that he was a partner; we trusted him as having a retail business—his firm has paid us a large sum, it may be £30,000; but it is some years since we did business with them—having given us an acceptance, say, at four months, and having the warrants in his possession he would not be entitled to take them to his bank for a temporary overdraft—it is not the custom of the trade—it he had given his acceptance, and we had handed him the warrants, and ultimately the bill was paid, it would; if we knew it, we should decline to give him credit again—supposing the goods were sold to a customer in Australia, it would be wrong to hypothecate them.

FRANK TRAVERS . I am Secretary to Josph Travers, Limited, of 110 Cannon Street—I have had experience in the tea trade—I have heard Mr. Travers' evidence, and agree with him.

Cross-examined. I generally purchase in Mincing Lane—I cannot obtain warrants without cash—retail dearlers give acceptances, and we should deliver the goods on them if we are satisfied.

JOHN MECHI . I am one of the firm of Joseph Tilley and Co., wholesale tea dealers of 5, Fenchurch Street—I have had a great experience in the tea trade—I have heard the evidence of Mr. Tanner and Mr. Travers, and agree with them.

Cross-examined. We are creditors for about £262—when we dealt with Coppen and Co.,£30,000 is considerably over the amount they paid us.

MR. GRAIN submitted that there was no case to go to JURY, and proposed considered that it was clearly a case for the JURY, as one case could not be tried by another when there was a question of facts.

C. C. WEBB (Re-examined). I have not seen any record of any export business having been done by him in the last four months.

GUILTY.— Recommended to mercy by the JURY. Mr. Berry was directed to prepare a balace-sheet by next Session.—Judgment Respited.

OLD COURT.—Wednesday, May 20th, 1896, and two following days.

Before Mr. Justice Hawkines.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-451
VerdictGuilty > unknown

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451. AMELIA ELIZABETH DYER (57) was indicied for the wilful murder of Doris Marmon.



EVALINA EDITH MARMAON . I live a Cheltenham—in January, this year, I was confined of female child—in March I saw an advertisement in a Bristol paper, of which this (produced) is a copy: "Couple with no child, want care of or would adopt one: terms £10. Care of Ship Exchange, Bristol"—I wrote 20th: "Kensington Road, Oxford Road, Reading, Berks. To Mrs. Scott. Dear Madam,—In reference to your letter of adoption of a child, I beg to say I shall be glad to have a little baby

girl, one that I can bring up and call my own. First, I must tell you, we are plain, homely people, in lairly good circumstances. We live in our own house, and have a good and comtortable home. We are out in the country, and sometimes I am alone a great deal. I don't want the child for money's sake, but for company and home comfort. Myself and husband are dearly fond of children. None of my own. A child with me would have a good home, and a mother's love and care. We belong to the Church of England. I would not mind the mother or any friend coming to see the child at any time, and know the child is going on all right. I only hope we may come to terms. I should like to have the baby as soon as you can arrange it. If I can come for her, I don't mind paying for one way. I could break my journey at Gloucester; I have a friend in the Asylum there I should be so glad to call and see. It'you will let me have an early reply I can give you some references.—Yours, MARY HARDING."—I replied to that letter, and received this, dated March 22nd, in the same handwriting, dated "45, Kensington Road, Reading. To Mrs. Scott. Dear Madam,—Many thanks for your letter this morning. I shall not answer anyone else till I hear from you again. I assure you I will do iny duty to the dear child I will be a mother as far as possible in my power. If you like to corns and stay a few days, or a week, later on I shall be pleased to make you welcome—it, is just lovely here in the summer. Tnere is an orchard opposite our front door. You will say H is healthy and pleasant. I think Doris a very pretty name; I am sure she ought to be a pretty child."—I answeied that, and in reply received this letter of March 24th, in the same handwriting: "My dear Madam,—Your letter just to hand, and I shall only be too pleased for yourself and any friends to come to us; we don't have many visitors out here in the country. I assure you it would be as great a treat to us as to you. I shall feel comfortable to know that the dear child has some one to care for her. I will do a mother's duty by her, and I will bring her up entirely, just the same as my own child. Every care shall be taken of her, and when you come you will see I do my duty by her, dear child. I shall only be too glad to have her; and I will take her entirely at the sum of £10. She shall be no further expense to her family. I will come on Monday next. I will let you know later on what time train. I have not a time-table, but I will find out, and let you know.—Yours faithfully, HARDING." "If Tuesday will suit you better, kindly let me know, as either day will suit me.—HARDING"—I received another letter, dated Friday morning, in the same handwriting: "My Dear Mrs. Scott,—Just a letter to say I have not heard from you to say I must not come on Monday, so I take it for granted I shall come on Monday next. I shall leave here at nine, and get to Gloucester about twelve; and go straight to Woottou Asylum; then I will take the next train to Cheltenham. I fancy I can be at Manchester Street not later than two. I hope it will be a fine day.—Faithfully yours, HARDING." "My husband says, if the mother would like an agreement, would you kindly draw one out, and we will sign it?"—I replied to that, and then received this, of Sunday, the 29th, in the same hand-writing: "My Dear Madam,—Your letter came this morning, so I will come on Tuesday next, by the 9.50. Bring a warm shawl to wrap round baby an the train. Fearfully cold here to-day.—Yours, HARDING."—On

Tuesday, March 31st, the prisoner came to my address at Cheltenham about mid-day—she said she was Mrs. Harding, and had come for the baby—before she came I had prepared this agreement—I put it before her, and she read it, and signed it—(Read: "dated March, 1896." "I, Ann Harding, of 45, Kensington Road, Oxford Road, Reading, in consideration of £10 paid to me by E. E. Marmon, agree to adopt the child, and to bring up the same as my own, without any further compensation over and above the £10.—Signed by ANN HARDING, E. E. MARMON, witnessed by MAKTHA POCKETT."—that was my landlady—I paid the prisoner the £10, and she signed the receipt at the back of the agreement—she left Cheltenham with the baby by the 5.20 train—I went with her as far as Gloucester—I took with me a cardboard box containing baby clothes; handed that to the prisoner at Gloucester—the baby was dressed in a ✗fawn-coloured pelisse and a white bonnet—this (produced) is it; it went away in that—these are the actual things it went away in—the child was quite well when it left me—she said she was going to take it to Reading—she promised to write to me the same evening—at Cheltenham she fetched a carpet bag from the cloak room, and took it with her in the train to Gloucester—this is like the bag; I could not say it is thesame; it is the same style of bag—I next received this letter from her on April 2nd—it is in the same handwriting—(Read: "Pervis Road, Kensal Rise. Dear Mrs. Scott,—When I got home last night, a wire was waiting for me—my sister dangerously ill; so this morning I came up. My dear little girl is a traveller, and no mistake. She was so good; did not mind the journey; she slept all the way. I shall stop now till Saturday. Sunday I will write again, if not before. In great haute.—I am, Yours, A. HARDING. A long letter next time.") I heard no more from the prisoner—I wrote to her on April 4th—on April 7th a police constable called on me at Cheltenham, and on the 11th I went to the mortuary at Reading at the request of the police, and there saw the body of my child—it was ten weeks old—this powder box is one of the things I sent with the child, and the cardboard box is like the one she had—it has some of the clothes still in it—there were a number of diapers in it when it went away; this is one of them; it was found round the body.

Cross-examined. I did not make any inquiries about the prisoner before the 31st—I did not ask her anything about the asylum at Gloucester; she told me it was her sister-in-law that she wes going to see there—I did not ask her for any references; I did not think it necessary—I did not take the trouble to inquire whether the statements in her letters were true—I did not go and sew her—she was not excited when I met her on the 31st—I asked her if she was Mrs. Harding, and she said she was—I noticed nothing strange in her conduct or behaviour—she did not tell me that she herself was in any asylum—I did not ask her about her previous history, she told me a lot of things—she told me about her husband and about her circumstances, that was all—she said she was fond of children—she appeared to be an affectionate woman, from her appearance and her conversation I parted with my baby; I was satisfied with her looks—I should not have thought she was capable of committing such a crime as she is charged with—she told me that the carpet bag contained eggs and clothing.

Re-examined. She arrived about half-past twelve; I was in her company

from that time till the train left Gloucester—left Cheltenham about 5 20—we were talking together—she did not seem at all excitable or irrational, but quite sensible.

CHARLES JEFFREY . I am chief clerk in the office of the Bristo Times a daily paper—prior to March 18th, I think about the 11th, we received this order for six insertions in that paper.

MARY ANN BEATTIE . I am the wife of William Beattie of Myo Road Harlesden—on Tuesday night, March 31st, about ten or a little past, I was returning home from Kilburn in an omnibus—in the omnibus I saw the prisoner with a bag, a parcel, and a child—she got out at the corner of Mayo Road—the conductor carried the bag and parcel and put them on the pavement—I got out and walked a little way across the road; turning round, I saw her hesitating, and I asked where Mayo Road she had to go—she said, "76"—I said, "If you don't mind, it is just across the road. I will carry that bag for you"—she said, "Thank you;" and I carried the bag down the Mayo Road, and she followed at my side with the baby and the parcel—at the door of 76 a young woman was standing—I put the bag down on the dooratep, and left it and the prisoner there.

Cross-examined. She did not look at all flurried or excited—I did not notice anything about her.

MARY ANN PALMER . I am the wife of Arthur Ernest Palmer, and am a daughter of the prisoner—since the middle of January this year I have been living with my husband, at 76, Mayo Road, Willesden—last year I was living with my mother, the prisoner, at Caversham—in December she was living at 45, Kensington Road, Oxford Road, Reading—on the night of March 31st, about half-past ten my mother, came to 76 Mayo Road—I occupied a room on the ground floor—I expected her—She knocked at the door; I opened it, and saw a stranger at the door, and then saw my mother—I got the carpet bag from the stranger, Mrs. Beattie but I did not recognise her—mother was carrying the child—I did not notice the parcel—I asked her to come in—she said, "No; she would not come in; she was waiting for someone coming behind"—I asked her, "Is that a child you have there?—behind—I could not see it properly, she had a shawl thrown over it—she asked me if I knew Harris of Pigots Road—that was an address that I had lived at with her—I asked her if it was Mrs. Marmon's child—she said, "Yes;" and asked if I knew Mrs. Harris, of Piggott Road, Reading; that was a road I had lived at with her—I said, "I do not know"—she told me that she was holding it for her, as she had, been to a grocer's shop on business on the other side of the way—I went into the house and into the back-yard, leaving my me her on the doorstep; I may have been there ten minutes—I then went to the sitting-room my mother was there, sitting at the table and putting a carpet-bag under the couch—I did not notice whether there was anything in it—I saw a parcel on the couch which she had undone; it was a cardboard box like this, and she gave me some child's clothes out of it; a little white frock and some shirts—this is one (produced)—she did not give me all the things in the box; but she left the box with me, and the things in it—she gave me this little vest and this fawn-coloured pelisse with the case—I had not seen her take anything out of the carpet bag—she also gave me a gammon

of bacon wrapped in paper, from a paper parcel which she had, and which was on the couch when I went in—there was something in the carpet bag when I took it into the house—before I went to bed that evening my mother told me she was going to the station next day to see a person about a child she was going to take to nurse fora month, and asked me if I would go with her at 11.30—she slept on the couch that night—my bedroom was across the passage, and I slept there with my husband—she had two rooms—up to the time of going to bed I heard no sound, and saw no sign of the child who had been in my mother's arms—I had seen her carrying something, and asked her what it was, and she had told me it was a baby, and about Mrs. Harris—when I saw her afterwards she told me Mrs. Harris had got comfortable, and I saw no more of it—the next day, April lst, I went with my mother to Paddington Station, taking an oinui'ius from Harlesden—Harold, a little boy I adopted last October, when I was living with my mother at Caversham, went with us—I have adopted him for as long as he lives—when we took him to Paddington he was dressed in this fawn-coloured pelisse—the prisoner gave me the pelisse the night before, about eleven o'clock, after she came in—Harold will be two years old on June 12th—I did not; see how the child my mother brought in the night before was dressed, I did not see it undressed—my mother did not say how she had got the cardboard box with a little baby's things in, only that she had made the dress and skirts lor my little boy, Harold—little boys and girls are dressed alike up to a certain age, the dress and skirts were long enough for Harold; they all fitted him—I tried on the fawn-coloured dress, not before she gave it to me—she had not taken nny measurement of Harold that I know of—I had plenty of clothes with Harold, and had plenty still for his use; I did not want any more—it was a surprise when she gave me these little shirts and dress for Harold, which she said she had made for him—I have no children of my own—I advertised for one to adopt, and in consequence of it I got Harold—I got £12 with him—I did not calculate how much the child would cost me—the £12 is goue—I knew it would not keep him for many years—I did not merely want the ready money, I wanted the baby to adopt and keep—my husband is a commercial traveller—at Paddington, on April 1st, about twelve o'clock, we met a lady and gentleman (whom I know now to be Mrs. and Mr. Sargeant), who had a child with them, about thirteen months old—my mother went up and spoke to them, and introduced me to Mrs. Sergeant as her niece—she did not explain to me why she did that; I did not ask her—she called me her niece when I was married—we all adjourned to the refreshment-room, where some money (I did see how much) and the child were handed over to my mother—I believe Mr. Sargeant handed the money, I could not be positive—I saw a paper handed to my mother; she kept it—I did not see it; I never asked to see it; I was never told its contents—I and my mother then returned to Mayo Road with Harold and the Sargeants' child which was dressed in this plush pelisse—the child was all right when we got home, but soon after got fidgetty and cross—it was a little boy—I asked my mother not to let him cry, if she could help it, but to give him the titty, and keep him quiet—she said she would—she shook him—I don't remember that she said anything else—the child was cross and fidgetty, and crying—I don't

recollect what she said, or if she said anything—my deposition was read over to me; this is my signature to it—I asked my mother to give the child the titty to keep it quiet, and she said something then, but I cannot remember what it was—my mother had no food or bottle for it—I wanted my mother to give it the indiarubber titty, just something to suck—the child did not seem hungry—my mother gave it the titty, and the child was quiet for a little while; but it broke out again, and then I gave it some bread and butter, and it was all right till about six o'clock—my mother shook the child before I gave it the bread and butter; she was cross with it, and called it a little devil, but I could not understand exactly what it was—she said she should not keep it, and called it a little devil, and passed a remark that I cannot quite remember now—she passed a remark which I understood to mean she should not keep it—we had got back about two p.m.—about six that same evening the prisoner asked me if I was going to put my little boy, Harold, to bed, and I said, "Yes"; and she said either "I will put mine, too," or "I will put this one, too"—she undid his pinafore and frock—I took Harold into the other room—as I left the room she said, "Don't be many minutes," or "Don't come in for a few minutes,"I could not he positive which—I might have been out of the room for ten or fifteen minutes—when I got back to the sitting-room the baby was lying on the couch, covered all over with her shawl—I did not see its face—I asked the prisoner if it had gone to sleep, and she said, "Yes"—I went to look at it, but she pushed me away, and said, I was not to touch him, or I should wake him up—before I went into my bedroom it had been crying—it had stopped crying a few minutes before I left the sitting-room—when I came back I did not know it was the baby on the couch, any more than it looked like the child; I only saw the shape of the child covered up with the shawl, and I did not see it anywhere else—I did not want to see it for anything particular—I did not think it peculiar for the prisoner to push me away when I went to look at it, because she is very apt to do it when I want to do anything she does not want me to do—soon after my husband came into the room—he asked if we had been to fetch the child—I said, "Yes"—he looked acrosa at the couch, and asked if that was the little nipper there, and he walked towards the couch—the prisoner told him not to go to him or touch him, because the child was asleep—just before we went to bed, between ten and eleven, I asked the prisoner if I should make a bottle of milk for the child, and the prisoner said, "No, if he wants one I can make it myself"—between 7 and 7.30 I went out with the prisoner and my husband—before going out the prisoner asked me if I could lock up her carpet bag in the box—I said, "No," and asked her what she bad in it to want it locked up—she said she had nothing in it particular, but she did not want other people in the room pulling her things about—when we went out of the room she locked the door of the sitting-room—at that time the carpet bag was under the couch, and the child was still asleep on the couch, completely covered up by the same shawl—it had been on the couch from the time I went into the room, about 6.15, till we went out, about 7 or 7.30—I had been in the room all the while—I had not noticed it move or utter a sound during that time—nobody had gone to look at it in my presence; I had not—I was in the room—I had given it some bread and butter and milk before it was put down on the

couch, and it had some at tea-time when, we had our tea, before six o'clock—after six it had neither moved nor made a sound, nor had anybody looked at it—my mother, my husband, and I were out from one to one and a-half hour—we had been for a walk down the road; we did not go to any place of amusement—my mother wanted to go to Olympia—when we got back we all went into the sitting-room; the baby was still on the couch, just as we had left it—it was then about nine—the prisoner went straight up to the child, and looked at it—she did not take the shawl off; I did not notice what she did—she said, "He is still asleep; don't touch him"—when we went out there was nothing to prevent the baby from rolling off the sofa—the sofa had no sides, only an end, and was made of horsehair, and slippery—I don't think the prisoner posted a letter that night when we were out—I know nothing about a letter posted at 8.30 that night—I saw her writing a letter in the morning; I did not see to whom it was addressed—the prisoner slept that night in the sitting-room; she said she was going to sleep on the couch—my landlady offered to let her sleep with her—the prisoner said, "No"—I left her to sleep on the couch—when I left the room to go to my bedroom the baby was apparently still on the couch—the room was not locked that night, that I know of—next morning I went into the sitting-room about eight o'clock; my mother was sitting on the end of the couch—I could not see the baby—I asked where it was; she said it was all right; she did not say where it wan—it is a medium-sized room—there were chain and a table in it—I did not cast my eye round the room to see if it was on the chairs or table—I then tidied up the room; and as I was sweeping it out I noticed a parcel under the head of the couch; I could only see one end of the parcel; it looked like the shape of a child's head; it was tied up in what looked like a napkin—the rest of the parcel was like a child's body, so that the whole thing looked like a child—I asked her again what she had done with the baby—she said the baby was all right, I was not to worry about it—I did nothing with the parcel—about dinner time, that same day, my mother asked me if I had a brick—I said, "No"—she asked me if Arthur (meaning my husband) would get her cue—I said, "No; not unless he knows what you want it for"—soon after I went out to the back yard—my mother followed me out there—there were some loose bricks there—she took a brick into the sitting-room and put it under the couch; I did not see where she got the brick from—the bag and the parcel that looked like a baby were still under the head of the sofa, on the floor—on the evening of that day, about 7.20, the prisoner asked me and my husband to go to Paddington Station with her—I left the sitting-room, and went to my bedroom to get ready—when I came back to the sitting-room I noticed that the carpetbag was packed—it looked more than full, it would not close at the top; there was brown paper over the top, and the bag was tied round the centre with string:—Hooked under the sofa, and there was nothing left there; brick and parcel were both gone—the prisoner, my husband, and I left the house together, the prisoner carrying the bag—as we left the house I asked her what the neighbours would say that saw her come in with the child, and did not see her take it out again, or go out without one—she aaid I could very well make an excuse—we went by omnibus—we went to the cookshop by the side of the Crown, where the omnibuses start, and

then she asked my husband if he would hold the bag while she went into the pastrycook's—at Paddington I saw ray mother into a carriage of the 9.15 train, which is express to Beading, I believe—my husband took her ticket; I did not see it—she told me she was going to Reading—after she got into the carriage someone else got into the same carriage—she got out again, and got into anpther carriage by herself—we left her before the train started—she had the bag still with her, I am sure—I had a work-basket in this sitting-room; it contained tape among other things—after my mother had gone I missed a skein of tape that I had there befor she was there—when I returned home I never saw anything more of the baby that had been brought from Paddington Station—neither of the babies was left there.

Cross-examined. In 1891 I was living with my mother in Bristol; she was confined in Gloucester County Asylum in 1891—a doctor examined her in that year, and I told him my mother tried to commit suicide by cutting her throat—she made three attempts, and I said that she was very violent—in 1893 she was sent to the Wells Asylum—she was very violent then—in 1894 she was again sent to Gloucester County Asylum, and after coming out of there sho tried to drown herself; she was taken to Bristol Hospital—in 1891, 1893, and 1894, the only thing she seemed to want to do was to com nit suicide—she said she heard voices, and she had a delusion that I was going to murder her—she threatened my life on several occasions, and once she attempted it—these fits appeared at certain times with her—in between them, as a rule, the was calm and quiet—at times she used to go off like that—during her calm moments she was very kind and affectionate—on March 31st, when she came, she seemed all right at the door, but when she was indoors she seemed very flurried—I left her at the open door—I did ask her in—I could not say whether she undressed" herself that night—I found her dressed in the morning—she did not appear to have gone to bed that night; none of her things were undone—she seemed to me not to have taken her clothes off—during the time my mother was at my house we had meals in the sitting-room—two infants came to the house—when I asked my mother, "What will the neighbours think of your bringing babies here, and going out without them?" she was perfectly quiet—she pushed me away when I wanted I to go near the bftby, and I did not attempt to go near it after the push; I was afraid of her. Q. When she is in that mental condition (you know she was confined in asylums in 1891, 1893, and 1894) is she very dangerous?—A. Yes.

MART ANN BEATTIE (Re-called). The carpet bag I carried was very beavy indeed, and seemed a solid substance: it made my hand ache carrying it.

MARY ANN PALMER (Re-examined). The gammon of bacon my mother gave me on the night of her arrival, I should say, weighed about 7 Ib. or 8 lb.—my mother has been three times in an asylum; I believe the longest time was three months; I believe that was in 1893—the others were some shorter periods—she had children to nurse between the first time she went to the asylum and 1891—I could not say about adopting any—there was trouble about one of those children—the parents came for it—she did not hand it over to them, to my knowledge—she had not got it in her possessioc—she told me she had.

adopted it for a friend of hers—I don't knov who the friend was I believe that was about three weeks before she went to the asylum—the parents were pressing lor their child; they were not satisfied with that account—mother had a lopted the child for herself—I believe my mother was in some trouble about it—the parents brought a police constable with them when they came; it was shortly after that that mother was sent to the asylum by her husband—the home was not broken up—I went on living there—I could not say whether she was in the asylum six weeks or two months—she then came back to the same place for about a fortnight, and then went to live elsewhere, at 144, Wells Road, Tether-down, near Bristol; after that she wont to Oxford Street, New Cut, Bristol—I could not say whether she was well till 1893; I had left home—as long as I was there she was well—I next saw her about seven weeks afterwards—I did not see her at all for that seven weeks—after that I lived with her again till 1893—she was not in good health then at times; she seemed very down*hearted and very peculiar in her manner at times—she had children to nurse or adopt between that time and 1893, when she went into the asylum again; I do not remember how many, I believe more than one; it might have been two or three; I believe it was three; I cannot be sure it was not more—I don't know whether she was paid for taking in each of those children; she never told me—I believe she had advertised; I had seen those advertisements; I believe they were like these—shortly before she went into the asylum, in 1893, the same persons who had come for their child in 1891 came again, and gave trouble about their child; my tnofher was then living at Horfield, another part of Bristol, and they brought a policeman with them—mother went out that same afternoon, and tried to drown herself; she was picked up in a ditch, near Cumberland Basin; it was on that occasion she was sent to the hospital; she remained there just over a week; that was in May, 1894; that was after she had beenin the asylum the second time—she was admitted into the asylum the day after Christmas Day (Boxing Day)—the doctors who attended her suggested her going there—I had sent for a doctor the day after those people had come, Dr. Maquoid; he had attended her betore, on and off, for a long time; he had attended her three or four weeks before—she was in the asylum then, I think, about three months—I believe at was from December 26th to January 30th; when she came out she was in her usual good health; we then went to live at Montpelier, another part of Bristol—from that time till December, 1894, she was taking in children again—I could not say whether the advertisements were still published; she never told me; I had not seen any; I did not know.

Q. What means of support had your mother other than payments received for children?—A. Nursing ladies during their confinement; no other that I knew of—I was married in May, 1894; I don't think she took in children between the time when she came out of the hospital, after attempting to drown'herself, and the time she went to the asylum; I am not sure—she told Mr. Dyer that she was going to take a couple of children, and she did have some after that—when she went into the asylum in December, 1894, she had three children in the house—she was then living at Grove Cottages, Fish Ponds, about five miles out of Bristol—my husband sent for Dr. Eden on that occasion—I believe two of those children had been obtained by advertisements, and one was

born in her house—the mother was confined there, and she left the child in my mother's charge—she was a Mrs. Perrin—I believo my mother had £80 for receiving that child, to bring it up entirely as her own, to adopt it—I believe she had £30 with one of the others, and £40 with the other—I don't know where they were born—one was named Harding, the same name as mother afterwards used, and the other's name was Rawlings—they lived at Horfield, I believe, I am not positive—when mother was sent to the asylum the three children were sent to the work-house—when mother came out of the asylum I believe she went to the workhouse at Barton Begis—she came from there in June, 1895—as far as I know, she stayed there till June; then, after living a few weeks at Bristol, she joined me and my husband at Cardiff—I don't know where she lived till then—she brought one child with her to Cardiff, and she took in others—I believe we bad three at Cardiff, with the one she brought with her—that was not one of the three that she had when she went into the workhouse—it was before we went to Cardiff that she came to us at Devonport—I don't know whether she had then come out of the workhouse—she did not tell me—I had then adopted a child—I handed it over to her—I had advertised to take it in to nurse at 5s. week—I only had that one at Devonport—my mother was then living at Bristol—I could not say exactly how Jong it was after that she came to Cardiff; it might have been a month—I handed that child to my mother, because I and my husband intended to take a situation together—I had adopted the child for good—its parents' name was Jeames—it came from Wells Street, Tetherdown Eoad, Bristol—it was a girl, between five and six years old—it was about a month afterwards that my mother joined us at Cardiff—she did not bring the little girl with her—I made inquiries about it—she told me she had had a house in Bristol, and she had let it out in the usual manner, for ladies to be confined there, and one of the ladies took a fancy to the child, and she handed it over to her, and had adopted it for good—I asked mother to take care of it, and she parted with it, unknown to me, and the lady had taken it away with her; she said the lady's own child was dead; that lady's name was Johnson—I asked her for her address, and she said she was going abroad—my mother was with us at Cardiff two months—we started with one child at Caversham; one child had died; the other, she told me, she had taken to Bristol, to her parents—I did not see the parents—the first night we went to Caversham we stayed at the Clappers, and next day went to 6, Elm Villas—we stayed there about six or eight weeks—Mrs. Dyer went to London, to fetch Willie Thornton—she received him in answer to an advertisement, and adopted him; he is still alive—I don't remember the name of the place she went to, to fetch him—she had one child at Elm Villas, besides the one I brought from Cardiff, that was between three and four years old—I don't know what she had with Willie Thornton; for the other child, I believe, she had five shillings a week—I asked her what she had with Willie Thornton; she would not say; she told me it was not my business—we moved from Elm Villas to Pigot's Road—Willie Thornton came from London; she never told me where—we took the little girl with us to Pigot's Road; mother took it up to London; I did not go with her, my husband did—she came back the same day—she had no other child at Pigot's Eoad but the little girl and Willie Thornton—it was at Elm Villas that I adopted Harold;

he was the one that I took—I distinguish between what I took and what mother took—I also took a little girl at Elm Villas; I adopted it; it died when it was ten weeks old—my mother remained at Pigot's Road a fortnight only—then she went to live at Kensington Road; we went to Warminster first; we were there till a fortnight after Christmas—we then moved to 76, Mayo Road—she came up to London to see us from time to time—I did not go and see her in Kensington Road after I came to London—I saw her between the time we left Pilot's Road and our coming to London—on the occasiun of my mother's visit to me on March 31st to April 2nd this year, she had her meals with me—she wrote a letter on the morning of April 1st, and went out with me in the evening, and was about with me all day on the 2nd, and went to Paddington in the evening—I left her in the carnage alone—she was perfectly quiet and calm then.

AMELIA HANNAH SARGEANT (called at the request of MR. KAPADIA). I am the wife of Alfred Sargeant, of 50, Baling Road—in consequence of an advertisement which I saw in the Weekly Dispatch on March 15th last, I wrote a letter to Mrs. Harding, 45, Kensington Road, Oxford Road, Reading—after some correspondence, on March 25th I went to that address, and there saw the prisoner—I asked her if she was in the habit of taking in nurse children—she said, "No," she had never brought up but two children in her life, her niece at Harlesden, and a young man who was serving on board a nhip which took the place of the Camperdown in the Mediterranean—she said she had lived in Reading twenty-two years with her husband, who was a goods guard on the Great Eastern Railway—she said her name was not Harding, that she advertised in tbat name, but her name was Thomas, that they had lived in Reading twenty-two years, 'and were very much respected in Reading, and that was the reason she did not advertise in her own name—alter further conversation I arranged with her to hand a child to her for adoption, a little boy named Harry Simmonds, aged thirteen months, and to pay her £10—after further correspondence with her, I went on Wednesday, April 1st, to Paddington Station, with my husband and the little boy, and there met the prisoner and Mrs. Palmer, whom she introduced as her niece—Mrs. Palmer had charge of the child—she said his name was Harold—she was carrying the child, and said it was very ill—I should say it was from eighteen months to two years old—the prisoner told me it was a niece's child—it was dressed in white, and a fawn-coloured pelisse similar to the one produced—I believe this to be the same pelisse—it had this silk cord and the same ribbons—we adjourned to the refreshment-room, and there I paid her £5, and gave her an I.O.U. for the remaining £5, and she gave me this receipt; it is her writing in pencil on one of my husband's billheads. "Received of Mrs. A. Sargeant, £5 on account"—she signed it, "Annie Thomas," and both I and my husband also—I then handed over the little boy, Harry Simmomdf, to her, and also a parcel, plenty of clothing for it—afterwards, on April 11th, I went to the mortuary at Reading, and there saw the dead bodies of two children, a male and female—I identified the dead body of the uiale child as Harry Simmonds; I afterwards saw in the possession of the police a quantity of clothing which I had handed over with hint; some portions of it are here.

Cross-examined. The child was left in my care by its mother; I was not

paid for it; I undertook to see that it was cared for, free of charge; it was the child of a friend of mine—I paid the £5 out of my own pocket to the prisoner; it was the child of Mrs. Simmonds; she was in trouble; she had obtained a situation as lady's maid, and she wanted to find a home for the child—I wrote this letter to the prisoner; it is my writing—Mrs. Simmonds was to return the money; I paid it out of my own pocket, it was my own money; I did it for the affection I had for her and the child, and she was to repay me; it was not a money transaction; it was only lent to her, trusting that she would pay me back—I did not ask for any reference from Mrs. Dyer—I do not like references; I went to see for myself what home she had—she appeared a kind person; I took her to be a kind, homely, motherly woman; she invited me down—I took some children with me; they were my own children; she invited me to bring them, if they liked to come; she told me to come when I was so disposed, to see how the little boy was going on; I intended to take the money down; she asked me to send it in a registered letter—she had a very bad cold at the time; she did not complain, but she certainly was not looking ill—in my letter I inquired how her cold was; naturally, anyone would do so.

Re-examined. I reached her house about two, or soon after, and stayed with her till about a quarter-past three; she went with me to the station—I left by the 4.23 train—she told me that the house she was living in was her own, and that she was in very comfortable circumstances—I left her thoroughly satisfied, as a person to leave the little boy with; I felt quite sure she would be kind to him—I wrote this letter, stating that I would meet her on Monday next, and that I could not bring the full cash; I could only spare £5 at present, but the rest I would bring or send—I received this reply of March 29th, stating "Of course I will have the dear little soul. I should have liked the money paid down, but I will trust you."

CHARLOTTE CULLUM . I am the wife of Albert Cullum, of 76, Mayo Road, Harlesden—Mr. and Mrs. Palmer lived in my house since January—I saw the prisoner at my house on Wednesday morning, April 1st, between eight and nine—she told me that she had slept in a chair all night in the Palmers' sitting-room—she gave me, that morning, a little pair of child's button boots—during the day I noticed a carpet bag just inside the parlour door—this is the one—there was nothing in it; it was lying carelessly on the floor—I had not heard the sound of any child, except the boy Harold—Mrs. Dyer said she had slept out—I offered her to sleep with me—I saw her again on April 2nd in the house—I went out between seven and eight that evening—the Palmers and the prisoner were there when I left; when I returned, in about ten minutes to a quarter of an hour, they were gone, and the lights were out—while the prisoner was in the house she paid me one week's rent; she took it from her purse; it was owing by the Palmers—I had seen the prisoner at the house on two previous occasions—on the first occasion, in January, she stayed at home.

Cross-examined. When I saw her on April 1st she said she had not sent the parcel, because she had been very poorly—she had promised me a parcel—she did not say what it would be; she said it would be handy for me—it was to be as a gift for my kindness to the

Palmers—I don't think she looked ill, not more than useful; she always looked pale.

Re-examined. She looked and behaved quite quietly, the same as she always had.

ALBERT CHARLES CULLUM . I am a carriagecleaner, and husband of the last witness, living at 76, Mayo Road—some time before April I had a grate moved in the kitchen; in doing that there were a number of loose bricks—I put a number of them under a rabbit hutch in my back garden—on April 1st and 2nd, as far as I knew, they were still under the hutch—the police have brought some specimens of the bricks (produced).

Cross-examined. I do not say that these are the same bricks; they are similar; they correspond very much with those I had under the hutch—those I had under the hutch had been in the fire, and burnt, and these correspond with them—I buried some of them in the garden, to support the place that my wife washed in.

JOHN TOLLER . I live at Reading, and am an engineer at the prison there—on Thursday night, April 2nd, about five or ten minutes to eleven, as I was returning home, I passed by the railway arch near the Rising Sun public-house—on the right-hand aide, going towards the station, I saw a woman coming towards me; she had just come from under the arch—I wished her "Good-night" as shepobsed—I saw her face; I recognised her; it was the prisoner—she was not coming on the way from the station to Kensington Road; it was on the way from the river.

Cross-examined. I said "Good-night" to her because I thought it was somebody I knew—she said nothing—I think it was on April 11th that it first came to my head that it was the prisoner I saw on April 2nd; that would fee nine days afterwards—I recognised her as a person I knew—very possibly I met several other persons on April 2nd—when I saw her again I recognised her—I did not go down Forbury Road; I crossed on the right-hand side, I live on that side; I crossed from the left to the right-hand side of the bridge; the bridge is on the left, and I live ou the right—I was close to the prisoner, we passed each other; we could have touched each other as we passed.

Re-examined. There was a gas lamp close to where I met her, a few yards on the other side of the road, and the Rising Sun was lighted.

JANE SMITH . I am a widow—up to June, 1895, I was an inmate of the Barton Regis Workhouse, near Bristol—I there became acquainted with the prisoner under the name of Dyer—she invited me to come out of the Union and live with her—she told me that she was going to do the same as she used to do, taking in babies to nurse—I consented to go and live with her—she first took lodgings at Bristol, and after remaining there a short time I moved with her to Cardiff, and there, on the platform, we met Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, and we lived together, first at one house at Cardiff and then at another—in August, 1895, the prisoner went to Reading, and shortly after I and the Palmers followed her, and we all lived together, first at Pigot's Road, and then at Elm Villas, and then at Kensington Road—I lived with her there up to the time of her arrest—on Tuesday morning, March 31st, she left Reading by an early train—she said she was going up to see Mr. and Mrs. Palmer—she took with her this carpet bag of Willie Thornton's, and some small baby clothes, and

she took with her a piece of boiled ham for the Palmers, about seven or eight pounds weight—she returned on Thursday night, about half-past eleven—she did not bring back Willie Thornton's bag—she said she had left it behind for the purpose of Mrs. Palmer packing up little things, as they intended to go to Bridgwater to live, the whole of us, Mr. and Mrs. Palmer and myself, the little children and herself; she said she thought of going for about a fortnight—shesaid she was so late because she had lost two trains; on the platform there were so many people that came by railway that she could not come till they had put a special train on.

Cross-examined. When I met her at Barton Workhouse she did not tell me that she had come from Barton Asylum; she said it in the work-room; I heard her say it—she was kind to me sometimes; she was not particularly excitable; she got into tempers sometimes—she never threatened me—I was not at all afraid of her; she was not peculiar in. her habits, nothing whatever—she used to go out of an evening occasionally—aftergiving evidence before the Magistrate I went over to the gaol to see her—I told her that we wanted money, me and the children, and she gave me 10s.—she made no remark, only told the matron to give it me—she did not say, "Take care of it, for God knows where you will get any more"—she let me have several sums of money—I never heard her talking to herself.

Re-examined. She always kept the money, and paid for things and managed the house—she seemed a good woman of business when I lived with her—I asked her for money for myself and the children, Nellie, Oliver and Willie Thornton—Nellie was six, and Willie nine—Nellie had been with her about three months; Willie came when we were living at Elm Villas—Miss Butcher's girl was in the house at the time of the arrest; the mother had had a child, and took it away herself after the prisoner was arrested—I called the prisoner "mother."

HENRY SMITHWAITE . I am a labourer at Reading—on April 10th last I was assisting other people to drag the Thames there—on that afternoon, in the river, I found this carpet bag; about half-way across the foot bridge, across the Clappers, at Caversham, on the left-hand side, going from Caversham—it was sunk in about twelve feet of water; I fetched it up from the bottom—on getting it out I took it to the back of the lock-house at Caversham, and called Sergeant James—it was tied round with string at the top, with about three inches gaping open, and a piece of brown paper along the top of the contents—in my presence Sergeant James cut the string, and I saw in the bag the body of a female child; Sergeant James took out a brick—the bag was taken to the Police-station, and was found to contain the bodies of two children, one a male and the other a female—besides a whole brick there was also in the bag about three-quarters of a brick.

HARRY JAMES . I an a sergeant of the Borough Police at Reading—I was superintending the dragging of a portion of the river when the last witness found the bag—I accompanied him to the Police-station, and thence to the mortuary, which was close by—I there unpacked the bag,. and found in it the bodies of a male and female child, and these bricks—on the body of the female child was a diaper, which was identified yesterday by Miss Harmon—the male child had on a shirt, and a napkin

wrapped over it—I was present when Miss Marmon identified the female child at the mortuary; I was also present when Mrs. Sergeant attended at the mortuary—the two bodies were shown to her, and she identifiedi the body of the male child as that of Harry Simmonds—I afterwards went to 76, Mayo Road, and there found some child's clothing, which was handed to me by Mrs. Palmer—among the baby clothing handed to me was this cardboard box, and the clothing in it, identified by Miss Marmon—the fawn pelisse was handed to me by Mrs. Palmer.

WILLIAM JAMES MORRIS . I am an M.D. and M.R.C.S., practising at Reading—on the morning of April 11th I went to the mortuary at Reading, and there saw the bodies of two children, oiale and female—there was a double mark round the neck of the female, like the mark of a tape or ligature, tied quite tight—I afterwards made a post-mortem of the body of that child—strangulation was the cause of death—the ligature caused the strangulation—I formed an approximate judgment that it had been dead about ten days—the ligature must have been tied tightly round the neck; there was not a very distinct mark where it was tied; it was more distinct in some parts than others, but nothing that I could identify as a knot on the body of the male child, I found a tape tied twice round the neck; it was tied in a bow—the cause of death in that case was strangulation by the tape—in that case death had been about ten days—there was a little less decomposition in that case.

Cross-examined. It is possible that in the case of the female death might have been caused by the tube of a feeding-bottle—I don't think it very likely, because it was an uneven-mark, and the tube would be more likely to make a more even mark—there is not much elasticity in tape—I can say the mark was made before death.

Re-examined. I believe the tape is about forty inches in length—I never saw the tube of a feeding-bottle that length—a ligature of this length would render an infant absolutely powerless at once—that throat was not constricted; in the male child it was quite constricted.

JAMES ANDERSON (Detective Constable, Reading). On April 6th I went to 76, Mayo Road—I found there a number of pawn-tickets, ten relating: chiefly to children's clothing—on the 15th I went to the prisoner's house, 45, Kensington Road, Reading—I there found fifteen pawn-tickets, chiefly relating to children's clothing—I found there a number of diapers, which have been identified by Miss Marmon—I found them in a brown paper parcel, among some dirty clothing which the prisoner said she bad brought from London the night previous—I found it contained twelve diapers, as well as some dirty linen.

ELLEN GIBBS . I am matron at the prison at Reading—I was in charge of the prisoner there when she wrote this letter—she asked me to send it to the police—I sent it to the governor—she said, "Now I have eased my mind"—I read the letter, and handed it back to her, and said, "A letter like this; you plead guilty to everything"; she said, "I wish to; they can't charge me with anything worse than I have done"; I said, "You are on remand; would you not like to send this letter later on?" she said, "Oh no, let it go—I sent it on to the governor—I afterwards saw her write this other letter, addressed to Arthur E. Palmer, who, at that time, was charged with being an accessory after the fact to

some crime of hers, and was then in custody—I also sent that to the governor—that is a rule of the prison. The letters were read as Jollows: "April 16th. To the Chief Superintendent of Police. Sir,—Willyou kindly grant me the favour of presenting this to the Magistrate on Saturday, 18th inst.? I have made this statement out, for I may not have the opportunity then. I must ease my mind. I know my days are numbered, but I do know it is an awful thing to bring innocent people into trouble; but, as God Almighty is my Judge in Heaven as in earth, neither my daughter or her husband, I do most solemnly declare, had anything at all to do with it; they never knew I contemplated doing such a wicked thing until it was too late. I am speaking the truth; I alone must stand before my Maker in Heaven to give an answer for it. Witness my hand, EMILY DYER." "To Arthur E. Palmer, Thursday, April 16th, 1896. My Poor Dear Arthur,—Oh, how my heart aches for you and my dear Polly! I am send—this to tell you I have eased my mind, and made a full statement. I have told them the truth, that as God Almighty is my Judge, I dare not go into His presence with a lie. You will have a lawyer, but for myself it would only be throwing away money. I know I have done this dreadful crime, and I know I alone shall answer for it. I have just written a long letter, another to mother; also I have wrote out a true and faithful statement of everything. I hope God will give you strength to bear this awful trial.—Your broken-hearted mother, E. DYER. Let me just have one line Friday morning."I knew that the actual charge the prisoner was under on April 16th was that of murdering a child; I did not know it was the child of Miss Marmon—she was remanded over and over, and there was a fresh committal every time.

Cross-examined. While in the prison, under my care, she talked to herself—I don't think she was depressed, not anything particular—she was very low-spirited concerning Arthur Palmer being in custody.

Re-examined. The talking to herself continued, more or less, the whole time she was in prison—that is not unusual with a prisoner under arrest—I should say 90 per cent, do it.

Witnesses for the Defence.

FREDERICK THOMAS BISHOP LOGAN . I am a medical man, in practice at Bristol—on December 24th, 1893, I examined the prisoner at 114, Wells Road, Bristol—she was very violent, and suffering from delusions—she picked up the poker and rushed at me with it, and threatened to break my skull—she said she had heard voices telling her the whole time to destroy herself, that the birds said, "Do it, do it "; her daughter was present; she told me that she had been very violent, and had attempted suicide—I came to the conclusion that she was a person of unsound mind, and I gave a medical certificate under which she was taken to an asylum.

Cross-examined. I have not seen her from that time to this. I saw her on December 26th, when she was before the Magistrate—I had never seen her before the 24th; that was in reference to the lunacy proceedings—Iknow she was discharged from the asylum—I am not aware of the exact date, but it was somewhere in January—shewas very excitable and wild in her manner—I saw no other

objective symptoms beyond what I have mentioned—I was sent to her by the relieving officer—I did not examine her eyes by the opthalmoscope, nor for action and reaction—I do not remember anyone else being present besides myself, Che prisoner, and Mrs. Palmer—she got hold of the poker—I had only been there a minute or so—I had not said who I was—Mrs. Palmer said I was somebody come to see her—I did not examine her particularly for drink; she had no symptoms of drink; if there had been I should have traced them—I was told to decide whether she was mad or not—I was not told before I had got there that she had attempted suicide—I was told so at the house by the daughter—I saw no marks of violence on her—when I first came into the room she was sitting down away from the table, not doing anything—she was nearer the fire—I was sitting down at the table, and going to ask her some questions, when she suddenly got out of the chair—I cannot remember wltether I had put questions or not—I made my note in the certificate the same day—I took notes at dietime, and copied them in the certificate on the 25th—she was on my left side—she would have struck me had I allowed her—I took the poker from her—she struggled a minute or so when I got hold of the poker, and after I had taken it away—then I got her to sit in a chair before I commenced to examine her—I stopped with her ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, it may have been more—I next saw her at the Magistrate's private house—we met there—I did not see her again—I bad heard nothing of the parent of a child coming after her.

Re-examined by MR. KAPADIA. From my examination I was satisfid she was a fit ana proper subject for an asylum.

By the COURT. Her delusions were when she heard voices in the air telling her to destroy herself, and that birds kept talking to her—distress, or fear would sometimes bring on that sort of insanity that I noticed—mental anxiety might upset the brain in such a way as to cause insanity—I do not think all her symptoms might have occurred from that—I think her conduct was due entirely to disease of the brain—I inquired about her antecedents—I learned she had been in an asylum before—I did not form my judgment from that—it may have formed an element—her daughter told me she had been four months in an asylum.

J. LACY FIRTH . I am a Doctor of Medicine, living at Clifton, Bristol—in May, 1894, I was in charge of the prisoner at the Bristol General Hospital—I was house surgeon there between April and May—the prisoner was brought there on April 26th—I saw her an hour or two after admission—she was reported to have attempted suicide by drowning—she was very cold—she was low-spirited—she was reported to be excited—I did not see her excited—there was difficulty in getting her to take food—I cannot remember being present then—she remained thirteen days—she was melancholy, but I do not go so far as to say she was insane—she said repeatedly she had something on her mind—it is impossible to remember what I said, but I tried to find out what was on her mind, but did not succeed—I wrote a letter to the Treasury about May 27th. (The letter was called for, but not produced.)

Cross-examined by MR. LAWRENCE. She was in bed when I saw her—she was shivering—she was discharged sound—a man came to the hospital, and in consequence of an interview I asked the prisoner some questions as to the address of a person—I asked her if she knew where a certain person

lived whose name I have forgotten—that person was a woman, who had been mentioned to me by the man who had called at the hospital—she did not give me a plain answer, but I am certain, from what she did say, she knew something about that person—she said the person had lived in some street in Bath, which she mentioned—I was with the prisoner ten minutes, talking about the matter—I do not recollect how directly I mentioned it—the subject matter was that a child was lost—as near as I recollect, I asked her if she knew where such and such a child was—probably I mentioned the name—I found out she had had something to do with the child—I made no notes—she partly admitted having had the child; she obviously knew something about it.

WILLIAM FREDERICK BAILEY EDEN . I am a surgeon and licentiate of the Royal College of Surgeons—I practise at Hambrook village—I live At Hambrook Court—on December 14th, 1894, I was called to examine the prisoner at Grove Cottage, Grove Road, Fishponds, upon an order sent by the relieving officer—I found she was very excited—when I went in she threatened to pitch me out—she wanted to know who had sent me there—I said I had come by order of the relieving officer—I kept quiet—I went as a stranger—I had very little conversation with her, she was in such a bellicose spirit; I heard what she had to say, and let her talk on, and in the end I came to the conclusion she was of unsound mind, and ought to be placed under control—I signed a certificate to that effect, on which she was sent to an asylum—her daughter and daughter's husband were there—her daughter said that she was suicidal, and had run after her with a knife, and that she was upset about some children—the prisoner rambled on—site said that God had forsaken her, and that she must do it, or that she will do it, or words to that effect—she did say the world was against her—I was with her about ten minutes.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWRENCE. That was the first time I saw her—I saw her after she was discharged from the Gloucester Asylum in January, 1895, as recovered—the daughter told me the prisoner "had been in an asylum twice before—the daughter and her husband had applied to the relieving officer to have her removed—I saw no mark on her body of a suicidal attempt—the daughter told me the prisoner in tended to drown herself; that she had got up with that intention—I was told she had been in an asylum twice or three times before—I did not ask how long she had been in an asylum—she was not depressed, just the opposite—I did not ask her why she said God had forsaken her, and the world was against her—it might have been prudent to have asked her, but the daughter told me—if she had told me of her misfortunes I do not think that would have altered my opinion—she remained in the asylum about a month.

FORBES WINSLOW . I am an M.B. and LL.M. of Cambridge, a member of the Royal College of Physicians, London, Physician to the British Hospital for Mental Disorders, and Lecturer on Mental Diseases at Charing Cross Hospital—on the 15th inst. I examined the prisoner at Holloway Gaol—the first time I saw her Dr. Scott was present—I had a long interview with her—I had not read much about the trial, nor formed an opinion before I saw her—T asked her a great many questions; after that I considered she was a person of unsound mind, suffering from delusions and hallucinations—a delusion is a belief in something which has no

existence apart from the diseased fancy, and may be objective or subjective—hallucination is to believe in the existence of something in the mind of the person; for instance, if a person hears a voice or sees a vision, and there is nothing to account for it—either might be delusion or hallucination—then there is illusion and subdivisions of illusions—the prisoner was suffering from insanity, from melancholia, insanity with delusions—there was no excitement, nothing beyond her depression and delusions—she made not the slightest attempt to feign insanity—I examined her, and came to the conclusion she was not shamming—there was nothing in her movements or in her conversation, apart from the absolute delusions which I elicited from her, that proved to my mind she was trying to put on any form of insanity or to exert her symptoms; if she had, it would be apparent, I presume; it would be evident on the surface, I imagine—I did not ask her, but she volunteered the statement that very often she got in a very depressed menial condition, that voices spoke to her and told her to take her own life, and that she had made several attempts to do that, but had been prevented—she said she frequently saw visions of her mother, who came to her; but that was my second interview, on the 19th—in the first, she told me she had been in Gloucester Asylum, that she had been cruelly treated, and placed in a padded room, and in consequence of that treatment she had a perfect right to take her own life—her memory was good for what happened years ago, but bad for recent events—that is common with people advanced in life, or from people suffering from melancholia—I should say it is a test of memory in melancholia—her memory was exactly what you would expect to find in its normal condition, but, still, it is a test—that symptom, taken with others, would show organic disease of the brain—it is, shown in a person over fifty—the prisoner is fifty-seven—I asked her if she had any recollection of the crime; she told me she had not, and when she tried to recollect she became mystified—I asked her if she could tell me the names of the two children who were drowned—her reply was she could not recollect the names—I have the questions and answers here—I asked her, "How many children were there?"—she said, "I cannot tell; I will try and think about it, but feel in a dream"—my first visit was an hour and a quarter, my second visit fifty minutes—I asked her whether she still heard voices speaking to her—her reply was, "Yes, every night"—I asked her how she had been since I hod last seen her on the 15th—she said, "I had a peculiar sensation lost night; I felt as if myself and my bed were passing through the floor"—I told her I had sten a letter from her son, who was in the Army, and that he was quite well—she answered, "That is very strange, because last night I was visited by the spirit of my mother and my boy"—I then, for the first time, asked her about apparitions, and about the visions to which she had alluded—I said "Will you please give me the nature of these visions that you see?"—she hesitated for a moment, then she said, "It is too horrible"—then she stopped for a moment, and seemed to contemplate, and then continued, "Oh, the sights and sounds are so horrible that I prefer to keep them to myself"—I pressed her—she then went on, "I had a fearful sensation the other evening; I thought I was handing my mother's bones from out her coffin"—she then went back to the question of her boy, to whom I had alluded, having received a letter that morning from him—she

said, when the boy enlisted she was unconscious for three weeks, and when she woke up she fancied that the rats were crawling all over her—I then went back to the subject of the crime, and asked her when she first knew of the occurrence, the crime she was in custody for—her reply was, "On Easter Sunday or Easter Monday, or it might have been on Good Friday"—I said (referring to his notes), "Can you tell me anything, about the two children found in the river? how did you hear about it?"—she said, "I cannot tell; when I try to recollect dates I cannot do so. It might have been months or years; that is when I get mystified"—I said, "What were the names of these children?"—Mrs. Dyer thought for a time, and then replied, "I am sure I do not know. I cannot tell the names now"—I passed on to "When did you first hear about what had happened?"—her reply was, "Good Friday or Easter Monday, or perhaps it was Tuesday"—I asked her if she had not missed the children. Her reply was, "I cannot tell"; she never thought a bit about them—I asked her when she saw them last—she said she did not know—these are the chief things in the conversation I had with her—I formed my opinion, on examining her twice, that she is a person of unsound mind, and not responsible for her actions. (The COURT reproved the witness for making the latter observation, that being a question for tlie JURY.) I have heard the evidence given to-day—the transient or recurrent form of insanity is the most formidable of its kind—predisposition to an attack is greater in a recovered lunatic than in. one who has been always sane—it depends upon circumstances generally—she would be predisposed to an attack at any time—insomnia is a concomitant symptom of insanity, but not taken per se and not always.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWRENCE. The defence of insanity had been raised when I was first consulted, on May 14th—I got my instructions on the 15th—depression in a sane person, charged with murder, is not unnatural; I mean low-spiritedness—I put the question about the voices—that was the first I heard about them—she had not mentioned them till I put the question—I knew she had been in an asylum—she did not say she had been an attendant in an asylum—one question I put was, how she got her children when she had no children; she said she had been a monthly nurse, a surgical nurse, and a medical nurse—I put the question, "Do you ever see visions?"—I asked her, with regard to the voices, "Do they speak to you?"—that was the last question but three on my second visit—the first I heard about visions was on my second visit, about the voices I heard on the first—I should not have expected signs of excitement, because in melancholia and monomania there are no outward evidences of lunacy—excitement shows quite a distinct type of insanity from what I saw—the strain of being charged with a serious crime would be likely to shake the firmest nerves—I asked, "Do you ever see visions?"—her reply was, "Do not ask me"—I continued, and then pressed the question, "What do you see?"—her reply was, "I cannot tell you; that is why I keep awake at night; sounds and sights, and one thing and another; I keep it all to myself"—"Won't you give me some notion?"—she hesitated for a moment, then said, "My poor boy! my poor mother!"—"Do they ever speak to you?"—"Frequently; I hear them talking, telling me to come to them;

my poor boy! my poor mother!"—and "I had fearful scenes last night I fancied I handled my mother's bones, picking them out of the coffin. When my poor boy went awny and enlisted I never slept for three weeks. I knew no one. I beat the rats off. Everything seemed to fly to my head, and I feel I want to fly to my boy"—it constantly happens that people with trouble conjure-up visions and dreams—the greater the trouble the more extravagant sometimes the vision—I am not surprised either way, if they have them or not—visions appear to people when they are wide awake and conscious; dreams cannot—melancholia would disclose itself by a tendency to suicide.

Evidence in Reply.

JAMES SCOTT . I am a Bachelor of Medicine and medical officer to the prison at Holloway—the prisoner has been under my observation since May 7th, a few days after her arrival there—I have seen her daily, and conversed with her—I have discovered nothing that is not consistent with her being sane, beyond her own statements of her Constant desire to commit suicide, and her memory of recent events being a total blank—I tested her memory by questions—she readily gave information about events which happened some years ago, more especially her being taken to the asylum, and her suicidal attempts—in the result I consider she has not been insane during the time she has been under my observation—she told me she had been an attendant at the Stapleton or Fishponds Asylum, near Bristol.

Cross-examined by MR. KAPADIA. It is possible for a lunatic suffering from homicidal mania to be free from excitement—it was not reported to me that she talked to herself in prison, and I have not heard her—I saw her myself once or twice every day, and received reports about her—I was inclined to look upon her as simulating insanity—I have heard her say she heard noises telling her to injure herself, not any other person—I considered her responses, conduct and other things, and the case in all its bearings; I do not see how I could directly test whether she heard voices or not—I could not find, as I should have expected, any evidence of her intention to commit suicide—she has not behaved in an insane manner—she has complained of pains in her head, and giddiness and weakness; I was present at the interview with Dr. Winslow—I heard the doctor's questions and her answers—possibly I may have passed a confidential opinion as between one man and another—a sane person might have made her answers, as if simulating insanity—some of them might be given by an insane person.

Re-examined. No answer was given to Dr. Winslow from which it would be safe to deduce insanity.

By the COURT. People commit suicide through trouble; suicide may attend insanity, or be committed independently of it.

GEORGE HENRY SAVAGE, M.D., M.B.C.P . I have had long experience in lunacy—I have been seventeen years Physician to St. Bartholo-mew's Hospital, Lecturer on Mental Diseases at Guy's Hospital over twenty years, author of a Manual on Insanity, and other publications—I saw the prisoner one hour at Holloway—I made a careful examination of her, and inquired into her past history—I came to the conclusion she was not mentally unsound—she told me she had been an attendant at an asylum—she said she did not recollect anything about

the crimes of which she was accused—going back to the facts of her life, the doctors of asylums and institutions were perfectly clear in her memory she gave their names.

Cross-examined by MR. KAPADIA. I made a report—I say, "Having to-day seen the above prisoner at Holloway in the presence of Dr. Scott, the medical officer of the prison at Holloway, and having seen the news-paper reports of the trial, and the various reports as to her life's history, and her conduct before and after the trial, also the reports of her early history, I come to the following conclusions"—all the evidence influenced me as an unbiassed person—if the whole mass of premisses were wrong, ray conclusion would be wrong—I was informed of the crimes by the reports—I relied entirely in my judgment of her insanity upon my examination; the rest is a statement of facts to make perfectly clear the conditions under which I examined her—I say, "symptoms always of a transient nature"—that is not necessarily the worst kind of insanity—sometimes it is very formidable when it is sa called impulse—there was no evidence of that before me in this case—the evidence was that of statements of medical officers of asylums when admitted, when discharged, and statements, in case-books at asylums, of medical officers of those asylums—I should not say that such persons are generally liable tohomicidal mania—some who hear imaginary voices are liable to homicidal mania, not generally; those voices are of two distinct descriptions, some commanding, some merely indicating—the instances are not rare among those who commit crime—hearing voices and being impelled to do certain acts are symptoms of homicidal mania—one attack of insanity frequently predisposes for another, and if two or three, the person would be still more liable—the intention of violence or feeling would be dormant for awhile, or it would not be impulse—homicidal mania is not necessarily periodical—I should think so in the majority of cases fortunately—homicidal persons have commonly attempted suicide—they have expressed a wish to die—I should not think confession of guilt a common characteristic of it—the sight of a weapon or an intended victim would be an incentive—the patient, perhaps, could not resist the temptation—he might write sensibly and clearly—you may detect insanity in the writing or in the conversation—I wrote, "There seems to be no doubt that the mother was insane, and it is likely that she has a defective power of self-control, and might be induced to do wrong more readily as a consequence"—I have since my report heard the mother was not insane—I began my examination by telling her I was a doctor—I made no note at the moment, but I made my report immediately on my return home—I told her I had come to examine her—I asked her if she knew why she was in the gaol—she said, "Yes"—"Do you know the nature of the crime you are accused of?"—she said, "Yes"—"Can you explain it in any way?"—"No, I know nothing about it; I know I am accused of this, but if I did this" or "them, I must have been mad when I did them, because I am so fond of children"—then I began to ask her history, whether she had been married more than once, what occupations her husbands had respectively, how many children she had herself, what had become of those children, how many were still living, then as to why she went to be nurse, and as to the two years' regular training she had had at medical, surgical and monthly nursing; then she told me she had been some months, I think, attendant

at this Fishponds Lunatic Asylum, but she did not care for that very much—that fact was verified by Dr. Scott—I heard it from the prisoner—I accepted nearly all she said—then I examined her as to whether she saw properly, heard properly, and whether her taste and smell were correct, trusting to her reports in most cases—then I asked whether she was troubled, whether she slept well or badly—she said she had been sleeping very badly, and dreamed a great deal—I did not allude to hallucinations—I have heard of them—presently she said, when speaking about sleep and about being disturbed, "I hear voices"—"What do they say?"—"They say 'Do it'"—"What does 'Do it,' mean"—"Well, I had better kill myself; I am constantly hearing these voices"—"By day as well as by night?"—"Yes"—I said, "Were there many kinds of voices?" and tried to get further information, but I got nothing beyond that—at the time she did not give me any clue to her having visions, though I asked—I heard of the certificate given by Dr. Logan in 1893, where Dr. Logan described the symptoms—I heard Dr. Logan, bat he spoke of years gone by, and I have no right to deny or question it—that is not what I am giving an opinion upon now—I did not conclude the prisoner was suffering from homicidal mania or some kind of insanity—a person may be violent, without being homicidaliy maniacal—I got the information about her being confined in an asylum—she spoke only about suicide—she said the voices said, "Do it."

Re-examined. I said, "Do what?"—she said, "Destroy myself"—in homicidal mania the voices would probably urge to murder—the impulse would be to do that which the voices told one to do, not to do something different—there is nothing in the mauner these two children met their death to suggest homicidal mania, that I see—you must deal with all the surrounding circumstances as far an you can ascertain them—each case requires a distinct consideration—if any material matter had been pointed out as having been mis-stated in the reports of the trial, that would have altered my judgment.

JAMES HOBLEY . I wish my name not to be mentioned in public—I shall be a pensioner—I am the prisoner's brother—my mother was never insane—there was never a case of insanity in our family, so far as I have heard our family history.

Cross-examined by MR. KAPADIA. I have not seen the prisoner for thirty-five or thirty-six years—she is a total stranger to me.


THIRD COURT.—Friday, May 22nd, 1896.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-452
VerdictNot Guilty > directed

Related Material

452. JAMES GEORGE ASQUITH, Feloniously , and with intent to defraud, obtaining from William Thomas Payne £2 9s., by virtue of a forged instrument.

MR. GROSER Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.

WILLIAM THOMAS PAYNE I am a pianoforte dealer, of 101 and 103, Approach Road, Victoria Park—the prisoner was in my employ for about three and a-half years as a pianoforte regulator, and I let him have pianos for sale or letting on hire at his private house—he was paid by

ten per cent, commission on the sale of pianos, and for regulating pianos and repairs he sent me in bills according to the time occupied—he was paid from time to time; I have several receipts—his duty was to hand me each instalment he received for a piano let on hire—I was to pay him the ten per cent, on the completion of the hire for sale—in May, 1894, he brought me this agreement for hire-purchase by Sarah Ann Weeks, of 162, Grove Road, Bow, dated May 19th—he said he had sent the piano to Miss Weeks on hire—I am not quite certain if it was a piano we had sent him, or if it was one that he had made at home—he made one or two at home, and I bought the instruments of him—there was no agreement in writing about my paying for them, only verbally—when he brought this agreement from Miss Weeks for £24 3s., I paid him £2 9s. commission, in the belief that this agreement was a genuine one—he said he had delivered the piano, and I believed him—about six months back I began to make inquiries—I have made inquiries at 162, Grove Road, Bow—I have not got the piano back—none of the instalments were paid.

Cross-examined. I am a pianoforte dealer—I do not make the pianos myself—Ipurchase pianos from persons who carry on business—when I first knew the prisoner he was a maker of pianos; that would be about ten years ago—I have about six or eight travellers and agents besides the prisoner in my service—most of them have written agreements with, me, not all—about two besides the prisoner had no written agreement with me—the rule that the instalments were to be paid monthly to me was not enforced strictly—we entered into a verbal arrangement as to the terms on which he was to work for me; he was to pay in the instalments once a month—I cannot say that I gave him to understand that that was one of the most essential parts of the agreement between us—my place of business in Approach Road is about ten minutes' walk from 162, Grove Road, I should say—I think there is a local directory to Bow—I employ Read and another clerk, who is with me pretty well the whole day—I paid the £2 9s. to the prisoner on the mere production of this document, without making any inquiry—the prisoner has not paid me anything on account of Miss Weeks—Read called at 162, Grove Road, in June or July—he came back and reported that Miss Weeks was not there, or any one of that name, and that he could not find her—I don't think I saw the prisoner after that—I did not send for the prisoner—I left the matter in Read's hands—he does not work for me entirely; he has his own work in the daytime, and only works for me in the evening—Read called upon the prisoner several times, but he was either ill or out—I have printed forms, on ysllow paper like this, for receipts for payment of commission, that I give my other travellers or agents—Read might have such a receipt given by the prisoner for the £2 9s.—some of the documents were destroyed in a fire—six months ago my suspicions were aroused, and I then knew that no person named Weeks was living at 162, Grove Road, but my clerk told me that the prisoner was receiving the money, and knew the address—the prisoner kept making promises to come and settle up the account—he had been making promises for eighteen months—I never brought him to book—regulating a piano is a totally distinct thing from tuning it—the cost price to me of a piano I sell for" £24 is about £12; I have to wait

three years for the money, and chance whether I get it—for ready money I could sell one at £15 or £16—it is not a question of what I think a customer will pay—I have no printed list of prices—pianos are booked out to my travellers at the prices at which they should be sold—here is a cheque for £5 to the prisoner, dated June, 1894—that is the last payment I can show to the prisoner within the last two years—within the last four years nearly I have sent the prisoner to regulate pianos on twenty or thirty different occasions—I and my clerk and two men went to the prisoner's house, and took away eleven pianos, and these books and documents belonging to him—the prisoner would receive about 7s. 6d. for regulating a piano, I should think—some of these documents are in my clerk's writing—I believe I have ordered the prisoner on several occasions in 1805 and 1896 to go and regulate pianos—he never sent in his account, or I should have paid him—he has never written, and asked to make an appointment with me—he made several appointments, but never kept them, to get out of paying me the money, I suppose—I may owe him £5 or £6 now; he might make it out at £15 or £20; I should not pay him that £20 till he settles up with me; he owes me about £150, or £120 or more, if the balance was struck—I do not think his account comes to anything like £15—I have not paid him sixpence for the last six months; he would not come and render account to me—I have sometimes found that the person to whom a piano is let bolts, taking the piano with him—I have paid the full amount of commission to any other travellers who have showed me an agreement, without verifying it—I think I supplied this form of agreement, signed by Weeks and the prisoner, to him; I am not sure—I have used that form; it is not one of my regular printed forms—he may have bought it himself; they are sold at 1s. a dozen—he was acting as my agent—he was not told to describe himself to the person to whom he sold the piano as my agent; it was understood so—it is usual in the piano trade for the person acting as agent to sell to describe himself as the owner of the piano—I have had a considerable amount of County Court experience; I have frequently had to proceed against persons who hire pianos from me—if a person pays all the instalments but two or three, I should be entitled to take the piano from him, but I do not follow that up—besides Road, my nephew, Hany Ayres, has to do with the cash payments—Read keeps the ledger—he is here; Ayres is not—Ayres takes the cash as it comes from customers; Read takes the cash from the agents, because they come in the evening when he is there—Read only collectw occasionally; he is not really a collector, but a clerk, but he collects sometimes from the agents, not from customers—he occasionally calls to verify accounts.

Re-examined. I know that the prisoner'is indebted £100 to me, because his ledger and mine do not tally—I left this matter to Read, and it was not till six months ago that my suspicions were aroused—it was the money not coming in that aroused my suspicion—the eleven pianos T took from the prisoner's house when I discovered this discrepancy were mine.

MR. GEOGHEGAN. The "Weeks" on this document, in pencil, is written by Read, I think; I cannot say when it was put there.

FREDERICK JOHN READ . I am a clerk and book-keeper—Payne employs me as his manager, in my spare time, to control his books and business

in July last I went with the prisoner to make arrangements with his customers to pay their accounts direct to the firm—we went to 162 Grove Road for that purpose—I asked for Miss Weeks, and was told that no suchperson lived there—I asked the gentleman I saw how long they had been living there, and they said eighteen months—I said to the prisoner, "If these people have been living here for eighteen months, Miss Weeks could not have been living here at the time the agreement was signed"—he said he had delivered the piano there, and there must have been some mistake—I asked him whether he could give me Miss Weeks's present address—he said, "No"—I said, "Can you give me any information as to where I can find her address, or any information of her friends"; he said, "No"—I said, "Will you endeavour to ascertain her address?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "How can you ascertain?"—he said, "She pays regularly"—I said, "Then, when she comes to pay, or sends, will you obtain from her her address?" and he said he would—I saw him on several subsequent occasions—I called at his house several times in August, but he was away from town—when I did see him again, I asked him if he had found out the address, and he said, "No"; though he says he has had money from her, he has not asked her for her address.

Cross-examined. I went to the prosecutor's business from about 7.30 till ten every evening, except Sunday—I kept his oooks—I took cash from the agents—there was no specific time within which they were to hand in their accounts; they were to pay their accounts when called on by me—I generally sent a note making an appointment; it depended on the work being done how often that was—I believe the understanding was that the instalments were to be paid by the agents monthly—Payne's nephew also had to do with the books—anyone in Payne's permanent employ in charge for the time being had to do with arranging the cash—receipts for payment of commission are given on a proper form; that has been the rule for some years; I cannot say about the last four years; I could not say when the rule came into force—I will not swear it was not in force in 1893. Re-examined. I should say this document with the words," £24 3s.; commission, £2 9s.," is in the prisoner's writing—I wrote the word "Weeks" on it—this paper, was handed to me at the time Payne got it from the prisoner, and within a day or two of the date in May or June, 1894; I would compare the entry with the agreements we had, and that would be the comment I should make, that that would be the transaction the commission referred to—I wrote the word "Weeks" a very short time after May, 1894.

By MR. GEOGHEGAN. The pencil writing, "Weeks," was not written for the purpose of this trial—it was made at the time I was examining into the question of the prisoner's account, when I did not know that this trial was going to take place.

HENRY HICKS . I live at 130, Grove Road, Bow—in March, 1894, I went to live at 162, Grove Road, occupying the whole house—I lived there till December 17th, 1894—during the time I lived there, occupying the whole or part of the house, no person named Sarah Ann Weeks lived there—when I took possession of the house in March it was empty.

Cross-examined. The former tenants were named Schneider—it was a nine-roomed house—some of the houses in that street are let out to several families—they take in lodgers.

The COMMON SERJEANT directed the JURY to acquit the prisoner, as the prosecution had not proved that the document by means of which the money was obtained was a forgery,


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-453
VerdictsGuilty > unknown; Not Guilty > no evidence
SentencesNo Punishment > sentence respited

Related Material

453. JAMES GEORGE ASQUITH was again indicted for unlawfully obtaining from William Thomas Payne £12, £2, and £2 9s. by false pretences, with intent to defraud.

MR. GROSBR Prosecuted, and MR. GBOGHEOAN Defended.

WILLIAM THOMAS PAYNE . On May 19th, 1893, the prisoner called and produced this agreement for the hire purchase of a piano for £23, and said he would send home the piano, which was one of his own, to Mr. Vines, of Ben ton Road, Hackney, and he asked me to pay him £12, and take possession of the agreement, which was in his name; on the back is written: "In consideration of £12 paid by you to me this day, I hereby absolutely assign to you all my property and interest in the piano"; that is signed by him—I paid him £12, and subsequently I paid him £2 commission—at the time I took it over I believed this was a genuine instrument, signed by Mr. Vines, and that he had delivered one of his pianos to Mr. Vines.

Cross-examined. He told me he had delivered a piano to Mr. Vines—I have no doubt that the piano mentioned in this indictment was delivered to Mr. Vines—he charged Mr. Vines £35 14s., whereas he represented to me that he had only charged him £23—the piano he delivered to Mr. Vines is the same one as the £23 piano alluded to here—if he had given me the original agreement between himself and Vines, charging Vines £35 14s., the prisoner's commission would have been higher; it would have been £3 10s. instead of £—I thought the document given me was genuine—I had not seen the piano—I was satisfied to take the agreement for £23 and give £2 commission—the agreement is of no value to me; I cannot take possession of the piano, because it is not the original agreement—I understood that the £23 was to be paid by monthly instalments—I have had £4 10s., I think, under this agreement, from the prisoner—I cannot say when I received that; it was off an account I paid him for work, at least—I did not insist on his paying it monthly—I took this as a valid agreement—I have had about thirteen years' experience of this business—these agreements need only have the hirer's signature—I have no counterpart—I believed the prisoner had signed it as a witness—there is a space for the owner's signature, but there is no owner's signature on this; his name is there as witness—the fact that the piano was sold for £23 had no influence on ray mind—I only knew from what he told me that the piano had been sold—I have no doubt, about it—he gave me this assignment at the back about the same time as I paid him the money for it—if he had shown me the original agreement he would have been entitled to £3 10s. instead of £2—I believe the writing was on the back of the agreement when it was brought to me—I cannot say whose writing it is; it is not Read's—I did not see the prisoner write it—this has been going on for three years, and I have not taken any proceedings against him for the repayment of the money.

CHARLES VINES . I live at 28, Benton Road, South Hackney—I hired a piano, uuder a hire-purchase agreement, from the prisoner, and signed an agreement for £35 14s.—this is not my signature to

this agreement; I know nothing about it—the prisoner kept the agreement I signed—I paid £35 14s. to the prisoner, £5 down, and the balance by £1 month.

GUILTY , except with regard to Count 3, alleging the obtaining of£2 9s. by false pretences, upon which no evidence was offered.

A wituets deposed to his good character and stated that Iw fad been connected with religions and temperance organisations, and had been a respectable, honest, and laird-working young mctn during the twenty years he had known him.— Judgment respited.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-454
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

Related Material

454. JOHN KELLY (32) , Robbery with violence on John Frederick Dean, and stealing a seal find part of a chain, his property.

MR. CAMPBELL Prosecuted.

JOHN FREDERICK DEAN . I live at 55, Bell Street, Edgware Road—I have no occupation at present—on Sunday, April 19th, about 11.30 p.m., I was passing through Warren Street, with my daughter by my side; my wife and a ludy friend were walking in front—I stopped to light a cigar, and my daughter got a few yards in front—the prisoner, who came suddenly on me, snatched at my watch-chain, and got away part of the chain and seal—he put his hand up under my chin, so that I really could not see his face—lie pinned me against some railings—my daughter came back to see what had happened, and said to the prisoner, "What are you doing to my father?" and she struck him—I blew a whistle, and a Policeman came immediately—the prisoner got away—there were several people about there then—I made a hasty explanation of what had occurred, and indicated the direction in which the prisoner had gone, and the policeman went in that direction, and in two or three minutes he came back with the prisoner—I said I would charge him—I did not recognise him exactly; I really had no chance of seeing the man's face, he was too sharp—I followed the constable, with the prisoner, to the station; my daughter had fainted, and could not come there, and I had no corroborative evidence, and out of fairness to the prisoner I did not; charge him that night, and the police did not detain him—I am fairly sure now the prisoner is the man; I do not think there is much doubt about him.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The inspector asked me if you were the man, and I said, "I don't know if he is the man or not"—I gave him a decided answer when he asked if I had lost anything.

FRANCES AMELIA DIAN . I am the daughter of the last witness—on Sunday night, Ap 19th, I was walking by his side in Warren Street—he stopped to light a cigar—I went on a few paces in front, and then turned to wait for him; I saw the prisoner approach my father from behind and push up his arm which held the cigar, throwing my father's head back, and with the other hand he snatched at his seal—I went up to the prisoner, caught hold of his arm, and punched him, and tried to push him away, and asked him what he was doing to my father—he turned and caught hold of me, tearing open my clothes, and striking me with something sharp, which lie. had in his hand, at the side of my face—I fainted, but I was caught by sonx-one in the crowd—I endeavoured to run after the prisoner, but could not—next night I was asked to go down to the Tottenham Court Road Police-station, where I picked out the prisoner

immediately, without any hesitation, from among seven or eight men—I am quite sure he is the man.

THOMAS JOYS (354 D). At 11.30 p.m. on April 19th I was on duty in Tottenham Court Road—I heard a whistle, and went and saw the prosecutor and a crowd—he spoke to me—I walked up Whitfield Street, and into Whitlield Place, and opposite No. 3 I saw the prisoner, about seventy-five yards from where the prosecutor was robbed—he was sober; he did not appear out of breath—I brought him back to the prosecutor, who said he would charge him—I took him to the station, where the prosecutor said he could not swear to him, and he was discharged—he gave the name of Charles Puncher, of 20, Whitfield Place—on the next night, Monday, I went with Seymour to the Lamb public-house, and there arrested the prisoner—he gave the address at the station that night, 3, Whitfield Place, and the name of John Kelly—I was present at the identification at the Police-station by Miss Dean—the men among whom he was placed were rough men brought in from the street; three of them were about his height, and so on—she identified him without any hesitation—he said nothing.

WILLIAM FRANK MORRIS . I am a tailor, of 149, Whitfield Street—between 11 and 11.30 p.m. on April 19th I was in Warren Street—I saw the prisoner there—I have known him by sight for about two or three years, and by the reputed name of Puncher—I do not know him to speak to—I saw him deliberately put his arm under the prosecutor's chin, knock his head back, and snatch at his watch-chain—Miss Dean screamed, and the prisoner left the prosecutor and caught her by the throat, and she fainted—I could not see if he tore open her dress—I subsequently saw him in the custody of the policeman.

JHON SEAYMOUR (Detective D). I went to the Lamb on April 20th, with Joys, and saw the prisoner there—I said I was a police officer, and should arrest him for stealing a gold seal from Mr. Dean, on the night of the 19th inst., at Warren Street, and that, if identified, he would be further charged with attempting to steal a gold brooch from the prosecutor's daughter, and assaulting her at the same time—he said, "The 19th?"—I said, "Yes, last night"—I took him to the station, where he was placed with six other men, and identified by Miss Dean, without the slightest hesitation—her father did not come with her—in reply to the charge the prisoner said, "All right"—he gave his address, 3, Whitfield Street, a common lodging-house.

Cross-examined. Morris was at the Police-court, and gave no evidence—he said to me after the remand, "I saw this man," and I asked him to attend on the remand—he picked you out from other men, and came forward to give evidence, but the Magistrate directed that he should attend here, and I served upon you notice of additional evidence.

(The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that fa knew nothing of the matter, that he had been standing in Whitfield Place for fifteen minutes before he was taken into custody.


He then PLEADED GUILTY**to a conviction of felony, in April, 1894, in the naiw of John Hardy. A detective stated that, the prisoner ivas a public-house loafer, an associate of thieves, and a violent man.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.

OLD COURT.—Saturday, May 23rd, 1896.

Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-455
VerdictNot Guilty > no evidence

Related Material

455. JAMES THOMAS was charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with the manslaughter of Henry Thomas. No evidence.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-456
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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456. CLARA CHEVALIER, Feloniously attempting to drown William Chevalier, with intent to murder him.

MR. KYD Prosecuted.

HENRY CHARLES RUBY . I am an engineer, of North Place, Western Street, Haggerston—on Friday, May 15th, at 11.30 a.m., I was sitting on the towing-path of the Regent's Canal, against the Acton Lock, not far from where I live—I heard a woman's scream, and looked, and saw the prisoner in the water, about 150 yards from me—I had not seen her before—I ran to the spot, and then I saw a baby in the water as well, separated from the prisoner—I threw off my coat, and got into the water, and rescued the baby, and then went back after the prisoner—the water was six or seven feet deep—Henry Davis came and helped me—I got the prisoner into shallow water, and then Davis assisted to get her on shore—I had got the baby out myself before—I left them in charge of neighbours on the shore, and went for a constable—the prisoner was unconscious when I took her out of the water.

HENRY DAVIS . I am a shoe-finisher, of 80, Western Street—just after 11.30 a.m. on May 15th, I heard screams, and ran from my door up the street, and saw the prisoner in the water—Ruby got her in the water, and brought her to the shore, and I helped him to get her out of the water—she was unconscious; I did not hear her speak.

SARAH BAXTER . I am the wife of Francis Baxter, a shoe-finisher, of 2, North Place, Haggerston; our house overlooks the canal—on May 15th, about 11.30 am., I was at my street door, and saw the prisoner walking along the towing-path, with the baby in her arms—she made a run, and ran into the water, with the baby in her arms—she got into the middle of the water—I screamed, and Ruby came, and I walked into the shallow part of the water, and took the baby out of Ruby's arms—the prisoner was not in the water more than two minutes—when she went into the water the baby was in her arms; I think the baby parted from her arms in the water; there was a very little distance, about a foot or two, between the prisoner and the baby when Ruby got it—she never holloaed or screamed at all—Ruby got into the water first, into the deep part, and he got the baby and gave it to me; I was in the shallow part—I took it indoors—the prisoner did not speak; she was unconscious—besides being wet, the baby was all right; I had it all day and all night—the prisoner was quite a stranger to me—I could not say how long she remained unconscious; I was in my own house with the baby.

WILLIAM HUNT (251 J). About 11.45 a.m. on May 15th, I was on duty in Pritchard Road—Ruby made a communication to me, and I went to the Regent's Canal towing path, near 2, North Place—I saw the prisoner there insensible—I did not see the child then—I sent for a doctor, and the prisoner was taken to the hospital—about three hours after she recovered consciousness, and I took her to the Police-station—she was charged with attempted murder and attempted suicide—she said nothing in answer to

the charge—she was taken to the infirmary, where she remained one night, and on the 16th she was taken to Worship Street Police-court—I could see the spot where she had been taken out; in the centre the canal is about nine feet at that place—the baby was brought in while the prisoner was being attended by Dr. O'Brien, for whom I had sent; it did not appear to have suffered at all—I made inquiry as to where the woman came from, and I found that she is a very respectable person, and lives in the neighbourhood.

CORNELIUS JOSEPH O'BRIEN . I was not examined at the Police-court; I believe the Magistrate made an order for me to attend here—I have known the prisoner for some time—I had medically attended her—I saw her on May 15th, just after she came out of the water—I did not hear her statement before the Magistrate. (The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate was read as follows:—"I have been suffering from depression during the week, and Dr. O'Brien, out of the Broadway, had been attending me all last week. Yesterday my head was so bad, I did not know what I was doing.") I attended her on the Monday and Wednesday previous to the Friday when this happened, for symptoms similar to those—I am the doctor she refers to—she was at that time in a delicate state of health—on the Monday and Wednesday, when I saw her, she was suffering from depression, severe headache, and was evidently distressed—I have known her for six or eight months, and I can say that she is a very respectable woman—her husband is outside the Court to-day—I think that her statement, "Yesterday my head was so bad, I did not know what I was doing," is very probable under the-circumstances.

Prisoner's Defence: I was suffering so bad from my head, I did not know what I was doing.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-457
VerdictNot Guilty > no evidence

Related Material

457. CLARA CHEVALIER was again indicted for attempting to kill and murder herself. No evidence was offered.


The JURY desired to point out the dangerous nature of this part of the canal, and also to hope that Ruby might be rewarded. The COURT highly commended Ruby, and awarded him £5.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-458
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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458. EDWARD CATCHPOLE (40) , Feloniously shooting at Clara Catchpole, with intent to murder her; Second Count, with intent to do her grievous bodily harm; other Counts, for wounding her with the same intent. MR. GEOGHEGAN Prosecuted.

ELIZA PANTON . I live at Frant Road, Clapham Junction—I am the mother of the prisoner's wife—she has been living for the past few months at 2, Fulham Palace Terrace, a shop—for a fortnight before April 13th I had been stopping there with her, her eldest daughter, Amelia, and two or three other children—on Friday night, April 10th, I met the prisoner and his wife together in Fulham Road—they had been separated—he asked her to take him back—she said she could not do so then—he asked to be allowed to see his children—she said, "If you promise to behave yourself better than you have done, and come and see them in a proper manner, I will allow you to see them"—he walked with us some distance, and we showed him where we were living; she told him he should see his children the next day at noon—on Saturday, April 11th, he called about twelve—he asked his wife to take him back again; she said she could not do so—he told her he had now here

to go, and that if she did not take him back something very serious would happen; that perhaps it would mean years, and very likely the rope for him, if she did not take him back—I don't remember that she made any answer to that—she gave him some dinner in the room behind the shop—he said he had not much money to buy food—he saw his children—he was in and out nearly the whole of the Saturday—he asked her more than once, I believe, in my presence, to take him back—she said, having got the separation from him, she really could not, as he had behaved so badly—she declined to take him back—he went away on Saturday night—John Kent has been in the habit of visiting my daughter's house for some time past—it is a cigar, tobacco, confectionery, and mineral water shop—the prisoner called on the Sunday; I was in the shop a good deal, and did not hear all the conversation—the prisoner asked her to let him come back—Kent was in the kitchen, and did not hear that—she asked him to get some work, and try and do better for himself, and come at some future time, and she might think better of it—he said he had tried to get work, and that he was not willing to wait and do as she asked him—he said he believed she and Kent were living together—that is all that passed on the Sunday, to the best of my recollection—on the following morning, Monday, he called—he said he had been to a job, where he expected to have started work, but he had not been successful—he was there a long time, I think till dinnertime, on the Monday—I heard the conversation between them; I was in and out of the shop—he got very excited when he found she had really made up her mind not to take him back for the present—he said, "If you don't take one back I will shoot you"—I spoke to him; it was the first conversation I had really had with him—I asked him to try and go and get some work—I don't think his wife made any reply when he threatened to shoot her—he did not have dinner there on the Monday—he went away, after shaking hands with his wife—at eight o'clock on the Monday evening, 13th, Kent, my daughter Clara, and I, were sitting in the room behind the shop—my grand-daughter, Amelia, was in the outer shop—she opened the door leading into the room where we were, and said something—the prisoner followed sharply behind her—his wife was facing the door, between the door and the mantelpiece—Kent was at the far end of the kitchen, facing the door—it is a long, narrow kitchen—there was a long kitchen fire-range between him and the prisoner's wife—she was About in the middle of the kitchen—she got up as the prisoner rushed in; he stopped quite close to us—his hand was under the back of his coat; he drew a revolver from behind him, and said, "Now, you or me for it," and he fired, taking a deliberate aim for her head—he was not more than a yard from her, I should think, quite close—as he fired she raised her hand; she said, "Oh, Ted! Don't, Ted!"—he fired two shots at her in quick succession; I cannot say whether the first or second took effect—after the second shot I rushed out, pushing Amelia in front of me—after the two shots my daughter called out, "I am shot"—that is what took place, as far as I know—I afterwards saw ray daughter's wrist; she was taken to a doctor's, and then to a hospital.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. We did not rob you of your money and put you away on the Friday night—you were allowed to go to the shop, and we gave you a bottle of ginger beer and a cigar—we showed you

where the children were—you brought over a lambswool rug—you offered to stop and mend the children's boots and shoes, and your wife would not allow you to do it.

CLARA CATCHPOLE . I live at 2, Fulham Palace Terrace—in September 1895, I obtained a judicial separation from my husband at the Southwestern Police Court; this is the document. (This was an order made by Mr. Lane on September 10th, 1895, that the husband, having been convicted of an aggravated assault upon his wife, and she being in danger from him, sha should no longer be bound to cohabit with him.) I was then living in Usk Road, Battersea—after that I took furnished apartments, because my home was sold up—finally, I went to 2, Fulham Palace Terrace, and lived there with my three daughters, the eldest of them named Amelia—the front part of the house is a tobacconist's shop—for about a fortnight before April 13th my mother, Mrs. Panton, had been living with me—between September 10th and April 10th I saw my husband twice (once on Boxing Night), but I did not speak to him—on Friday, April 10th,. I met him in the Fulham Road—my mother was not with me at the time; she joined me afterwards—the prisoner called me "Clara" three times, and came back to me—he said, "Are you going to let me see those children? Will you let me see those children?"—I said, "If you behave yourself like another man"—I took him to the house where I and the children were living, and made an appointment that he should see the children at noon next day, Saturday, 11th—about noon on the Saturday he came, and I let him see the children—he asked me whether I would take him back again—I told him I would if he would work and keep me and the children—he said he must come back; he should not leave me; that he should have the rope for it, or something like that, if I did not take him back—I told him I would not be turned out in the streets of a night, and I should go to bed in peace, as I was doing so—I gave him some dinner—he kept asking me to let him come back—I said he could not stay—I would not allow him to stay—he said he knew this would come to something if I did not take him back—I knew John Kent, who is called Jack—the prisoner said, "You won't have Jack Kent; I shall take your and Jack's life"—that was said three days running, Saturday, Sunday and Monday—he did not say anything particular about Jack being the cause of his and my separation—on Sunday morning he came again about the same time, and I gave him some dinner—I asked him to get some work—he said he would—he came to my place, on and off, till about six or seven p.m.—Kent was there at three p.m.; he went out and came back again—the prisoner came back at nine—there was not much said when he came back between six and seven, when Kent was there—the prisoner kept asking me on the Sunday to take him back, and I told him to get work, and promised to take him back when he got it—he said he could not leave me; he should not go away; there would be something happen to me and Kent—he said something would happen on the Monday to me and Jack Kent if I did not take him back again—I guessed what he meant—on the Monday, April 13th, he called—I told him he must not come into my place, because I should be breaking my separation, and I would not unless he got work; if he kept coming into my house he would break my separation order, and I did not wish to do it—he said he could not stand it—I think he stayed in the shop—my mother said he must not

do anything of that sort—on Monday evening I, my mother and Kent were sitting in the kitchen, and Amelia was in the shop—she ran in crying out something, and the prisoner followed her in—he rushed in with a revolver, which he took from behind him—I saw it in his right hand—I rushed in front of my mother and children—he fired at my head; he was three-quarters of a yard to a yard from me—he held the revolver facing the side of my head—I was stooping down; I put up my right hand—the bullet struck my wrist—he fired three shots at me altogether—as he was rushing in, before he fired, he said, "Now, me or you for it"—I said, "Oh, Ted, don't!" three times—the last two shots missed me—Kent took up a chair, and then I went out—I was behind the copper when the three shots were fired; there were some newspapers on it—I afterwards looked at them; there was a bullet-mark on them and on the mantelpiece, which was about half a yard from me, and close to the newspapers—I was standing between the prisoner and the newspapers.

Cross-examined. It was 11.30 on the Friday night when I met you in Fulham Palace Road—you took me into a public-house, and gave me two-pennyworth of whisky, because I was afraid of you—I had to keep you and your children, and I was always in danger of my life—you only worked for a month or six weeks in a year—you did not earn £3 or £4 a week, and bring it home to me—you have not kept a good home—everybody knew you did not keep the children—you never kept me all the time I have been married—you did not find me with a married man at King's Cross—I went to live at a coffee-house with my mother because I was in danger of my life—Kent kept you; you would bring anyone down there as long as you did not have to work—you did not ask why Kent came; you never objected, or said anything about it; you did not care so long as you did not have to work—you never said that you did not want Kent to come—you sanctioned Kent's coming; you brought him there—you have brought him there of a night, when I have not been there, and waited for me to come—that was before the separation order—after the separation order you never objected to Kent'p coming—one holiday you took me to Kant; I did not want to go, and begged you not to take me—you did not ask me why Kent came to the house so much, because you understood the reason; you used to get money from Kent—you did not tell me you did not want Kent to come so much—I was home every night unless you drove me out—you had a few words with me before I went with Kent to the Washington, because you did not go with us—I came home that night about twelve; we went to the Plough after the music hall was closed, and stopped till 12.30—I came home that night—I got home with Kent just before one; we live about fifteen minutes' walk from the Plough—Kent stayed at our house that night—you went upstairs, where you always slept; you had gone to bed when we came home—I and Kent slept downstairs in the front room—you asked Kent to stop; you knew he was always staying there, and you knew he was coming back there, and you drove me out to get money—you asked Kent whether I could go to the Washington with him—before we went to the Washington you asked Kent to come back to our house—Kent stayed with me that night in my bed, and you knew he was going to—he was not the only person that came there—I was driven out on the

streets to keep you—you never went to work—I was not living with Kent—he used to come there certain nights in the week, sometimes three nights a week, and sleep in my bed—it had been going on for some months—you were aware of it—you have come in and spoken to Kent in the bedroom in the morning, and got money from him to fetch breakfast—I cannot remember any date when you saw him there—he was there every Sunday—you have got the breakfast for me and Kent—we never had it in bed—we all three had it together in the kitchen—you have come to call us, and tell us breakfast was ready—you never had a halfpenny—you never went to work—what money I had was from good friends I had—a banking account was kept with two books—you spent yours—you put no money into the bank; I did; I was driven out on the streets to get it—I had been walking the streets for six years, I suppose, and I was not allowed to stay in one night if I was ill—I and Kent did not talk over this separation order before I got it—ever since I have been married I have been going to get a separation, because you drove me out of a night—Kent did not take about £40 worth of your things away about five o'clock one morning—you sold the home up—I never took a thing away.

JOHN KENT . I am a dealer in fish, poultry, horses, ducks, and so forth—my brother and I have a yard near the gas factory—on Monday evening, April 13th, I was at 2, Fulham Palace Terrace, sitting in the kitchen, with Mrs. Panton and Mrs. Catchpole and her children—the prisoner came in, and pulled a revolver from under the back of his coat, and pointed it at his wife's head; he was three-quarters of a yard from her—he said, "Now, you or me, Clara"—she said, "Oh, don't, don't, Ted!"—she put up her hand to her head—he fired two or three shots at her; I don't know if he fired the third shot at her or at me—the first one hit her—she ran out at the back—I took up a chair, and rushed forward and struck him with the chair, and knocked him back up against the cupboard; he did not fall down—after I struck him he fired one or two shots at me—I dropped the chair and closed with him—I got the lid of a pail; he shot at me when I was holding it—I had two wounds, but was not laid up—I was prevented from attending to business for three or four days.

Cross-examined. I knocked you about before this, when you stabbed me at Clapham Junction last Boxing Day—I never touched your brother—I don't know what you stabbed me for—you had three or four more with you, and said you were going to fight me, and I started fighting, and you stabbed me with a little penknife—I never got you locked up—I was not in your wife's house then; I was in a public-house—you only brought your wife to me on the holiday for what you thought you would get from me—I asked you if I might take her to the Washington, and you said I might—I went to Lewes races that night; I don't know whether she came home or not—I did not go to your place that night; I don't believe it was that night—I had not been in the habit of living with her—I did not go and stay with her two or three times a week; now and again I did; you knew I went—certainly I went and slept with her—I was away when the separation order was made—I did not know it was made for very nearly three weeks afterwards, and then she told me—I did not take away your things at 5.30 in the morning—I took away a sewing machine and all her clothes at seven o'clock; she came

and begged me to, as she was in danger of her life—when you came out from fourteen days you asked me if I knew what had become of your wife, and I said I should not tell you, because she came to me crying, and said she was afraid of your killing her—I never lived with her; I never slept two nights out of my own house—I live with my brother and three children—before my wife died I never knew you or your wife—your wife worked for mine sixteen years ago, but I did not see her since till I met her up St. John's Road—I did not get you locked up when you stabbed me; I walked away, and went home—on Saturday night, April 11th, I came to the house because your wife telegraphed for me to come, as she was in danger of her life—I did not sltjep there again on the Sunday night—I was not there on the Friday night—she did not say part of the money was a share of mine—I did not say, if you did not let her alone, and I went round to the landlord, I could soon shut up the place—I said I would not drink with you—you never had anything to be robbed of—I was not always there—I have a good home.

JAMES EMMENT . I am a park-keeper to the Fulham Vestry, and live at the lodge in Bishop's Park—about 8.30 p.m. on April 13th I heard the report of fire-arms, and went in the direction of the sound—I heard cries of "Murder" and "Police," and I saw the prisoner running along on the opposite side of Fulham Palace Road, without a hat—I ran after, and caught him—while holding him two constables came up—I saw a revolver taken from up his back—when I caught him, he said, "It is not me; it is the other man"—on the road back to the house where the crime was committed, he said, "They have put me away several times, and I intended to do for both of them"—this is the revolver, I believe, I saw taken from him.

JOHN FRY (604 I). At 8.30 p.m. on April 13th I was on mounted duty patrol in Fulham Palace Road—Emment called my attention to the prisoner, who was bare-headed and bleeding from the scalp—I asked the prisoner where the revolver was; he made no reply—I searched his coat and trousers pockets, but did not find it—on the way back to the house I saw him put his left, hand behind him—I caught hold of his arm and searched again, and found this revolver secured under his waist-belt behind, and this box of fortyrfour cartridges, marked "made in Belgium"—when I found those he said, "I done it, and I wish I had killed him"—I cautioned him that what he said would be given in evidence against him, and I took him to 2, Fulham Palace Terrace—I saw Kent in the kitchen—he said, in the prisoner's hearing, "That is the man that done it"—the prisoner did not say anything to that—I took him to the Police-station—five chambers of the revolver were empty and one loaded—the five empty chambers were foul, showing that they had been fired.

HOLTON (Inspector T). At 8.45 on April 13th I was at the station when Fry brought in the prisoner in a very excited state—he said, "I hope I have not hurt her, but hope I have hurt him—I had dinner with her on Sunday, and begged and prayed of her to come back; it was him I meant to kill, and would have done so, only my girl got in front of him"—he was charged by Sergeant Barry with shooting at his wife and John Kent, with intent to murder—I did not hear his reply—I went to 2, Palace Terrace, and searched the kitchen, which I found in great disorder—a struggle seemed to have taken place there—there was a

quantity of blood on the cupboard—as you go into the room the fireplace is fronting you, slightly on the left-hand side—near the fireplace I found a spent bullet—I compared it with the cartridge found on the prisoner; the bullets are of the same calibre—I found a second bullet in the fireplace, and a third bullet in the corner of the room—I found pieces of a broken jug—under the cartridge box found on the prisoner I found a receipted bill for 9s. 6d. for the revolver, and 2s. 6d. for the cartridge—five chambers of the revolver contained spent cartridges.

LEONARD BARRY (Sergeant T). At 8.45 on April 13th I was on duty—I read to the prisoner the charge of attempting to murder his wife and Kent—he replied, "Is missus gone home?"—I said, "No, gone to the hospital"—I read the charge to him—he said, "Yes, I said I done it; I did do it"—while I was taking P. description of him he said something to me; he also said, "How is the missus?"—I told him she had been taken to the hospital—he said, "I wish I had done myself some harm."

WALWYN THOMAS . I am house-surgeon at St. George's Hospital—on the night of April 13th Clara Oatchpole was brought in—I examined her eight arm, and found a punctured wound about the size of a three-penny-piece, just above the wrist-pthe edges of the wound were blackened; the shot must have been fired pretty close to the woman—I probed the passage, but could not find the bullet—this photograph of the woman's hand was afterwards taken by the Rontgen rays, which showed where the bullet was, lodged in the small bones of the wrist; we then made an incision, and took it out—injury has been done to the wrist-joint—Kent, whom I examined, was suffering from a slight wound in the abdomen and a bruise on the shoulder—he was all right in a day or two.

AMELIA CATCHPOLE . I live with my mother, at 2, Fulham Palace Terrace—I am the prisoner's daughter.

Cross-examined. A long time ago you went to work, and put nioney in the bank—nobody told me to say it was a long time ago—I don't know if you put it in for my mother, so that we could have a little business—I do not know if you put it in the bank—my mother used to go to the post-office to put money in—you used to bring home meat on a Saturday—you did not make my mother get up—you and I used to go and get the shopping—my mother did not say she would put you away any time she liked when you had a row—some nights you knocked my mother about—you hurt her in the passage in Musk Road—I don't know if that was having a row over Kent—I did not hear you say you did not want Kent there so much.

The Prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, said that while he was in prison for pushing a woman because his wife did not pay a little money, his wife had a child by another man; tfiat he went back home, and she said she was going to do as she liked with oilier men; that he worked, and put money in the bank, and had two books, with half for her and half for himself, and tliat he saved about £23, and was very comfortable till Kent came and led his wife astray; that he got fourteen days tor being drunk and using abusive language; and when he came out he found his house stripped, about £40 worth of things having been taken away by Kent in his cart, and he could not find her; that on Boxing night

he found his wife and Kent together; and that when he saw them in April he did not know what he was doing.

The Prisoner, in a written defence, stated that for a long time he and his wife lived happily, he earning from £1 to £3 10s. per week, and putting a good sum into the Savings Sank, when he found that his wife was keeping company with other men; that he took her back, but afterwards discovered that she was intimate with Kent, and had taken to drinking; that she was away for two or three days, and he met her by accident in a public-house, and quarrelled with her, and was imprisoned for two months for assaulting her; that when he came out lie found she was living with Kent, and that they had taken about £40 worth of furniture away, and that he was assisting her in business; that at the time of this occurrence he was almost out of his mind, and had no intention of hurting her, but meant to frighten her and Kent, and that he never intended to do them any real harm.

GUILTY of unlawfully wounding, under great provocation. Six Months' Hard Labour.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-459
VerdictNot Guilty > no evidence

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459. EDWARD CATCHPOLE was again indicted for shooting at George Kent, with intent to murder him; Second Count, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm.

Mr. GEOGHEGAN offered no evidence.


NEW COURT.—saturday, May 23rd, 1896

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-460
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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460. WILLIAM KING (26) and EDWARD SHEEHAN (18) , Robbery with violence on James Russell, and stealing a watch and chain his property.

MR. INMAN Prosecuted; and MR. HUTTON appeared for King, and

MR. BURNIE for Sheehan.

JAMES RUSSELL . I am a paper-hanger, of 27, Munster Square, N.W.—on May 12th, between 1 and 1.30 a.m., I was coming down Pentonville Road alone; five or six men jumped on me and knocked me down, stole my watch and chain, and I lost my hat—the prisoners are two of them—they all ran away, leaving me on the ground—I received a kick, and King jumped on me—a constable came, and I pointed out the prisoners twenty or thirty yards off—they ran towards a night coffee-stall—there were about two dozen men there, and among them I recognised the two prisoners, and pointed them out, and they were taken in custody—a constable put his hand on King, who tried to get his coat off to get away.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. The struggle took place three, five, or seven minutes before the constables came up—there were cups of coffee on the stall, but the prisoners were not drinking any—I do not know Lattrell, the coffee-stall keeper—I had never seen King before—I had had several drinks; I had worked up to seven o'clock, and then went home, and went out again about 8.30, and went to Islington to meet a friend, and went with him to a public-house, and had a glass of ale each—we then had a walk, and then another drink, and then another walk and another public-house—I think I had eight glasses of bitter during the night, but not a drop of gin—I had tea at home—the men had run away before the constable came up—King stood at the far end of the stall—I

did not try to get into a cab—I did not have any coffee—I had passed the stall before I was assaulted.

Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. The five or six men came on me very suddenly, and I defended myself as well as I could—they were all on me at once; the actual struggle only took a minute, but it was seven minutes before they were arrested—the coffee-stall is in Pentonville Road, at the corner of a street, a little round the corner from where I was.

Re-examined. The public-houses had been shut for some time; the last one was the Bluecoat Boy—I was walking about from 12.30, when I should be turned out of a public-house, till 1.30—I had been alone about ten minutes—I had a glass of beer every half-hour—nobody spoke to me from the time I left my friend at the Angel till I was robbed.

ALFRED MABEY (95 E). On May 12th, about 1.30 a.m., I was on duty in Barrow Street, Pentonville, and heard a female say, "Look out, here is a copper coming," referring to me—I ran into the Pentonville Road, and saw Russell brushing the dirt off his clothes—I spoke to him, we went to a coffee-stall ten or twenty yards off, and he pointed King out on the left of the stall, the farther side as we went up—Sheehan was on the right-hand side of the stall; I caught hold of King, and 96 G, who had come up, caught hold of Sheehan—I got King into the road; he struggled, and slipped his coat, and kicked me two or three times on my legs—I threw him on the ground to secure him—I took out my whistle, and some of his comrades came up and snatched it from my mouth—on the way to the station King tried to pass this metal watch to a female, not the chain; that was found in his trousers pocket—I prevented him passing it—I searched him at the station, and found this silver watch attached to a silver match-box.

Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. King was not the worse for drink—Russell said, "There is one of them on the left"—he was at the end nearest me, among ten or twenty of them—Russell was not sober—a pawnbroker valued the watch at 6s.

Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. The coffee-stall is in Pentonville Road; you come down Barrow Street and turn to the left, and the coffee-stall is just by a public-house; I passed within ten yards of it when I came out of Barrow Street—Russell was ten yards one way, and the coffee-stall ten yards on the other—Russell pointed King out without any hesitation at all, and King never spoke—I did not tell them what I was taking them for, but Russell said, "This is one of the men who snatched my watch away, and this is the other"—they were both charged before the inspector at the station at the same time.

JOHN SMEDLER (96 P). On May 12th, at 1.30 a.m., I was in Pentonville, and saw Mabey and Russell at the coffee-stall; there was a crowd there—I said, "What is the matter?"—Mabey said, "This man wants to give these two in custody for stealing his watch and chain," pointing to them; "You take that one, and I will take this one"—we took them to the station; they were very violent all the way, and made several attempts to throw me—several of their friends tried to get them away, and one person snatched my whistle when I was blowing it—Russell had been drinking, but he walked to the station—just before we got there Sheehan said, "You have made a mistake."

Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. Sheehan stood quietly at the stall,

with the other officer close by; I put my hand on his collar, and said, "You hear what the gentleman says; you will have to come," and then some of the others tried to get him away, and it was after that that he tried to escape.

Witnesses for King.

GEORGE LATTRELL . I live at 148, Broad Road; I was working at this coffee-stall in Pentonville Road from eleven p.m. to four a.m.—the prisoner King came up at a quarter to one, and asked for a cup of coffee; I served him, and he stood there talking to me till one o'clock—no other men were there, but Russell came up with some more men, one of whom was talking to him, and he wanted him to have a cup of coffee, but he would not; and then Russell wanted to get into a cab, but they would not let him—he passed on to my stall, and at 1.15 the prosecutor charged King at my stall, and he never left it—I am quite sure about that—the men were close to him, talking to him—I am here on subpoena—he generally comes to my stall on Saturday night, but this was Tuesday—I do not know him otherwise than by serving him at the stall—the two prisoners were not together.

Cross-examined. When Russell first came to my stall there were about a dozen customers there, and after the charge was taken, two dozen or thirty—there were not above a dozen all the time King was there, but there were about fifteen when Russell came up first, when they tried top ersuade him to have some coffee—there is a clock at my stall, behind me, and I looked at the time—I knew Russell by sight, but when he came to my stall I had known him before.

Re-examined. I have no doubt that the man I saw pass my stall was the prosecutor; he was intoxicated—I had a good light on my stall, two paraffin lamps.

By the COURT. I did not see or hear anything of the robbery till Russell came up—I know where it was; the spot is two dozen yards from my stall; a man might be robbed there, and I know nothing about it—when the policeman came up with Russell, and Russell said, "That is the man who stole my watch and chain,"I did not say to the policeman, "This man has made a mistake, this man, King, has never been out of my company from a quarter to one"—I thought it was all right—I did not go tp the Police-court next morning; I was in bed; I had been up all night, and I did not think it was my place to go to the station and give information—I first heard on the Tuesday that he was committed for trial—I asked the policeman if my opinion was correct—I saw Sheehan; I do not remember when he came up.

CHARLES MARTIN . I am a decorator, of 119, Barnsbury Street, Islington—on May 12th. about 12.50 a.m., I was at this coffee-stall in Pentonville Road—when I arrived there a man was there whom I knew as Billy, that is the prisoner King—five or six other men came up, and I heard them say, "Have a cup of coffee, old chap"—he said, I wish to get a cab, and go home—I believe Russell to be the man—I know him better by his action than his appearance—five or six men followed him; they looked a rough sort, who were taking advantage of his drunkenness—King was standing at the stall—he was drunk, and I advised him to go home—he was having a cup of coffee, and then left—I left at 1.10—I have been brought here on subpoena.

Cross-examined. I cannot say who the other persons were; they did not look like friends; they appeared anxious to take advantage of him—I did not take the trouble to follow him—when I left at 1.10 King was drunk.

J. RUSSBLL (Re-examined). Before I was knocked down I had passed the coffee-stall—the men who assaulted me came from my right side.

GEORGE LATTRELL (Re-examined). My coffee-stall is not round the corner; it is four doors from the corner in Pentonville Road.

Sheehan received a good character.


The COURT adjourned to Thursday, June 4th.

NEW COURT.—Thursday and Friday, June 4th and 5th, 1896.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-461
VerdictGuilty > unknown

Related Material

461. THOMAS CARTER (61), ANGELO EDWARD WRIGHT CLARKE (26), JOHN BROOKS, alias Robbins (63), EDWARD LEIGH (63), and ROBERT ATKINSON, alias George Chapman (63), Unlawfully conspiring to defraud George Pugh of £50; other Counts, for incurring a debt and liability.

MR. GILL and MR. A. GILL Prosecuted; and MR. WILLS appeared for Carter, MR. KEMP, Q.C., for Clarke, MR. O'CONNOR for Leigh, MR. PURCELL for Brooks, and MR. SANDS and MR. KYD for Atkinson.

WILLIAM HAWKINS EDWARDS . I live Jat Bass Wood North, Finchley—in December last I was living at 34, Harold Road, Upper Holloway—I was looking out for a business—I had some money, and so had my wife—my attention was attracted to this advertisement in the Daily Telegraph: "Advance £15 wanted, ten days, by Tradesman. Will pay Urge interest.—Postal Department, Daily Telegraph"—I saw other advertisements of a similar character in the paper, and sent postcards, after which the prisoner Brooks called on me in December, but I knew him as Robbins—he showed me a card, "W. J. Robbins, Mounter and Dealer in Precious Stones, 51, Trinity Square, Borough"—he told me he had been there for some years, and required £15 to buy diamonds to complete orders, as he had run short on account of the Christmas and New Year's trade, and should be able to pay punctually in ten days—I was to get £5 and a present, but I refused the present—he said it would pay him well, as he made large profits—he gave me some pawn-tickets as a guarantee of good faith—he said that they represented goods from his stock, and were not pawned for their full value, but for the amount he wanted at the time—he showed me the pawn-tickets, and made out a promissory note for £20 in ten, days' time on a form which he had in his possession—this (produced) is the bundle of some of the pawn-tickets he gave me, not all—this was done at the Royal Oak public-house—he said he would write, and made an appointment to pay me; but I wrote when the ten days had elapsed, and then be wrote, saying he was going to Birmingham, and would call on his return—I did not see him again or hear from him till he was in custody—I believed the statements he made—this is Carter's advertisement, which I answered: "Cash wanted till June 14th, to complete contract. "Security value £50 will be deposited. J. D. Rendall."—Carter called on January 1st or 2nd; he said he was exceedingly pressedfor money,

and was running short on account of the Christmas and New Year's business, ard that he was in a large way of business, getting up jewellery for West-end shops—he said, "I carry on my business at 23, Clarence Road, Canonbury, with my wife and nine children"—he showed me some designs for making up, and remarked that that was the first time he had had to borrow—I told him I was going into business, and it would be a most serious business if he did not take up the bill—he gave me this promissory note for £20, payable at the London and County Bank, Islington—I paid the money, and he produced some pawn-tickets, and said that they were so valuable that he should redeem them—my wife was present; it was partly through her that I lent him the money—he said, "I am in a very large way of business; it will be very detrimental to me if anyone knows"—I said he was borrowing a small amount, as I was believed to be a wealthy man and they would not place orders in my hands if I was believed to be short of money—he said that the jewellery came from his stock—he said he wanted the money to buy diamonds, and when he left me he said he should go at once to Hatton Garden—I was quite satisfied with the statements he made; I suggested going to a solicitor, but he said it would be throwing money away—my wife fetched the money from her bank—he and I were at the Southampton Hotel, and we went to the Birkbeck, and paid it over at a house near—my letter, addressed to 23, Clarence Road, Canonbury, was returned as being to a place unknown—I wrote on January 13th, and received a letter on the 14th, purporting to come from Huntingdon: "Dear Sir,—I am sorry to inform you I sliall not be able to meet my bill, and I shall be away. You had better dispose of the goods. If you wish to communicate with me, you had better write to General Post Office, Liverpool"—I never saw or heard of him again till I found him in the hands of the police—on January 8th James Wilson called and said that Carter had sent him, and he wanted to borrow £30, as diamonds would rise in value, but he could now buy cheap—he paid that he was a dealer in diamonds, and Carter and he were old friends, and that he (Wilson) had £1,000 at the bank—the money was to be paid in seven days, I think—I lent him £60, and received a promissory note for £75—he called next day and said he had made a very good thing—he had done very well, and would I make a concession of interest, and he wanted another loan—I lent him £50, and he gave my wife a ring—we arranged to meet on the 6th, at the Bodega, Chancery Lane—he knew I had an appointment with a friend to meet his clerk at the Birkbeck Bank, and when I arrived he introduced Clarke as his friend, and wished me to lend Clarke money—I said, "I cannot"—he pressed me very much, and said that Clarke was temporarily embarrassed—he said, "I usually finance him, but we are both short of money just now"—he said that Clarke wanted the money to purchase diamonds to complete orders; that he traded as a West-end tradesman, and was a real good fellow, and quite straightforward—I remarked to Clarke that it was a serious matter if he did not pay punctually—he wanted £40, and said that he was a well-to-do man; I said, "By straining matters I might lend you £30; shall I give you the name of a money lender?"—he said, "No, I have had experience of them; I am quite sure I can pay you punctually; in a few days I shall have £480"—I paid him on three days, Friday, Saturday, and Monday, and he gave me this promissory note—

Wilson lodged some jewellery with me—he said, if I would bring it back, a jeweller in Hatton Garden would give a very large sum for it, and he said he would give me a note for it for £50. (A receipt was here put in, signed "J. Wtison.") I saw Wilson on the day it became due, but I never got the money—Clarke never paid the money; I pointed him out to the police in Holborn on the day of his arrest—he recognised me after his arrest—on January 3rd Leigh called on me in answer to an advertisement, and introduced himself as a dealer in jewellery; he had called several times when I was out—he gave me his address, which was, I think, Millwood Road, Brixton—he called to borrow money; I refused to lend him any, and he left—a man named Mills called and described himself as a maker-up of jewellery—he left some, pawn-tickets with me, and I lent him £16, and never saw him again—I recognised Atkinson at Ludgate Hill Station; my wife was with me—he represented himself as a jeweller, and wanted to buy diamonds—I told him I could not lend him any money, as I had lent so much—he referred to an advertisement which I had answered—altogether I parted with £186 in a week, believing in the defendants' statements.

Cross-examined by MR. WILLS. Carter told me that his name was Carter, not Randall—I have not made a mistake between Clarence Road and Alwyne Road—he did not show me a letter with the address, 23, Alwyne Road, Canohbury, on it; it was addressed to Clarence Road—he did not leave it with me—he showed me some stones, and told me that his business was getting them made up, and he employed a man at £6 a week to do it—I agreed to lend him £15—this promissory note was drawn up in an office near the Birkbeck Bank—I handed the money to Carter—it was Robbins who said, "He is connected with me," not Carter; but afterwards I got this letter from Carter—I have been to the pawnbrokers in a few cases, and saw some jewellery, but I hardly remember what; it was pawned for £50; whoever got the goods out I should have great difficulty in getting them back—I did not take any of Carter's out—I have not inquired at a single pawnbroker's—I have heard that the pawnbrokers were called before the Magistrate, but I do not know in which case—Carter did not refer to Wilson by name; he suggested thatrthe people would come to him—there are about sixty duplicates in Carter's case—I have not inquired of any pawnbroker the value of the whole—I have been in business—I was a ledger warehouseman—I have never lent money for profit before—I told Carter that I contemplated going into business as a fancy stationer—I did not attempt to realise, because each prisoner mentioned the value of the tickets, and I thought I might get into a bigger mess—I only know now whether I am secured or not only by judging, of the things generally.

Cross-examined by Mr. KEMP. Clarke wrote to me from the Diamond Merchants' Club, Hatton Garden—the pawn-tickets he gave me were to become mine if the bill was not met—he did not offer to give me a diamond necklace in addition if I was not satisfied, nor did I state that I was satisfied—he showed me a diamond necklace or a bracelet; I do not remember his saying he did not want to pawn it, if he could help it—those were made-up diamonds—he offered them as security if I wished for more—part of the promissory note has been paid—I took £10 in ignorance; I was told not to take any more, and I

did not—I gave my address in Parrolles Road—that was correct—I left there on, I think, February 28th—I did not go to the Diamond Club—I saw the mother; she is a respectable lady with means, and could assist her son if he required it—she promised that the rest would be paid, and said that Clarke would pay it—I did not say that I was sorry for Clarke, because I did not think he would swindle me—I hesitate because I am slightly nervous and confused—I was getting £10, but that would not influence me—I put it in my pocket—I did not go a second time for the balance—she called, but I did not take it; I said that the police had warned me not to take it, or I might find myself in Holloway—she said she did not like the disgrace of her son being mixed up with it—I could, have got my money if I had thought proper to take it.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I had been employed at Nottingham for four or five years—I had been at two or three retail houses, and in an insurance office—I answered five of the advertisements—I desired to increase my capital by means of the interest or bonus—when Brooks gave me the pawn-tickets I saw that they referred to jewellery of substantial value—if I had gone to Bobbins' place of business in Finsbury Square I should have done it without a promissory note—I advanced the money for the sake of the £5—I have not been to the pawnbrokers to see the jewels—I believe they were more valuable than the sums mentioned on the tickets, but that did not influence my view.

Cross-examined by MR. O'CONNOR. The conversation with Leigh lasted five or six minutes; no business was done.

Cross-examined by MR. KYD. It was after I had lent all the money that I saw Atkinson at Ludgate Hill; it was some day after January 6th or 8th—I met him by appointment—I answered an advertisement by writing on a postcard "Send particulars"—I saw his advertisement after I had lent my money.

Re-examined. I wrote two letters, and both came back through the Dead Letter Office—I was living in Parrolles Road, in January, this year—I went there at the end of November or early in December—I was certainly there the whole of January—I can't say whether I got the telegram on January 11th—that was the day after the bill was payable—Clarke was arrested on March 21st, and I remember his seeing me after he was in custody; up to that time nobody offered to pay me any money, but when Clarke was in the dock his cousin came to me and asked me to see his mother at her house—I did not see his father to speak to, I have seen him driving—the mother paid me £10—there had only been one hearing—when I told Inspector Denny what I had done he warned me, and I took no more money.

CATHERINE EDWARDS . I am the wife of the last witness—I had some money at the Birkbeck Bank—my husband answered an advertisement in the Daily Telegraphy and Brooks called on us—he said that he was a jeweller, and wanted to borrow £15, that he had never borrowed before, and would pay £5 for the accommodation, and would return it to us in a few days, ten days, I think, and he would give, us some pawn-tickets worth ten times more than was paid for them, as a guarantee that we should have the money—he said that he carried on business at 1, Trinity Square, and was well known there, as he had been there for years, and that the jewellery was part of his stock—I believed his statements, and

consented to my money being drawn out of the bank—on January 1st I went with my husband to the Southampton Hotel, Chancery Lane, and was there introduced to Carter—he said he was a diamond merchant, of Hatton Garden, and wanted money to buy diamonds, and that he lived there with his wife—he showed us some orders he had in his pocket-book, and said that that was the kind of work he was engaged in—my husband said at first that he would not lend it, but afterwards he said, "I think it is all right"; he gave us some pawn-tickets as security, and said that only one-third of the money was advanced on the jewellery"—I said, "Suppose you do not pay at the date, what are we to do with the pawn-tickets?"—he said, "They are worth more to us," and showed us about sixty diamonds, which he had in his pocket—we also had an interview witb Wilson; he said that Carter had sent him, and he could put business in our way—Wilson had £110 of our money—Wilson introduced Clarke, and said that he was a diamond merchant in Hatton Garden, and wanted £40 to complete an order, and Clarke said that he was a diamond merchant, and would pay in three days, and that he had had £480 from a company, and paid it—I have seen Leigh come to our house, but have not spoken to him—I know Atkinson as Benson; he met me and my husband at Ludgate Hill; he said he was a diamond merchant—my husband said he could not lend any more—I saw a man named Mills, who got £184 in the same way—we went to a solicitor, and heard nothing more of these people, after the notes became due, till they were in custody—I went to Trinity Square, and found nothing but private houses; no business.

Cross-examined by MR. WILLS. I was at home when Carter called, but was not present at the first interview; I saw him—my husband would not lend the money without consulting me—I did not hear the address given, Alwyne Road, Canonbury; it was Clarence Road—he had the envelope in his pocket-book—he showed us some loose stones—Wilson said that he had financed Carter—the only time I saw Carter was at the Southampton—I think the envelope on which I saw Clarence Road had been through the post.

Cross-examined by MR. KEMP. Clarke was introduced to me in the street in Chancery Lane, when I got out of the cab—he gave us the address at the club, and we went there and tried to find him.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I had not been in business; this money was left to me, and I wanted to increase my capital—the securities seemed to guarantee a good interest; I believed they had been pawned for less than their value—I did not mind what business the borrower was, so long as I got good interest.

Re-examined. We got out of a cab, and met Wilson by accident.

GEORGE PUGH . I am of no occupation; I live at Nunhead—in December last I saw some advertisements, in the Daily Telegraph, of tradesmen wanting to borrow a small sum of money—I answered five of them, and the prisoner Robbins called on me, and handed me his printed card, describing him as a jeweller, of 20, Trinity Square—he said that he was a dealer—his advertisement asked for a loan of £30—he said he had got an order to execute, and wanted this money to enable him to cany it out—he produced some pawn-tickets, which he said were for part of his stock, and worth a great deal more than it was pawned for—I believed what he said, and gave him £30 by cheque—he gave me this promissory

note for £37 10s., and cashed my cheque the same day—he did not come and pay the money at the end of the ten days, and I went to the house where his business was supposed to be carried on, and he was nowhere, and the business nowhere—I wrote to him, but got no answer—Leigh called on me, in reference to one of the advertisements, on November 14th, the same date as my cheque to Bobbins—he gave his address 20, Wansey Street, and said that he wanted the money to carry out an order—Iforget how much he wanted, but I only lent him £12 for seven days—Ibelieved the statements he made—I gave him a cheque, and he gave me this promissory note—it is on a blank form, stamped, which he produced—heleft some pawn-tickets with me—when the time had passed he did not come to pay me, and I went to 20, Wansey Street, but did not find him or the business—I recognise Carter; he wanted money, but I did not part with any—Atkinson came, but I did not know his name—I did not lend him anything—what I parted with was £42—these (produced) are the pawn-tickets left by Leigh, and these are the other lot.

Cross-examined by Mr. WILLS. I listened to Carter's statement, and told him the business was of such a nature I would have nothing to do with it—he told me in what name he had advertised—he told me he wanted to borrow money—he wanted the pawn-tickets, and I said, "Get out."

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I have been in business a number of years—the advertisement offered a bonus, and I answered it, desiring toget the bonus—I do not know Brooks—I should not have advanced the money unless Robbins had deposited the pawn-tickets with me, because they were collateral security.

Cross-examined by MR. O'CONNOR. Leigh is the second man in the dock, standing up—I recognise the pawn-tickets by the names of Law and of Bourman, Limited—I looked at them to see what value they represented—if I said that they represented a face value of £59 10s., that was right—I only took the pawn tickets as collateral security—I did not attempt to realise them, because I thought it was all tommy rot, the bill and the man too—I expected the bill to be paid, and presented it for payment—I did not take the tickets as security—he merely said, "Hold them"—do you understand, sir, that to look at these goods you would have to pay the interest—Bobbins' and Leigh's bills weredishonoured—I had bills dishonoured in my former business; they ware trade bills, and I had no security—if I do not realise this £14 10s., I shall not try to realise the security, because I understand they are pawned up to the hilt—I would not take any of them out of pawn; the time has gone past—I am positive that Leigh came in answer to my letter—he said he had a business at 20, Wansey Street—he brought a registered envelope with nothing in it.

Re-examined. One of the advertisements I answered was at 3, Downham Road—I followed up my letter, and saw it there, one penny fee; it was a tobacconist's shop.

WILLIAM HILL . I am a tobacconist and newsagent, of 3, Downham Road, Kingsland—Carter, who I also knew as Bandle, arranged to have letters taken in; and I daresay there were a dozen before Christmas; and after Christmas there were two in the name of Day.

Cross-examined by MR. WILLS. I have a notice in my window,

"Letters taken in here"—I charge one penny a letter; some come with names, and some with initials—Carter advertised in the name of Randle.

WILLIAM NYE . I am a clerk at the Islington branch of the London and County Bank—I do not know any of the prisoners—Carter's name is not on our books, and was not in January, 1896.

JAMES UNWIN . I keep the Salisbury Arms, Edgware Road, and am tenant of 51, Trinity Square, where I let lodgings—Robbins took the second floor back room there at 6s. a week, and remained there twelve months, till I left—he slept there once—letters came there addressed to him—he called for them, put them in his pocket, and went away—Leigh called for letters addressed to Robbins, and sometimes paid the rent for Robbins.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. He took the rooms from the lady who is now my wife; he made the contract with her some months before our marriage—I had lodged there five years, and was a refreshment caterer—my wife was at home most of the day, if I was not—I never went into his room.

Cross-examined by MR. O'CONNOR. Robbins called two or three times a week—when Leigh paid the rent he said he was sent by Mr. Robbins—the letters were always addressed to Robbins, not to the care of Robbins.

Re-examined. There was no sign of any business being carried on there—he only slept there twice, to my knowledge—I did not see any luggage brought by him.

FRANCES STOKES . I am landlady of 27, Burton Crescent—on February 11th Robbins look a lodging there, one room on the top floor, at 5s. a week, and paid me two weeks' deposit; he only slept there two or three times—letters came addressed to Robbins, and I gave them to him—Chapman (Atkinson) brought this letter in the middle of the time. (This was signed "W. J. Robbins, Stone Street, Birmingham," and stated: "I told my man to call and see if there are any letters. I think my rent is paid, but have authorised him to pay two weeks in advance.")—I never saw Robbing again—I saw no business carried on in the house by him—he said he was a jeweller—the only person who called to see him was a gentleman who brought a letter from him.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Brooks said that he was a travelling jeweller, and wanted an address for his letters.

Cross-examined by MR. KYD. I received this letter at the beginning of this year—I believe Atkinson is the man who brought the letter, but I will not swear it.

MARIA GRAHAM . I am the wife of Edward Graham, of 20, Wansey Street—about two or three years ago I let two furnished rooms to Leigh for 4s. rent—he slept there two nights, after which he went to Birmingham—he afterwards came to see if I had a room, and I had not—he came three times; he slept there five nights, because I made him a bed on a couch—it is twelve months since he slept there—I received a letter from him just after Christmas last—I had no idea that my address was being used in advertisements and telegrams.

Cross-examined by MR. O'CONNOR. I last received letters for Leigh about Christmas; I had nevei received more than four—lie called som

times when he did not sleep there—we treated him as a friend, and took him in—no registered letter came for him.

JOHN MARTIN . I live at 24, Ferndale Road, Clapham—I know Atkinson as Chaplin—he came to lodge in my house about January, 1895, and took three furnished rooms, with his wife and sister, at 25s. a week; he lived there fifteen months, till his arrest—he did no business whatever—I once asked what he was, and he said, "A gentleman"—he did not refer to the jewellery trade—the rent was paid very regularly, but, when he left, he owed me £3 7s. 3d., which is still owing.

CHARLES ROONER . I am an investment broker, of Broad Street House, City—in 1891 Clarke called on me, and said, "I have heard that you have lent some money to some jewellers; I have an allowance, but have run short for the present; can you make me an advance?"—he produced some pawn-tickets, which he said were for jewellery he had pledged, which he said he would leave with me as security if I would let him have some money—to the best of my recollection, he wanted £25, but I did not agree to lend it—I know Carter, and I know Robbins as Baxter Roberts, and I know Leigh by sight—I have spoken to Carter and Roberts—I have seen Carter, Leigh, and Atkinson together at Hennessey's public-house, Holborn, more than once, but not for the last eighteen months—I have never seen Robbins since April, 1891—I have seen Clarke talking to Carter and Atkinson frequently.

Cross-examined by MR. KEMP. I sometimes go to Hennessey's; I would not go and mingle with people who are not respectable—I think Clarke was under age then—I said at the Police-court that, to the best of my knowledge, he is the man—I did not say that I would not be positive—he was a quarter of an hour in my place, and never since—I took a memorandum from him, but I think I destroyed it—he says that he does not know me, and I say the contrary—I made inquiries about him—at the time he said he was going to borrow money from his solicitor, but did not say who—that was in 1891, and from that day to this I have never seen him—I saw him with Carter about twenty-one months ago in Liver-pool Road, Islington; they did not speak to me, but I saw them pass—I identified somebody else at these Courts lately—I am an investment broker; that is not another name for a money-lender—it means investing in stocks and shares—I have not heard of a "bucket shop."

Cross-examined by MR. O'CONNOR. I have not known Leigh by any other name—I do not know which is Leigh—I have seen him before, but I only know him by sight, seeing him at Henniker's and at the York Hotel, Islington—they were talking about business, I guess—I never had any transaction with Leigh.

Cross-examined by MR. KYD. This public-house is spme distance from Hatton Garden—I have never heard that it is largely used by jewellers.

Re-examined. I said at the Police-court, "I am certain I have seen. Clarke"—he drove me to my place in a trap—I know his brother—he lives at Islington, and I knew his father at that time—he did not mention his father when he called on me, but I have seen them together—I identified a man in another case in this Court before the adjournment (See Jameson's case, page 705)—I have never been a witness in this Court before.

JOHN PRYOR . I am manager of Lloyd's signal station at Deal—in

August, 1893, my attention was attracted to an advertisement in a local paper—I answered it, and the prisoner Clarke called on me at Deal, and told me he had come in answer to my letter—he said he was an artist, and lived at Broad stairs with his family, and had got into difficulties through Mrs. Dyer borrowing £25 to help him to overcome them; I asked what security he could give me for the money; he produced a number of pawn-tickets, which he said were for his family jewels; I told him I knew nothing about them; I never had a pawn-ticket in my hand in my life—he said that they were the best security, and worth four times the amount he wanted to borrow—he produced what appeared to be a valuable snuff-box, which he said had been presented to him by his friends, which he would not part with on any consideration, but would allow me to keep it as a token of good faith—I agreed to advance him £25, and he gave me this promissory note for £30, the form for which he took from his pocket—I saw him again next day; he said that he had good news to give me; he should be able to give me the money earlier than he expected, having received notice from his bankers that a cheque for £200 would be sent next week, and asked for a further loan of £25, as he had just discovered an opportunity of purchasing some valuable Rembrandt pictures at Broadstairs, and being an artist, he knew pictures, and could get them a genuine bargain, and if I would lend him another £25, he was quite willing to divide the profits of the pictures with me, or would give me another promissory note—I objected that I had no more money to advance; he said, as he wished to keep it in confidence, he would rather have the money from me, and offered me a three-fold diamond ring, three rings joined together, which he said belonged to his sister, and two more pawn-tickets, and begged me to keep them secure, and not show them to anyone, as it was a condition that they should be kept strictly private—I left him in the office, and went and got the amount—he said, "Now you have the whole of the pledge-tickets of my family jewellery"—he put a good deal of affectation into his voice, and assured me that he would come within a week and take back the whole of the things he had left with me as pledges—I saw no more of him till I saw him at the Police-court—I wrote to Broadstairs, but got no answer, and I went to Brookman's and paid him £36 15s. 8d., and redeemed four pawn-tickets, which had various articles on them—I then went to Sidney Smith, and redeemed a diamond crescent brooch and ring, pledged for £36 2s. 1d., paying an additional fee of £1—I took the snuff-box and ring, and all the jewellery I had redeemed, to Mr. Savage, a jeweller, of Kensington, and, as the result of what he told me, I went back to Brookman's and re-pawned them for the same amount as they were originally pawned for, and then went to Smith's, but did not repawn them—I have lost approximately £85 over the transaction—I never got my £50; I never touched the principal in any way.

RICHARD GOSS (Policeman E). In consequence of instructions I received, I kept observation on a newspaper shop, 46, Compton Street, and on 19th March saw a woman go there; I followed her when she came out; she met the prisoner Leigh at the corner of Judd Street, and handed him some letters—they went together to 42, Harrison Street—I watched Leigh come out, and I followed him to Henessey's public-house, High Holborn, where he joined the prisoner Carter, to whom he handed some otters, which Carter opened—on March 21st I saw Carter leave 26,

Mayola Road, Lower Clapton—I said, "I'm a police officer; are you Mr. Carter?"—he said, "No; my name is Mr. Olma"—I said, "You answer the description of a man wanted on a charge of conspiracy and ✗rraud, and you will have to come with me to Hackney Police-station"—he said "You have made a great mistake"—I took him to the station, and handed him over to Inspector Dinnie—I afterwards searched 26, Mayola Road, and brought away a variety of articles, an envelope addressed to Mr. Carter, 29, Alwyne Road, Canonbury, and another addressed C. Carter, 22, Harrison Street, Gray's Inn Road; two cards in the name of Marshall, asking for the payment of a loan, an agreement to return jewellery, an envelope addressed "Loan, box D. T.," an envelope addressed to Thomas, Kings-land Road, an agreement to return pawn-tickets, an agreement between Hayward and Carter, dated June, 1894, betting-books containing names with that of Chapman, Ferndale Road, and other addresses—11, Mansen Street is a barber's shop; the others are newspaper shops—I cannot find Clarence Road, Canonbury.

Cross-examined by MR. O'CONNOR. I saw the woman who met Leigh enter the shop in Judd Street; she came out with two letters in her hand addressed to Scott—I do not know what her name is—I did not see her receive the letters—I am quite sure they are the letters sho gave Leigh—I cannot say that she did not get them at Harrison Street.

WILLIAM BENNETT . I belong to the Criminal Investigation Department—I was with Gough on April 2nd, and took part in Leigh's arrest; I told him we were police officers, and held a warrant for his arrest for obtaining money—he said, "All right"—we took him to Bow Street; the charge was read to him—he made no reply—I found on him a special contract note, a Star, and other papers—the advertisement is headed "Tradesmen. Required loan at two months' interest"—there is nothing to connect it with Leigh; I found that in his possession—this is the pawnbroker's contract note—Leigh's name is not on that, nor is there anything to connect him with it.

ALFRED LONG (Policeman G). Acting with Sergeant Williamson, I was present at the arrest of Brooks, or Robbins—I searched him, and found on him thirty-eight pawn-tickets relating to jewellery pawned in a number of different names, and at different addresses in different parts of London; two newspaper cuttings of advertisements relating to loans: eight receipts for money paid for advertisements, three blank bill forms, an envelope addressed to a number at the Daily Telegraph office, some cards, "Robbins, diamond setter, 37, Burton Crescent;" letters addressed to 13, Swallow Street, in the name of Mayhew; and a letter and postcard addressed to Fardell, 36, East Road, City Road.

FREDERICK OXLEY (Policeman E). Acting on instructions, I went on 21st March to Heniessey's bar, where I saw Clarke—I said, "I am a police officer, there is a warrant out for your arrest; you will have to come with me to Bow Street"—he said, "What's this for?"—I said, "The warrant is for loan frauds"—on the way to the station he looked round and saw Mr. Edwards following, and said, "Oh! I see, it is you, Mr. Edwards; I suppose this is for our little business"—the charge was read to him at the station; he made no answer.

WALTER DINNIE (Police Inspector). Complaint was first made to me with regard to Mr. Edwards's matter, and since then I have had charge

of the matter—I gave certain instructions with regard to the arrests being made in this case on the 21st March—I saw Carter at the Hackney Police-station—I said, "I am a police officer; what is your name?"—he said, "Thomas Carter"—I said, "I hold a warrant for your arrest for conspiracy and fraud"—I read the warrant to him—he said, "I don't know anyone of the name of Clarke"—I took him to Bow Street, where he was charged; he made no reply—at 1.30 on the same day I saw Clarke, when he was brought to Bow Street—I said, "I am a police officer, and hold a warrant against you for conspiracy and fraud; "I read the warrant to him—he made no reply—on Carter were found a number od pawn-tickets relating to jewellery pledged in different names at different addresses, among others, 29, Alwyne Road; blank bill forms; eight cards, with the names "T. Carter, dealer in precious stones, 11, Museum Street;" "T. Carter, jeweller;" "T. Carter, jeweller, 42, Harrison Street, Gray's Inn Road;"an envelope addressed to T. Carter, 11, Museum Street; and two lists of jewellery—I found on Clarke a number of pawn-tickets relating to jewellery pledged in different names in different parts of London, among them in the name of Edward Lee, 20, Wansey Street; Clarke, 29, Alwyne Road; Clarke, 11, High Holborn, and so on; a card, A. W. Clarke, 103, Hatton Garden; a blank bill form, the address of different country newspapers, with the dates of publication, and an advertisement from a French paper referring to a loan.

Cross-examined by MR. KEMP. I found on Clarke a jeweller's licence—I went to 103, Hatton Garden; the Diamond Merchants' Club is there—Hatton Garden is the head-quarters of the diamond trade, and several of them belong to this club, I presume.

Cross-examined by MR. O'CONNOR. I cannot say if the pawn-tickets in the name of Lee have any reference to the matters charged against Leigh—they were for property pawned for small amounts.

Cross-examined by MR. WILLS. I searched Carter—I found a small quantity of jewellery on him, three or four rings, and several very small loose stones—I am doubtful about whether they were real stones; I have not had them tested.

WILLIAM WILLIAMSON (Police Inspector). On March 21st, in consequence of information, I went to 8, Hertslet Road, Seven Sisters Road—I knocked at the door; a woman opened it—I asked to see Mr. Brooks, the landlord, and the prisoner, Brooks, came to the door—I asked him if he was Mr. Brooks; he said, "Yes, I am the landlord; what is your name?"—I told him my name was Turner, and I wanted to see Mr. Robins—he said, "Oh, yes; Mr. Robins is not in just now; he will be in between eight and nine, have you any message for him?"—I said I wanted to see him on privatev business, and I asked to see Robins's wife—Brooks said, "Robins is a bachelor, I will give him your name when he comes home"—I left, and kept observation till about 10.30—I saw Brooks leave the house—he looked up and down the street, and went into the Seven Sisters Road—I went after him with Long, and told him, "I am a police officer, and I hold a warrant for a Mr. Robbins; you answer the description of that man; consider yourself in custody"—he said, "My name is Brooks, which I have already told you;" at the same time he took from his coat pocket this letter, addressed to W. J. Robbins, Esq., tore it up, and endeavoured to throw it into the fire—he said "It is no use my deceiving you men, I am the

man you want, who has put me away; have you arrested anyone else in connection with this matter?"—I said, "Inspector Dinnie has arrested two men named Carter and Clarke"—he said, "Do you mean young Clarke?"—I said Yes"—he said, It is a pity; his father has brought him out at this game"—I told the prisoner that I should search his bed-room—he said, I don't reside here; this is my daughter's house, you know at this game we have to have so many addresses; I don't want to upset the people at my private house, I did not know I was doing wrong"—he was taken to the station and charged, and made no reply—on the 15th April I went to Wolverhampton—I there saw Chapman detained in custody by the police—I read the warrant to him—he said, "All right"—I said, "Other cases will be preferred against you;" he made no reply—when charged at Bow Street he made no statement—I addressed him by the name of Chapman—I found on him a number of pawnbrokers' contract notes, promissory note forms, a receipt for £15 in the name of Mason, and a letter signed Mason.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I arrested Brooks at 10.30—the conversation with him took place in his room; I took him back to his house—I first brought out my note-book at the Police-station—we got there about 12.30—the charge at the Police-station was completed before one o'clock—I had been on duty from about seven in the morning—it was after one that I made the entries in my note-book—he did not tell me he had heard a man had been charged with fraud by means of loans, and that it had been held that he had committed no crime—I do not know that a man was charged with fraud by means of borrowing money, and acquitted.

LEWIS HUMPHREYS . I am a clerk in the Daily Telegraph office, and have to do with the advertisement department—I have known Chapman and Robbins as coming there, Chapman during the last five years, and Robbins for the last two years, to insert advertisements similar to the one shown me at Bow Street—it is the advertisement of a tradesman wanting to borrow £15 for a short time.

THOMAS LEHMAN . I am a pawnbroker, of 273, Borough High Street—I was secretary, and am now treasurer, of the Pawnbrokers' Protection Association—I have had large experience in the pawnbroking business for about fifty years—I should think that 90 per cent. of jewellery pawned is redeemed—we lend something like full value on it on the chance of redemption, and then our profit is the interest—I went with Williamson to a large number of pawnbrokers with the pawn-tickets produced at Bow Street, and saw the jewellery that had been pledged—upon the whole, the articles had been pawned at their full value—I saw at Mr. Jay's one lot pawned for £36 and another at £50—I thought that was a full average price, a price I would give myself; certainly I would not give less—there is not the slightest ground for suggesting that these contract notes would be worth £300, or £30 in addition to the £86; they would be worth comparatively nothing in addition to the £86, to the trade; they would be worth more to a private individual to wear—if sold at auction, they would not fetch more than the margin.

Cross-examined by MR. KEMP. By full value I mean the utmost things will fetch in the only way a pawnbroker has of disposing of them—in

Bond Street you would be charged a good deal more, 25 per cent, more at the most; the things are not fanciful or antique—if you paid £75 in Bond Street for jewels, you should get diamonds intrinsically worth £50, or you would be very badly used—I have been in the retail trade all my life, and am now—I sold a diamond ring yesterday for £39—I don't know exactly what I gave for it; I do not buy myself; I have a manager who does—I should be content with 15 per cent.; I am every day in the week—if I could get more, I should not take it—I have a fixed price; I never make two prices—I sold the ring yesterday retail to a neighbour; I should charge you the same.

Cross-examined by MR. WILLS. Pawnbrokers lend up to the hilt—it would be a matter of opinion what is thought of a statement in a shop window, "Diamond spray, forty guineas, worth fifty guineas"—genuine unredeemed pledges I should take to mean articles sold by auction and bought in by the pawnbroker.

Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. The auctions are not chiefly attended by pawnbrokers; pawnbrokers attend as buyers and sellers—they are chiefly attended by dealers.

Cross-examined by MR. KYD. There is nothing unusual in tickets being sold.

Re-examined. Things are sold for less money than has been lent on them; I have done it myself—an experienced assistant might advance upon an article more than he knows it will fetch at sale, looking to the interest for profit.

Witnesses on behalf of Clarke.

JOHN RUDD PAINTER . I am manager to the owner of 103, and other property in Hatton Garden—the Diamond Merchants' Club is at 103—Clarke had an office at that address, 103, from 1889 to 1891, at £50 a year—the rent was paid promptly—he dealt in jewellery there—there are various trades there—part of the house is used as a club, and part is let off as offices.

Cross-examined. I manage Charles Jeffreys' estate of 200 or 300 houses—it gives me plenty of occupation—there are a very large number of tenants, but only about ten or twelve in Hatton Garden—the prisoner's tenancy ceased in March, 1891; he had one room on the first floor—he was by himself; his father was not there—I have frequently seen his father there—within the last six months, I have seen his father about Hatton Garden—I did not know of hitf doing any business in dealing with pawn-tickets, or as an artist—I do not know Mr. Wilson.

Re-examined. The prisoner was the tenant.

GEORGE WILLIAM STONESTREET . I am a clerk in the Inland Revenue Department, Somerset House—I produce an entry of Clarke's licence as a plate dealer from 10th July, 1889, to 5th July, 1891; it would be renewed year by year—I don't know if he has had a licence since; I searched in 1892, but he had not one for that year.

SOLOMON WAX . I am a manufacturing jeweller, of 90, Hatton Garden—I take jewels and gold, and make rings and other articles—I employ three persons; I used to employ more—I work myself—I used to do work for Clarke, mostly rings and pins; sometimes it amounted to £15 or £20—I have always been paid for the work I did for him—I last did work

for him about two months ago, or a little earlier—I have known the prisoner for five or six years—he has always borne a very good character in Hatton Garden.

Cross-examined. I knew him quite well for a good many years—I never bought any pawn-tickets from him; I never had anything to do in that line—I do not know Henekey's bar—I have no blank bill forms about me, or advertisements, or provincial papers—I have been in Hatton Garden for twelve years, and am known there—I do not know where the prisoner carried on business for the last two or three years—I used to work for him, and he always paid me—I do not alter jewellery—I set diamonds—I mostly made rings and pins for the prisoner—I knew nothing of the pawning business—I do not know Wilson by name.

Re-examined. I used to belong to the Diamond Merchants' Club, but I gave it up.

MR. KEMP produced Clarke's plate licence, dated November 25th, 1895, and hit pass book.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-462
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude; Imprisonment; Imprisonment; Imprisonment > hard labour

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462. JOHN BROOKS and ROBERT ATKINSON were again indicied for conspiring to obtain money from Owen Sullivan, to which they

PLEADED GUILTY . Previous convictions were proved against Carter, Brooks, and Atkinson. CARTER and BROOKS— Five Years' Penal Servitude each, to run concurrently; ATKINSON— Nine Months on the first indictment, and Five Years on the second; CLARKE and EIG H— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour each .

OLD COURT.—Tuesday, June 9th, 1896.

Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-463
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty

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463. CHARLES MILSOM , for wilful and corrupt perjury.



After the commencement of the case, MR. MATHEWS said that, acting upon his advice, the prisoner would plead guilty, and the prisoner leaving stated in the tearing of the JURY that he was guilty, tliey found him


Three Months' Imprisonment .

(For cases tried in Old Court, Thursday, June 4th, and following days,

see Kent, and Surrey cases.)


Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-464
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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464. HENRY TAYLOR **† (20) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing 4 1/2 Ibs. of tobacco, the goods of Thomas Sharp, having been convicted at West Ham on July 4th, 1894— Twelve Months' Hard Labour . And

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-465
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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465. THOMAS WILLIAMS (68) , to unlawfully obtaining food and money by false pretences, having been convicted in April, 1892. Two other conviction were proved against him.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour, having still one year to serve of Us former sentence of Five Years' Penal Servitude . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-466
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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466. EMILY MESSENT, Stealing a diamond ring, the property of Frederick Daws.

MR. DRAKE Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended.

ROSE DAWS . I am the wife of Frederick Daws, of Walthamstow—the prisoner came into my employment in April, 1895, and left on December 1st—on a Sunday morning, early in November, she was in the kitchen with me—I took my rings off to make pastry, and put them on a hook on the dresser, and afterwards missed them—I did not look for them when I found they were gone, but my husband picked up another article, and put it in paper—the prisoner was in the kitchen—I said that my rings were gone, and I thought Mr. Daws had taken them, and spoke to him—after that I said to the prisoner, "If you have taken my rings you may keep one, but give me my wedding-ring"—my husband asked where they had gone, and we found one ring behind a plate on a shelf—I looked about the kitchen; the prisoner was minding the child—there was linoleum on the kitchen floor, and a rug in front of the fireplace—the linoleum goes nearly up to the wall, and then there is a gap; I did not take it up—I next saw the ring when my husband brought it home to me, after taking it off her finger last Tuesday fortnight—I saw the prisoner on the Tuesday in her father and mother's presence—my husband and Detective Wrapson were present—I said that I would charge her—she begged me not to do so, as she found the ring in the girl's bedroom, and picked it up and put it in her pocket, but did not intend to keep it—that is not the girl who succeeded her—we did not keep a second servant.

Cross-examined. She left at the beginning of December, and this year she came to work for me again for one day at the beginning of May, and worked all day—there was another servant there then—I did not help in the work in the morning—I was not there when she left after the day's charing—I had gone to lie down in the afternoon, before she left; that was Friday—I heard that she had called and asked to see me on the Monday, but I did not see her till Tuesday, when my husband brought this ring back to me—she told me that she found the ring under the carpet, and intended to give it back to me, but had been unwell—I had seen her father and mother when I made the charge at the Police-station.

Re-examined. When I lost the ring, early in November, there was no servant in the house but the prisoner—I went with a detective to her house, and saw her.

FREDERICK DAWS . I am a leather-dresser, and the husband of the last witness—this is her ring (produced)—she said in the prisoner's presence last November that she had lost it, and had never seen it since, and I spoke to her repeatedly in the prisoner's presence—I searched the kitchen, and tried to find it; I turned all the things over on the dresser, and looked under the chairs and dresser—there were three rings on the dresser, but I only saw two—on Tuesday morning I was passing the prisoner's father's door in Somers Road, and she was in the forecourt—I asked her respecting her health; she looked ghastly white; I saw the ring on her hand, and said, "What a beautiful ring you have got there!"—she said, "It is Mrs. Daws'"—I had spoken to her about it a few times, and she said she did not know where it was—she handed it to me; I said no more, but went to my house, and then went back and spoke to the prisoner's mother.

By the COURT. I did not say, "How did you come by it?"—I was too much upset—she did not say, "I found it"; but her mother did. (The witness's deposition, being read, stated:" She said, 'I found it") "That is right," she said; "I found it when I was cleaning the back room upstairs a fortnight ago"—I have not had to lock up my wife's jewellery at the present house, but at the previous house I had.

ARTHUR WRAPSON (Detective N). On May 13th, at ten o'clock, I took the prisoner at her father's house, and told her I was going to arrest her for stealing a diamond ring—she said to Mrs. Daws, "Don't charge me; I found the ring upstairs"—I did not make a note of what she said.

Cross-examined. I have said "The prisoner said to Mrs. Daws, Don't charge me; I did not mean to steal the ring; I found it upstairs."

Witness for the Defence.

HENRIETTA MESSENT . I am the prisoner's mother, and work at a mangle—she was seventeen years old last birthday—she has always been a good girl, and borne a good character—I have always had good references with her—I did not know anything about the ring till the Sunday before the detective came, when she said, "I am going to Mrs. Daws; I have got a ring of hers; I found it; I am going to give it to her"—I was out on the landing, and she was not very well, and Mrs. Daws came round—she said that she brought a ring away when she was cleaning there, and forgot it—she put her Sunday dress over her other dress—she said that she put the ring into the pocket of her best dress, and came away and forgot it—I do not think that she wore that dress on the Sunday, because she was not well, and she was indoors all that week, and, to the best of my belief, she did not put that dress on till the following Sunday—she was very ill for some time—she had to leave her last situation on account of her health—when Mrs. Daws came to see her, I let her in, and told her that the girl said she found it, and put it in her pocket, and changed her dress and forgot it—Mrs. Daws said that it was silly of her to keep it.

Cross-examined. She showed me the ring before Mrs. Daws came, and said she had found it, and was going to take it back—she had been in the house all the week—she was in service from December to May, but I saw her; I have not seen the ring—when Mrs. Daws said that she would charge her, I said, "I hope you won't, Mrs. Daws; she says she picked it up on the carpet"—the detective was there, and Mr. Daws.


18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-467
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

467. PATRICK BARRY (21) and ALBERT SMITH (22) , Stealing £7 from the person of Michael Quinlan.

MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.

ROBERT BIRDLEY . I live at 24, Cooper Street, Canning Town—on May 1st, about 4.45, I was coming from school in Emsworth Street, with two other boys, and saw a sailor, named Quinlan, coming round the Pitt's Head public-house, rather drunk—the two prisoners went up to him, and Barry cuddled him round his neck, while Smith felt in his trousers pockets, and took his purse and money—they then ran round the back streets into Dipper's beer-shop—Quinlan had two hats, and Smith took both of them; one was done up in paper—Quinlan said he did not mind his money, but he wanted his hats—I knew both of the prisoners—the

grown-up people did not interfere, but I went for the police—I saw Smith come out of Dipper's beer-shop and run away, and Barry said, "There is a penny for you if you can catch him."

THOMAS HENESSEY . I live at 45, Long Street, Canning Town—on May 1st, about 4.45, I was going home from school, and saw a sailor named Quinlan, whom I saw at the Police-court, by the Pitt's Head—two men whom I knew before got hold of him—Smith put his hand round his neck, and Barry put his hand in his pocket and took his purae, and ran away, and Smith took two hats from him, one of which was in paper—Quinlan said he did not care about the money; he wanted his hats—they went into a beer-house, and when Smith went off, Barry said, "Run on, my boy, he has got the money; here is a penny for you if you catch Smith"—I afterwards picked Barry out from many other men.

ALBERT CHAMBERLAIN . I am twelve years old, and live at 44, Lawrence Street—I was with the two last witnesses on May 1st, near the Pitt's Head, and saw a sailor nearly drunk—the two prisoners were there—Barry cuddled him round his neck, while Smith took something from his pocket—they both ran away, and I saw a hat and scarf go—I followed the two prisoners to Dipper's; Smith ran off, and Barry said, "I will give you a penny if you catch him; he has got the money"—I went to the station, and picked them both out.

ROBERT THWART (687 K). I am stationed at Plaistow—on May 1st, about 5.15, I saw Quinlan at the station; he was drunk—I ran after Barry 300 yards, and caught him—I said, "I shall take you for robbing the sailor"—he said he knew nothing about it.

CHARLES HATTON (Detective Sergeant). On May 2nd, at 6.30 a.m., I went to Montagu Street, and saw Smith—I told him I should take him for robbing a sailor—he said, "The man gave me half-a-crown; I know nothing about his money."

Cross-examined by Smith. I was outside the station door with another detective.

Smith's statement before the Magistrate: "I am not guilty; I have nothing to say; I have no witnesses."

GUILTY . BARRY†— Twelve Months' Hoard Labour . SMITH†— Nine Months' Hard Labour.

The RECORDER ordered £1 reward to be paid to each of the three boys.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-468
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour

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468. JOHN O'CONNOR , GEORGE SPRATT , and GEORGE STONE PLEADED GUILTY to stealing fifteen pounds of cheese, thirteen fowls, and other articles.

O'CONNOR also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court in April, 1890. The Police stated that they believed the prisoners worked occasionally as coal-porters. O'CONNOR— Five Months' Hard Labour . SPRATT and STONE,— Two Months' Hard Labour each.


Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-469
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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469. BEN WATTS (56) and WILLIAM HALL (63) , Feloniously, with other persons, violently assaulting James William Evans, and stealing from him a watch-chain, a purse, etc.


appeared for Watts, and MESSRS. DRAKE and HARRISON for Hall.

GEORGE BUSH (Police Inspector) produced and proved plans of the premises in question.

GEORGE BOKES . I keep a refreshment house, 27, Loam Pit Vale, Lewisham—on a Friday night, I don't know the date exactly, I believe it was two clear days before January 31st, three men came to my house, from half-past twelve to half-post one—one of my customers spoke to me; in consequence of that I looked at the men—I had two of them in the day before; the shortest of the two came in to dinner from six to seven in the evening; I was behind the bar—when the three were together, one was tali, one medium, and one still shorter—it was the shortest and the tallest that came in on the Thursday—I never saw either of those again—on April 17th I went to Holloway Prison, and saw a number of men, about fourteen or fifteen, I think; I did not count them—I recognised one, the middle-sized one, Hall I think they call him, the one nearest to me now—when he was in my house he was clean shaved, except his moustache.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I mentioned this to Inspector Conquest; I hod spoken to another person before that, and that was how it got round; I don't know when that was; it was to one of my customers, about two weeks before I spoke to Inspector Conquest; after this job happened, it'was talked over in our shop—there were thirty-five or forty people in the shop when the prisoners were there on the first occasion, all having meals there; we feed a great many people there every day but Sunday—I knew of this outrage almost at the time it was done, for a young man slept at my place who was there at the time—I knew of the hearing at Greenwich Police-court; it is in my district—I had never been there before May 31st—when I went to identify the men there were about fourteen or fifteen there; I met Inspector Conquest there—Hall had no hair on his face except a moustache—on April 17th he had a short, stubby beard, that was quite visible.

Re-examined. On the Thursday I had a little boy assisting me; he handed the coffee to them—I heard of this assault on Mr. Evans the same night—it was talked about, and that brought the inspector to me.

CHARLOTTE E. CHILDS . I am the wife of Charles Childs, who keeps a ham and beef shop at 22A, High Street, Lewisham, right opposite Mr. Evans's shop—Mr. Evans is my brother—I remember the evening of the day before the outrage at his shop being out for a walk in the street, about eight, or a little after—I was near the shop of Mr. Collingwood, which is four shops from ours—seven shops divide us, and two rights of way; ours is a corner shop—Mr. Collingwood's shop is at the corner of St. John's Place; the High Street is at the top of St. John's Place—I was walking along the pavement in front of Collingwood's—I saw three men there standing talking together; two of them were short and one tall—I noticed one of the shortest ones particularly, because he was so much like a friend of ours, Mr. Freelancl; indeed, I thought at first it was him, and was going to speak to him, but, on a second look, I found I had made a mistake—I did not look much at the other two—I

then went home—about half-past nine or twenty minutes past nine my brother went out; I told him something—after the outrage had happened I went to the Police-court, when the man Carter was there; I went to keep my mother company—I saw Carter; I did not recognise him; I had not seen him before, to my knowledge—after the prisoners were arrested I again went to the Police-court with my mother, and saw the two prisoners in the dock before the Magistrate—I recognised the short man directly, that was Hall—I did not recognise Watts—I recognised Hall as having seen him at the top of St. John's Place, at Collingwood's, on the 30th—last week, on May 29th, I went to Newgate; I was taken into a room there, and told to look through a window into a yard, where I saw some men and some warders; there was one man between two warders; as far as I know, I had never seen that man before—I saw another man walking between two warders—I did not recognise him; as far as I know, I had never seen him before.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I cannot fix the date when I went with my mother, and saw the two prisoners; I think it must have been in the week of the first hearing; I cannot be precise as to that; I would rather say it was in the first week—I knew at the time that the men were charged with the outrage on my brother—my mother was not with me when I recognised the men in the dock; she was in the witness-box—I cannot tell you when Inspector Conquest first saw me; I have never kept any dates; I made a statement to Conquest—he was the first person I told of having identified Hall in the dock at Greenwich—I knew when I went to Newgate, on May 29th, that I was going to see two men—Fowler was one, I was told by Conquest; I had a subpoena to attend—he was at the prison—I knew I was going there for the purpose of seeing Fowler and Milsom—I first told Conquest that I identified Hall in the dock; at that time he had a moustache—Lewisham Road is sometimes crowded, not always, at night it is; a great many people are going backwards and forwards, and the shops are closed.

By the COURT. The night I saw the three men together was the night before the 31st.

HENRY JOSEPH SARGEANT . I am a butcher, of 104, High Street, Lewisham, on the opposite side of the road to Mr. Evans, 200 yards from Mrs. Child's, in the direction of the obelisk—three or four days before this outrage, I saw four men—I first noticed them passing along the pavementin front of my shop, and then loitering about the waste ground, which stretches from the Avenue Road to Mr. Evans's shop—I saw them on several occasions during the day—I noticed one was a tall man, and the others I should describe as rather short men—there is a yard directly behind my house leading to some cottages—on the day I first saw the four men they were walking up and down on the pavement—my attention was called to them, because I had seen them several times before—I saw them on the following night about the back of my place, about seven o'clock—I was then in my back-yard; they were talking—I have a gate at the back; it is generally open—I went to the gate, and they moved away directly—I did not see them again that day—I saw them once after, in the morning, at the corner of the Avenue Road and High Street—I believe that was the Thursday morning before the burglary; I am not quite certain whether it was Thursday or Friday; I believe it to be the day

before; they were talking together—I noticed one of the three men particularly; he was a short man, with a grizzled moustache and side whiskers; so much like a local man I knew, Mr. Freeland; I did not see any of them again after that morning—on April 25th I went to Greenwich Police-court, and in the yard there saw a number of men—I picked out a man, not one of the prisoners—afterwards, on the same day, I went to Greenwich Police-court, and there saw the two prisoners in the dock—I recognised Hall as the man I had seen about my place on the occasions I have mentioned; the man like Mr. Freeland—on the 9th of May I came to Newgate, and looked through a window into the yard; I saw in the yard a man walking between two warders; I did not recognise him; I had never seen him before—I also saw another man there, walking between two warders; I had never seen him before.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I first saw only three men at the back, but on other occasions I had seen four—one of the three was a tall man.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I had seen them, I suppose, five or six times before the robbery, mostly during the day; I was generally quite close to them—I only identified one man at the Grsenwich Police-court—I saw another man I thought I knew, but I discovered my mistake immediately—I have not seen anyone about the case; I don't know how I was drawn into it at all—I have seen Inspector Conquest, I can't tell the date; it was on the Saturday previous to my going to Greenwich; he came and spoke to me, and seemed to know all about it—I did not suggest a word at the Police-court about recognising one of the prisoners, because he was a tall man; I spoke about it afterwards—I did not hear Mrs. Child's evidence at the Police-court—I knew that she said Hall was somewhat like Mr. Freeland; I heard it in the course of the same day; I did not mention Mr. Freeland's name at the Police-court; I simply said that Hall was like someone I knew—I formed my opinion that he was like Mr. Freeland, quite independent of anybody else.

By the COURT. I recognise Hall as the man that had no beard when I had seen him; I am quite certain of him.

SARAH RICHARDSON . I am the wife of Joseph Richardson, of 59, Ladywell Park, Lewisham—I remember the night of the outrage at Mr. Evans's—between seven and eight p.m. I was in the High Street, Lewisham, and, passing Collingwood's shop, on the same side of the way, I noticed one man standing on the pavement, near a lamp-post, and near Collingwood's—he was looking across the road in the direction of Evans's shop, which was very nearly opposite where he was standing—when I got back to my house I made a remark to my husband—next morning, Saturday, I heard of the outrage at Evans's—some five or six weeks afterwards my husband showed me a paper with a sketch portrait in it—on April 28th I went to the Greenwich Police-station, and from a number of men in the yard I recognised directly Watts as being the man I saw in the Lewisham High Road on Friday, January 31st, looking across the road—on May 29th I went to Newgate Prison, and from the window of a room there I saw two men walking between warders—as far as I know, I had never seen those two men before.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I had never seen before the man I saw on the 31st looking across the road—people were passing up and down—between eight and nine p.m. in that street is rather a busy time—I did

not stand looking at him for long, only a few seconds; I saw him before I got up to him, and I turned round to look back at him—he was dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, and, I think, a hard kind of hat—I cannot say what he had round his neck—I don't think he had whiskers, he had a moustache—he had no beard, I know—if he had whiskers, they were very light—his moustache was rather dark—my husband showed me a paper with a portrait, purporting to be that of Watts; I recognised it as that of the man I had seen; that was some weeks afterwards—when I went to the station I did not pick out the man like the portrait, but the man I had seen—I don't think the portrait was exactly like the man I had seen, but, still, I could recognise that it was intended for him—an officer came and spoke to me about going to identify the man at Greenwich Police Station; I cannot say the date—when I picked him out there were about nineteen or twenty men in the yard—he had a beard then—I did not hesitate before picking him out—Conquest said to me, "Is there anyone you think you have seen before?" and I said, "I think I have seen him before," pointing to Watts—now I am perfectly certain he is the man I saw on January 31st—when I picked him out in the yard he was dressed in a dark suit, and similarly to the man I had seen.

WILLIAM TODD . I am a carpenter, of 59, Mill Road, Lewisham—I remember the night of January 31st, when the outrage took place at Mr. Evans's—on that night, a little before nine, I was walking in the High Street, somewhere near the obelisk, outside Matthews's shop, about 150 or 200 yards from Evans's shop—I noticed three men standing there on the pavement, conversing—I passed on, and went into the Roebuck public-house, next door but one to Matthews's, where I remained for fifteen or twenty minutes—I came out about 9.15 or 9.20, and then walked over towards the Lee Road, and across Lewis Grove—as I was going, a man came violently against my left shoulder from behind me—I turned quickly round, and I recognised one of the three men I had seen—he was running—I saw two or three other men—the man ran across Lee Road and up Belmont Hill, in the direction of Belmont Road—I ran along in front of Lewisham High Pavement, and got up into the Granville Road—I did not follow the same course as the man; he ran from Belmont Road, through the Mews, into Granville Road, while I ran along High Street, and turned into Granville Road—in Granville Road I found him in the custody of a constable—I afterwards went to the Police-court, and recognised that man as one of three I had seen previously; he was Garter—on April 20th, a constable came to me, and in consequence I went to the Greenwich Police-station, and there, from a row of about sixteen men, I recognised the other two men I had seen on the pavement at Lewisham on January 31st—it was about 8.50 I saw them—on May 29th I went to Newgate Prison, and from a window there I saw two men standing between warders—I did not recognise either of them; I had never seen them before.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. When I went to Newgate I had already sworn that the prisoners were the men—I knew Carter had been convicted—he knocked against me that night immediately before his arrest—I did not tell the policeman who arrested him that I had seen Carter a few minutes before—this matter was very much talked of at Lewisham

—I knew the prisoners were up on March 9th, 16th, and 18th—I read the proceedings in the newspapers—I did not know that all the time Watts was protesting that he was in Liverpool; I knew he contended that he had been at Liverpool—I did not go to the police and say I should be able to identify them; I waited till the police came to me—I had seen some sketches of Watts in the papers before the police came to me; I recognised him from them as one of the men I had seen standing at the corner—the sketch was not like him—when I picked out the prisoners in the prison-yard they were with twelve, fifteen, or sixteen others—I don't think Watts was the tallest there, I do not remember—I am not short-sighted; I am weak-sighted—I had my glasses on that night, going down the street—if I had not, I should not have been able to recognise them—I was a couple of yards from the three men—I looked at them just as I was passing; I did not stand—that was the only time I saw Watts—he then had a moustache and side whiskers; I do not know what colour they were; they were not light, between light and dark—I should not call moustache or whiskers black—he had no beard—when I picked him out on April 28th in the Police-yard, he had a short beard—I recognised him at once.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I went to Greenwich Police-station on April 20th by myself—I saw Conquest at the station—I waited in the street—I did not see the prison van that day—I did not wait in any room—I first saw the prisoners in the Police-yard—I was not looking through a waiting-room window when the van came up to the station.

Re-examined. Matthews keeps a draper's shop—there are lights in it—there is gas on the obelisk—next to Matthews's is Sainsbury's provision shop, and next to Sainsbury's is the Roebuck, which is well lighted—there is a street lamp opposite Sainsbury's—it is a very well-lighted corner—the sketch I saw was not a very good likeness of Watts, bub I identified it as a likeness of the man I had seen at the corner—I next saw the original of the likeness, and identified him as the man I had seen on the night of January 31st—I had seen the sketch before I went to the station on April 29th—the two prisoners were standing together in the row of men at the station—no one pointed to them, or assisted me to identify them—it did not take me half a minute to identify them after I got into the yard—I took particular notice of the faces of the men when I saw them on January 31st—I looked in their faces—I am positive the prisoners are the men—I saw the sketch in the Morning Leader.

JAMES WILLIAM EVANS . I am a jeweller, carrying on business and living at 97, High Street, Lewisham—my mother, seventy-eight years old, lives with me—I have an assistant who does not sleep on the premises, but lives opposite—he shuts the shop up at nine o'clock, and leaves directly—my shop is a jeweller's, with the ordinary contents of a jeweller's window exposed—as a rule, after the shop is closed, I go out, and then, with my assistant gone, my mother would remain alone upon the premises—on Friday night, January 31st, the shop was closed about nine o'clock, as usual, by my assistant, who left at 9.5—I remained at home that night, and after the shop was closed my mother and I were sitting alone in the parlour—the shutters were up in front of the window, and the door was barred with chain and bolt—at 9.15 to 9.20 I heard a knock

at the shop door—my mother left the parlour, and went into the shop and asked, "Who is there?"—a voice from outside said, "I want to speak to Mr. Evans; I won't detain him a moment"—on hearing that I immediately went to the shop door—before opening the door I turned up two gas lights full, one an incandescent light over the shop counter, and the other an ordinary gaslight by the door—with those two lights, the light in the shop is very bright, like day—I then undid the bolt and chain, and opened the door—Watts came in first, followed by Carter, who was followed in by Hall—I recognise Watts and Hall as the men in the dock—I identified Carter here, when he was on his trial in February last—Watts was three or four inches taller than the other two men—he had this very thick oak stick in his hand—so far as I could see, the other men carried nothing—when they came in Hall bolted the door behind him—I said to Watts, "What is your business?"—the three of them pushed me towards the parlour—when they got to the parlour door, they pulled their masks down from under their hats; I could not see the masks before that; the masks reached to about their mouths—Watts said, "I want your money and your keys"—he took a revolver from his pocket, and held it to my head—I do not know what became of the stick then—I said I had got very little money, and I had not got the keys—he said, "I am a Scotchman, and I am a desperate man; I don't want to be a murderer, and if you resist me or cause an alarm I will murder you at once"—they pushed me out of the shop into the parlour—my mother was in the shop, standing by the counter, when they came in, and she, as well as I, had an opportunity of seeing the faces of the men before they pulled down their masks—when they were pushing me towards the parlour door, my mother stepped at the back of me, and got into the kitchen, from whence a door leads into the garden—after they pushed me into the parlour, Watts said to Hall, "Where is the rope? Tie him up"—Hall got this rope out of his overcoat pocket, and out of apiece of brown paper, and Carter and Hall stooped down, and began to tie my legs down below my knees first of all; Watts was standing there, with the revolver pointed at my head—I then heard some conversation between them with regard to my mother—one of them said, "Where is the old bitch gone? Go after her; if she mokes an alarm murder the old bitch"—upon that one of them (I believe it was Carter, I am not absolutely certain) left me and went into the kitchen, whence she had got access to the garden—she was in the garden at the time—they said that because they heard the bolt go; I heard it, and knew that she had got into the garden—I heard the steps, which my mother had to get to reach the top bolt; the back of the premises was fastened up for the night—one of them left me, leaving me in the control of the two others—a short time afterwards the third man returned, bringing my mother—in the meantime they had not finished binding me up; they pushed me from the parlour into the kitchen—while I was there the third man returned with my mother—I heard shouting at the front door and knocking—I had heard my mother cry "Murder!" and "Police!" at the back—the men could hear that, too—when my mother was brought back the kitchen door was closed—the man who brought my mother back threw her on the floor, and one of them held something bright to her, I did not see what it was—he spoke to her; I could not quite hear what it was—I said, "Don't you hurt my

mother"; and then I shouted, "Murder!" and "Police!"—they said, "Down him; down him"—I cannot say who said that, I was too frightened—they immediately struck me three or four heavy blows with some heavy instrument, I do not know what it was—the first blow cut me down the face and nose and cheek, and the other ✗lows were on the top of my head—I was very much hurt; I was in bed for nearly a week—I was stunned by the violence, and did not remember anything from the time I was knocked down till I found myself in the garden, and a policeman was getting over the wall; I don't know how I got there—immediately before they struck me I heard a disturbance at the front door—I don't know who it was, but it was in consequence of my mother's cries of "Murder!"and "Police!"—I cannot say who struck me, but all three men were in the kitchen at the time, two standing beside me, and the third over my mother, with something bright in his hand—I did not see them go away; I was unconscious at the time—I do not remember making any statement to Wright on that night—I remember seeing him at the station that night; he was writing something on a slate when I first saw him—I am not conscious of having given to Wright a description of my assailants on the night of January 31st—Dr. Hulbert attended me on that night—he saw me in the parlour; a policeman was present—after I had come to myself in the garden, I was taken back to the parlour, and there Dr. Hulbert saw me, within five minutes, I should think, after I regained consciousness—it was four or five days before I could speak properly—I could whisper—if anyone put their ear close to my mouth I could make them hear; but I had no sounding voice for a week perhaps—I suffered very considerable pain—it was a matter of about two months, really—I received a great shock; that was worse than the injury to my head, I believe, really—that remained my condition down to February 2nd; I was still without my sounding voice, and still suffering from the effects of the shock; I did not get out of bed for days after that—on February 2nd I gave Sergeant Newport a description of the two men who had escaped—I remember giving him that—I was in bed at the time; it was Sunday, I think—as far as I know, that was the first description I had given to anyone—on the night of January 31st I had about me a gold watch-chain, a silver sovereign purse containing £3 13s. in gold, and a £2 gold piece attached to my chain—the chain was broken into three or four pieces when they tried to rifle my pockets, while they were tying me up in the parlour—the £2 gold piece, the chain, and the sovereign purse were carried away—two watches which I had on one swivel in my pocket were left behind—the chain was broken away at the swivel—the articles taken were afterwards shown to and identified by me as my property—I saw nothing of jemmy—I saw the stick in Watts's hand when he came in—I was present when it was found by Newport; it had been thrown behind the counter—my mother showed me two masks on February 1st; I was in bed at the time—they were identical with those the men drew down from under their hats the night before—a day or two after February 2nd Inspector Gummer brought me some photographs; I was in bed—in consequence of a statement to me by Newport I went downstairs, and in the kitchen Gummer produced to me about eighteen and twenty photo-graphs—I looked through them in consequence of what he said, and identified two of them—I made a statement to him, and gave him back

the photographs—I was not well enough to appear at the Police—court till February 8th, on the remand—Carter was the only person charged then—I identified him—he was tried here at the February Sessions; I gave evidence against him—he was sentenced for the part he took in this crime——these are the two photographs that I picked out—on Saturday after, noon March 7th, I went to the Greenwich Police-station, and a number of men were paraded before me in the charge-room, about eighteen, and I immediately picked out Hall and Watts—I have not the slightest doubt in my own mind that they are the men who were in my house on the night of January 31st last with Carter—on May 29th, last week, I went to Newaate Prison, and from a window I could see into the yard, where I saw two men were being exercised, Fowler and Milsom—I had never seen either of those men before, to my knowledge—there was a lamp opposite my shop; it was not immediately opposite the door, but rather to the left (referring to its position on the plan)—it is correctly marked here—it is on the opposite side the road—I have known Mr. Freeland for many years—he is here.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I don't know how many times I have been examined in Court as to this occurrence; I think this is the fifth time—my memory is not so good since I was knocked on the head; Thas been rather defective since—it could be seen from outside, through the chinks of the door or window, that there was a light inside—we always kept the gas alight all night, not the uicandescent hght—when I opened the door the men entered rather hurriedly—it would not be correct to say that they pulled down their masks as they were coming in—when pulled down they came somewhere about the mouth; they effectually concealed the face; you could not see thefaces afterwards; they were pulled down, it might be, perhaps, a minute after they came in—it was the third man that stooped down to fasten the door; as they all came in together the short one immediately stooped down to fasten he door—I asked the tall man what was his business, and almost immediately after that they tried to push me into the room; it was not till afterwards that they commenced to pull down the masks—it was the tall man that said, "I am a desperate man I am a Scotchman"—he spoke with a north country accent; but I did not take him to be a Scotchman—my mother almost immediately ran out of the room—I believe it was Carter went after her I am not actually certain—when I gave evidence in February and March I was very ill—when I gave evidence on March 9th I don't think I was confused—I said then that it was one of the short ones that went after her; I never knew the names of the two; which it was I am not certain; I thmk I sari the same then as I say now—before the Magistrate I described Hall as the short one—in February I think I said, "The tall man said, 'Go after her and murder her,' and the third man rushed out, leaving Carter and the tall man with me," but I was never quite sure which of the two it was—I have certainly talked tins matter over with my mother—I said, I saw the third man dragging my mother back from the garden, "but I am not certain which of the two it was, Hall or Carter; I was not certain at the time; I always spoke of Hall as "the third man"—I gave evidence against Carter here in February—I don't say it was Hall that went after my mother it might be Carter—before the Magistrate on March 9th, I said, "Hall commenced to tie my legs, etc., and left the

parlour without finishing," and "I saw Hall dragging her back from the garden"—I can't say it was Hall; it was one of the short men—it was just as possible to be Carter or Hall, I am not sure which—I can't say which it was that struck me on the nose; I said it was one of the men—I did not actually say, "the prisoner"—Carter was the only prisoner then in the dock—I don't remember if I did say, "the prisoner "; if it was taken down so in the deposition, it must be correct, but I never knew who it was that struck me—I can hardly say how long the struggle in the shop took, I was so excited; it was not very long—I said yesterday that I lost consciousness—I don't remember getting out from the kitchen into the garden; that must have been the only time I lost consciousness—after I was struck I don't remember anything till I found myself in the garden—I do not remember who snatched my chain; I was very ill at the time—after the struggle, someone got a cab for me, and I went to the station—I saw Sergeant Wright there; I have known him for years—I do not remember giving him a description of the men; I was told that I had done so—I don't remember who it was, or when; it was someone connected with the police—I said at the Police-court that I had given a description to Wright; I said that because someone told me that I had—I was well enough to identify Carter then; that was an hour or two after it happened—when the three men came into the shop they all had on dark clothes, and dark, hard felt hats; the tall one had an ordinary handkerchief round his neck, and he had a moustache; I don't remember the colour; he was clean shaved, and a little side whisker—at the station he was dressed something similar; I could not say exactly; I did not look at him sufficiently—I don't think he had a muffler; I am not certain.

Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. Hall fastened the door before anything was said by the other men; he fastened the bottom bolt; he did not bar it; he stooped down; his back was turned to me then for an instant—after I asked them their business they put the masks on—Hall did not speak at all—I think I went to the station about an hour or two afterwards, but I cannot tell; they let me sit down in a chair there—I think it was on the Sunday afternoon that I gave a description to Sergeant Newport; he came to my bedside in the afternoon; I think about two or three, after dinner, I think—I could not tell from these photographs the height of the men; I identify Hall solely by his face—I did not mention that he was like my friend, Mr. Freeland, till after I had recognised him in the dock; I still think he is very much like Mr. Freeland; he had a beard then; he has been shaven since—I heard Mrs. Childs give her evidence.

Re-examined. The light in the house could also be seen over the fanlight of the door—when I came into the shop after my mother, I turned up the incandescent light, and also the other burner, as I thought it was a customer coming in, and immediately after the door was opened—the tall man spoke in rather a rough voice—I have since heard Watts speak several times; I believe it is the same voice—I noticed that he had a very large hand, and, when I clasped hold of it with the revolver, I could not grasp the whole of his hand; it was a very large, broad hand—when I gave evidence on February 8th I had only just got up to go to the Police-court—I gave evidence on Carter's trial at the end of that month—I then said, "They struck me with an instrument; I believe it was the prisoner that

struck me; it was either the prisoner or the tall man; the small one (Hall) was kneeling down at the time, tying my legs"—he could not have done it—at the time I could not be positive whether it was Carter or Watts—the doctor happened to be passing at the time, and came in and attended to my wounds—I have no knowledge of seeing Sergeant Wright at that time—the men had got quite to the shop parlour door before they pulled their masks down.

ELIZA EVANS . The last witness is my son. I live with him at 97, High Street, Lewisham—I was in the house on the night of January 31st—the assistant closed the shop and went away, and I and my son were in the parlour behind the shop, one on each side of the fire—there was some movement of the handle of the door—I took no notice at first, but my son did, and said, "Go to the door, or I will," and he went and undid the bolt, and these men rushed in—one said, "We won't detain Mr. Evans a minute, I only want to speak to him"—the tall man came in first, and the two shorter men came, and pushed me back, and got in—the man that came in last bolted the door—Watts is the tall man, and Hall is the man that bolted the door—I saw the faces of the three men, because I looked so particularly to see such rough people come into the shop—as they came we turned the gas all up again; we had a deal of gas in the shop—the tall man seized my son, and said, "I want your money and your keys"—my son said, "I have very little money, the shopman took my keys"—I rushed behind them, to get out, to make my escape; when I saw the revolver in the hand of the tall man, he presented it at my son—I made my way through the parlour into the kitchen, and into the garden, and I had to climb up the wall—I had to unbolt the kitchen door; I could not reach the top bolt; there were some steps against the door, and I had to go up those steps in order to unbolt it; it was a difficult job—then I got into the garden, and called out, "Murder!" and "Thieves!" and climbed up the garden wall, and they heard me next door, until I brought someone—some man came and pulled me off the wall, tearing my dress, and brought me back into the kitchen, and shut the door after him—he threw me down on my back, and knelt on me—he held a revolver at my temple, and kept saying, "One word, one word!"—I did not speak, I promised him not—that man was Carter, I am sure of that—when I was thrown down in the kitchen my son was there, and he was a dreadful sight to see, worse than my own affair; they had got him pinned up against the clothes horse, with a rope round him; I could see him all over blood, and that so upset rue I did not hear what they were saying—there was an alarm at the shop door; the people could not get in; the door had been bolted—they had slammed at the kitchen door, and then ran to the front, and made an alarm; that frightened the men in the kitchen, and two of them tore off their masks, and threw them on the kitchen table, and ran away, leaving Carter still over me; he ran away too, and was caught; before he left I saw him pick up one of the masks, which caught in my feet, and I caught it up, and threw it on the fire; he also picked up the jemmy, and took it away with him, but he left the stick and the knife behind, and his revolver—he took the jemmy off the kitchen table; I saw it there, and he put it under his coat; he put the revolver in his pocket, and ran out, leaving the shop door wide open; there were crowds of people there—I did not see him again that night; next morning I picked

up one of the masks, and threw it on the fire; the other two I picked up, and gave them to the officers—when the tall man came into the shop, he took something out of his pocket, like a revolver; it was that which frightened me—they had the stick when they came in; I don't know whether it was used or not—this (produced) is it? it was found close by where my son was attacked; I think the tall man had it in his hand, but I will not be positive; I did not see it used; it was found by the officer next morning; I saw it found in the shop, slipped down by the side of the counter—the men had the masks on when I rushed away; they had put them on almost directly they shut the door, but I had a good look at them before they did that—when the masks were pulled down they had hold of my son by the rope, surrounding him, and demanding his money and keys, handling him—next day I went to the Police-station and saw Carter—I knew him directly, and I afterwards gave evidence against him before the Magistrate and here—I was never shown any photographs by the police—on Saturday, March 7th, I went to the Greenwich Police-station, and there saw a number of men—I picked out two, Hall and Watts—I went and touched them—I have no doubt whatever that they are the two who were with Carter on the night of January 31st; I am certain—last week I went to Newgate Prison, and was shown two men at exercise in the yard, guarded by warders; they were Fowler and Milsom—I had never seen either of them before.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. The men pulled down the masks after they had got into the shop and bolted the door—they pulled them down as they were coming in—they did not come in with them on—it was cold weather—they had on long overcoats and hard felt hats—I did not observe that the tall man had a muffler—he had a beard, as he has now, not so much—I think he had a little hair on his chin—I was so frightened, but I took the scale of his face—I knew his face again; it was a long face—I was very excited—I said before the Magistrate I was too excited, expecting ray brains to be blown out every moment—it was next morning that I found the masks—the one that got on my feet the puppy had got—I threw that in the fire as a torn rag—that was not immediately after the men had left—I can't say when it was—I was very ill, and my brain might have been very addled, for I was very upset—when I came back from the garden my son was pinned up against the clothes-horse; not tied to it, only held against it—I, saw Carter take the jemmy from the table; the man had left it there, and he went away with it—when I went to identify the prisoners, the officer and I stood quietly looking, and an officer behind me said, "Do you see anyone here that you have seen before?"—I said, "Yes, but I am afraid"—they said, "Go and touch them," and I walked directly and touched Watts, and then walked back and touched Hall; they were then dressed very differently to what they were on this night, and had no hats on; none of the men had hats on—I gave a description of the two men to an officer next morning; I said I could draw their likenesses for them; I don't think I said that to Inspector Gunning; I said it to the police—I have stated that Carter came out into the garden and dragged me back—it was a short man, he was the last to go, and he picked up the jemmy off the table, that is the one thing; I think it must have been him that was holding me, but I was so frightened when the revolver was held I think I lost myself.

Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. Hall pushed the large bolt partly through; he did not put up the chain—the two men went out the front way, leaving the door open—I was told there were a lot of people standing by; in fact, they were going to rush into the shop—I don't know that any of them have been taken to try and identify the prisoners—Mr. and Mrs. Farrow, my next-door neighbours, were among the people, but she could not recognise the men—I have talked over this matter with my son—I have not seen in the newspapers sketches of two men—I have not read the papers about it.

Re-examined. The parlour was lighted by a large chandelier in the centre; it was alight—the kitchen was lighted by a table lamp, not with gas, that was cut off; it was always alight. Q. Was the man who had brought you back the same man that stood over you with the revolver and said, "One word, one word "? A. Well, I have been asked that many times; I was so awfully frightened when he got me nearly over, and it was a dark, black night.

GEORGE SMITH . I am eleven years old—I live at 24, Lewis Grove—on February 1st I found, in Granville Road, a sovereign purse, a half-sovereign, and a piece of gold chain lying under a shrub, next to a fence that makes one of the boundaries of the road—those articles were handed to the police.

WILLIAM SMITH . I live at 20, Lewis Grove—I am a greengrocer there—on January 31st, between 9.15 and 9.30, I heard some cries of "Murder," apparently coming from the back of Mr. Evans's premises—I ran to his back gate, and saw a constable trying to get over the gate—shortly after I saw someone running from the front of Mr. Evans's towards Belrnont Hill, through Granville Mews and into Granville Road—I ran after him into Granville Road, and I there found a man, whom I afterwards knew as Carter, held by two men—as the man was running I heard a sound of something heavy falling—I went to where I heard the sound, and found this jemmy, wrapped up as it is now—I handed it to Sergeant Newport.

ROBERT WRIGHT (Sergeant, 65 R). On the night of January 31st I arrived at the prosecutor's house about 9.30—I saw the doctor, Mr. Hurlbert, there dressing the prosecutor's wounds, and attending to him—I spoke to the prosecutor, and he spoke to me—he gave me what I took to be a description of two men who had been in his house and had got away—I took it down as he gave it to me, "First, aged thirty-two, height six feet, moustache fair, dressed in dark clothes, black hard felt hat; second, aged thirty, height five feet nine inches, dressed in dark clothes, black hard felt hat; wore masks"—the prosecutor was then slightly dazed, suffering from wounds on his head, which were bleeding—the doctor was actually dressing the wounds at the time he spoke to me—he spoke in his ordinary voice—it was about 9.30 when he gave me the description—at eleven o'clock that same evening the prosecutor came to the Police-station; he gave no further description that night, but he identified Carter—I never read over to the prosecutor the description I had taken down—I desired to circulate the description with all possible speed; I wrote it down, and sent it off to the station at once—I wrote the first part, "Wanted, for robbery and attempted murder, two men," before the prosecutor began to give the description—I picked up this two pound

piece in the back kitchen, and this piece of gold chain in the back yard—a little boy picked up a piece of chain, a sovereign purse, and a half-sovereign, and gave them to me—I produce this rope; it was handed to me by Police Constable Tipton.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. The prosecutor wasstandingup—I wrote in the first part, and then he gave the description, and I wrote it down—he stood there, facing me, and saw me write it down—he spoke quite plainly in his ordinary voice, not in a whisper—although slightly dazed, he seemed to speak quite intelligibly—this reference to a four-wheeled cab was given to me by someone else in reference to this case—it was written at the time—that person is not here—I remember the man; I asked him who gave him the information, and he could not tell me—I do not know if he was there when the men ran away—when the prosecutor returned later on to identify Carter he seemed pretty much in the same condition as he was when I took down the description from him.

Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. In my opinion, he was fit to give a description, or I should not have taken it—his manner showed that he was dazed; he shook a little when I first spoke to him, and his voice was a little weak once or twice—I thought he was dazed, because of his appearance, and by his speech, and the substance of what he said—he gave how the affair occurred, and I think, from his manner, that he was suffering from the effects of a blow at the time—no doubt the blow had affected his head—he had partly recovered when I went in, but he was still stupefied—I do not know who had charge of the identification—I did not assist in taking any people to identify the prisoners.

Re-examined. There is the entry in my book, "See over for corrected description," and on February 3rd there is the corrected description: "First man, forty to forty-five; height, five feet eleven inches, or six feet; fresh; hair brown, fair moustache; rather broad-shouldered, proportionate build. Second, forty-five to fifty; height, five feet five inches to five feet six inches; clean shaven, full face, stout build, hair turning grey; both dressed in dark clothes, Chesterfield overcoat; both hard felt hats."

GEORGE PERCY YOUNG HULBERT . lam a registered medical practitioner, of Brecon House, Catford—I happened to be passing this house about nine on January 31st, and I went in and saw the prosecutor in the parlour—I examined his head—he had a lacerated scalp wound, two and a-lialf inches long, penetrating to the bone of the skull, and a lacerated wound on the bridge of the nose—he had bled profusely—he had been most grievously assaulted—he was in a dazed and stupid condition—when I was in attendance upon him he was seen and spoken to by Wright—I should say that he was not at that time in a condition to give an accurate description of the men who had assailed him within a few minutes of his speaking—I continued my professional attendance upon him until some weeks afterwards—when I went to visit him the next day he had lost his voice; he could speak in a whisper, but not louder—the loss of voice continued for about four days—he might have given a better description during the earlier days of his illness, from February 1st; that is all I would say—I do not think it would be reliable for some days afterwards—an implement like this jemmy would have been more likely to fracture the skull; it might possibly have caused the injuries, but it is very improbale—this stick would have been more likely to cause them; the

injuries could have been inflicted by such a stick—they were occasioned by the use of very considerable force.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I attended him for about ten days afterwards—I should think that in four or five days afterwards the prosecutor could give an accurate description of the men who attacked him—after February 2nd he was in a proper condition to be so—he recovered his voice four days after injury—the sergeant took the description while I was dressing the prosecutor's wound—I heard him talking to the sergeant; I did not pay any attention to what he was saying, as I was occupied in dressing the wounds—I saw the sergeant writing as he spoke—the wounds were bleeding very profusely at that moment—I kept on saying to the prosecutor, "Keep quiet"; he kept on putting his fingers to his wounds, he was chattering to everybody—his brain over the speech centre was certainly affected during the four days—a person can generally remember after concussion of the brain if the injury is not too great—very curious things happen afterwards—it may be that a person who has had concussion of the brain has a recollection of facts different to what really happened, and is very positive of that inaccurate recollection; I do not know any cases of it—I have seen some cases of concussion of the brain—I attended Mrs. Evans on the same night at her house—she had an intermittent pulse, and there cannot be a state much worse than that, especially at her age—she was fairly well about a week afterwards—I attended both Mr. and Mrs. Evans that night at their own house.

Re-examined. She was suffering from shock from fright; he from shock from injury, and fright, and loss of blood—he made a very fair recovery, and was able to give evidence before the Magistrate against Carter on February 8th, with my sanction—he did not go to, the Police-station the same night with my permission—there was nothing out of the ordinary in his recovery.

FRANCIS NEWPORT (Sergeant E.) About ten p.m. on January 31st William Smith gave me this jemmy—that evening I was at the Police-station, when the prosecutor came there, about eleven, or just afterwards—at that time Carter was at the station in custody—the prosecutor looked very queer indeed; he looked dazed—next day I went to his house, and found this stick behind the coumter, just inside the shop—on Sunday afternoon, February 2nd, I went to his house again, and saw him in bed—I spoke to him, and he to me—he spoke as if he had a violent cold; I had to put my ear down to hear what he said—he gave me this description of two men; I took down what he said: "First man, aged forty-five, height five feet eleven inches, complexion fresh, hair brown, rather broad-shouldered medium build, fair moustache; second, aged forty-five to fifty, height five feet five inches or five feet six inches, grey hair, clean shaven, stout build, full face; both dressed in dark clothes and hats"—on February 6th I showed him, at his house, about fifteen or sixteen photographs which Gummer had, and he picked out two of them—I believe those are the two photographs of the prisoners already produced.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I was at the station that night when the prosecutor identified Carter; he seemed intelligent enough to do that—immediately Carter came in he said, "That is the man that came into my shop"—he had not lost his voice then—on February 1st and 2nd I found him in bed—I did not speak to him on the 1st; on the 2nd he

could only whisper—I knew that Wright had a description, which had been wired round immediately—I went to get another description, because I had made further inquiries—I did tnot think the description given to Wright was not accurate but I went to ask the prosecutor if he could give me a description, and he gave me this, which I immediately circulated—I did not ask for it; the prosecutor gave it voluntarily; he had no idea that he had given a dsscription before, so he told me when I asked him—I went on February 2nd to ask him if he could give me any further information; I did not ask for a description; he gave it—I did not go on the 2nd to get a description because I was not satisfied with the first description; I went to try and get the whole, full information, to try and arrest the other two men; and when I got there he gave me the description of the two men—I told him we had already had a description—I knew all the circumstances of the outrage—my principal object was not to get another description—I did not ask him on the night of the 31st, when he came to the station, for a description; I did not think he was able to give one; and on the morning of the 1st he was ill in bed, and I did not see him—by the morning of the 1st I knew that Wright had a description—I went on the 2nd to further the inquiry—I do not know Fowler; each time I went to see him he was either here or in the prison—I should not have recognised Watts from the description I got from Wright.

Cross-examined by MR. HARBISON. I saw Evans on the Sunday at midday, in bed—I have not had charge of the identification of the prisoners.

Re-examined. When I went on the 2nd to get further information from Evans he gave me this description, which I have written down—I had in my mind the description whch had been given to Wight, and I said to Evans, "We have already got a description"—he said, "I don't recollect giving it."

By the. COURT. Fletcher was a witness in Carter's case—I took down the description given by Evans in pencil on a scrap of paper at the time, and immediately I got to the station I put it in my book—when I saw him in bed he was very weak, and a little dazed; I could hardly hear him—I could accurately hear; when I put my ear to his mouth I could distinctly hear what he said—I wrote the description as he gave it; this is word for word—I immediately wired it out—I had not seen Mr. Hulbert before I went to the prosecutor on that day—I went on the Sunday, and Evans gaid he would see me; I did not go to see him on the Saturday because I did not think he was fit—I was directed by Gummer to go on the Sunday, and to do everything I could, and get every information I possibly could.

EMMA FREELAND . I am a widow—I let lodgings at 3, Colville Place, Tottenham Court Road—on January 31st, somewhere about twelve, I let a room to a Mr. Watts—he said he was a billiard-marker at some club in Charlotte Street; he paid 5s. in advance as a week's rent for the room—it was a furnished bedroom on the second floor, at the top of the house—the prisoner Watts is the man who engaged that room—I showed him the room; he approved of it, paid the week's rent, and went out—I made a memorandum of the date on a little bit of paper at the time—this is it, "Mr. Watts, January 31st"—it is my writing—I did not give him a key

at that time—he returned at something near eleven, or a little after; I am not quite positive to a few minutes; I let him in—my usual time for going to bed is generally about eleven; sometimes a little later—he came in a short time before I went to bed—next morning, Saturday, February 1st, he went out somewhere about eight to nine, perhaps a little later; he did not return all day; he came in on Saturday night, something about twelve; he slept in the house that night—I saw him on Sunday morning, and I gave him the key that morning; he then went out, and did not return; I did not see him again—next morning, Monday, 3rd, I went to his room to see whether the bed had been slept in on the Sunday night, and it had been—I do not remember seeing him on the Monday morning—the last time I remember seeing him was on the Sunday morning, when I gave him the key—he never came back again—he took the room for a week; I kept it empty till the following Friday, the 7th, and then let it to someone else—on the 4th or 5th Sergeant Simmonds came to the house, and made certain inquiries of me, which I answered—on Saturday, February 8th, my daughter, Annette Paul, came and lived on there for some time, and remains there still—this bedroom had been occupied by a Mr. and Mrs. Graham; they came on January 14th, and took the room for three weeks; they paid in advance; they left on January 25th, before their time was really up; it would have been up on the 28th or 29th—the room had been unoccupied from the time the Grahams left until Watts came—on. April 17th I went to Holloway Gaol—a number of persons were paraded before me in a corridor, to see if I could identify one of them, and I then identified Watts as the man who had taken my room on January 31st.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I have been asked before to-day who occupied the room before Watts—I was not asked it at the Police-court—since then I have been asked—I did not know who Mr. and Mrs. Graham were—I did not want a reference; they appeared to be very respectable; they were working people, and went out in the morning to work—they paid week by week, 6s. in advance—I am certain they left on the 25th—I have the book in my pocket—as a rule, I make a note of the names of my lodgers—this memorandum was made at the time—that was the only room I had to let at the time—I have had other lodgers; there was a Mr. Hall; he had gone; I have no note of when he left—I daresay he was there when Watts was there; he was a very old friend—I let three rooms; my daughter had the third room; I let it to her—she was not there at this time, but a man named Weeks, a carpenter, had it; he went into the country—I have not got a note here of when he came; I have not looked for it—I did not produce my note to Sergeant Simmonds—I looked for it when it was wanted; that would be two or three months after Watts came—I did not know that my note was wanted till quite recently—I kept it in a place where I kept other papers—I am not quite certain whether I had an entry of Weeks's in my book—my house is somewhere near Mr. Hilley's—this memorandum is my own writing; it has not been altered—Sergeant Simmonds saw me on February 4th or 5th—I was not called as a witness until April 25th—I cannot remember whether any other police officer saw me—Inspector Conquest did not call on me at that time—I can swear that it was not on January 25th that Watts took the room—I never saw Mrs. Hilley till I saw her here yesterday.

ANNETTA. PAUL . I am a daughter of the last witness; I am married—I was living with my husband up to a date in February this year—I separated from him, and on Febtuary 8th I went to live with my mother at 3, Colville Place, and I have continued to live there ever since.

GEORGE ROBIN HILLEY . I am ten years old, and live with my mother at 29, Tottenham Street, Tottenham Court Road—I know Watts by speaking to him in Tottenham Court Road, one week on Saturday, when I went to see my mother—my eldest sister Minnie's birthday was on February 1st—I think it was the week before that that Watts spoke to me, but lam not certain—he said, "How are you?"—I said, "Very well, thank you"—I had not known him before—he did not say anything, else—this was about half-past one in the day—I saw him again after that in the middle of the week—he came round to our house, 29, Tottenham Street—I cannot tell you what day it was—it was past Monday and Tuesday; I am quite sure of that—he said, "If anybody calls for me tell them to go to 3, Colville Place"—he then went away—after that Sergeant Simmonds came—he asked me the same questions, and I answered him—I am not sure about that Saturday being my sister's birthday—it was early in the morning when he spoke to me in Tottenham Street, for I was waiting for the time to go to school.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I said I thought it was on the Saturday before my sister's birthday that the prisoner spoke to me; I am not. quite sure about it—it was after Monday that I saw him again, because on the Tuesday I went to a magic lantern meeting, and it was after that—it was in the middle of the week, I am certain of that—it was my sister's birthday on February 1st—I think it was on the Saturday before that that the prisoner spoke to me; it was a wet Saturday when he spoke to me—I am not quite sure whether that Saturday was the Saturday before my sister's birthday; it may have been—I know it was after the Monday that Watts came to see me again, because on the Tuesday I went to see a magic lantern—I went to see the magic lantern before he spoke to me—it was not on a Tuesday before the wet Saturday that I went to see the magic lantern—it was not on the Monday after the wet Saturday that Watts spoke to me again and told me to say his address was 2, Colville Street; it was in the week, I am certain of that—Sergeant Simmonds afterwards came and put questions to me, which I answered as he put them—I have three sisters—I can only remember the birthday of one, Minnie, that is on February 1st—no one has told me that her birthday is on February 1st—she is older than I, and so is another of my sisters—we all live together at home—my sister Nellie's birthday is in July; I do not know what day—I do not know the birthday of my other sister—my own birthday is on September 11th—I have only one brother; his birthday is on September 11th; he is not my twin brother, but older than I

Re-examined. I remember Simmonds speaking to me; I believe that was the day after the man spoke to me about Colville Place; I am not quite sure about it; it: was soon after—Simmonds spoke to me the next day after Watts had spoken to me about Colville Place.

JOSEPH SIMMONDS (Sergeant D.) A few days before" February 1st Inspector Arrow showed me a photograph—on February 1st, about 1.30

p.m., I was in Charlotte Street, near the Horseshoe public-house—I saw Watts in company with Smith, a cabman, standing there talking together—I knew Smith by sight—I did not knew Watts before then; I recognised him as being the Ben Watts whose photograph I had seen previously—the prisioner is that man, and he was with Smith outside the public-house—he was dressed in a blue Melton overcoat, the same as when I saw him at the Police-court and at Holloway—his appearance then was different to what it is now—his other clothes were the same as those he wore at Greenwich Police-court subsequently—he had a black hard felt hat, side whiskers and moustache—after I had passed down Charlotte Street some distance I turned back; Watts and Smith passed along to Goodge Street, turned to the right, and entered the Pansy public-house—I did not see them again that day—on the evening of Tuesday, February 4th, I began to make inquiries in regard to Watts and Hall respecting this charge—on the morning of Wednesday, February 5th, I was still making inquiries, and I went to 29, Little Tottenham. Street—outside that door I saw George Hilley—I had some conversation with him, and, in consequence, went to 3, Colville Place, where I saw Mrs. Freeland, and had some conversation with her—on April 6th I went to Holloway Prison, and among one hundred men, paraded on the parade ground, I recognised Watts.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I never knew Watts before February 1st—on the 30th Arrow had given me this photograph—I made no note in writing of seeing Watts, or of the date when I received the photograph—I made a remark to someone else—January 25th and February 1st were Saturdays—I saw Mrs. Freeland and the boy on February 5th—I knew all about this case, and the hearings at the Police-court—I knew the prisoners were up at Greenwich on March 9th—I heard that Watts protested he was in Liverpool at the time—I have been nearly twelve years in the force—I was not directed to go and give evidence—I knew they were making inquiries, and that the case was complete for trial here—I first attended the Treasury on April 10th, alter the case had been sent back from this Court to be re-heard at the Police-court—on April 5th I submitted a report—I knew there were several hearings at the Police-court in March—I went to Hilley's house, which is 300 yards, I should say, from Freeland's—it was not until April 6th that I went to identify Watts.

Re-examined. That was immediately after I had sent in my report—I visited Holloway in the ordinary course, and then saw Watts—I made a verbal statement to Inspector Norman, in whose division I was at, the time.

JOHN SCRACE (Inspector D). On Sunday, February 2nd, about 6.30 p.m., Hall came to the Tottenham Court Road Police-station, and reported himself to me—he was then a person bound to report himself, he being on ticket-of-leave—the 2nd of the month was the regular day for him to report himself—he would have to report himself again on March 2nd, and not before—I cannot say whether he reported himself, on March 2nd.

EDWARD WALTON . I am an inspector in the service of the London and North-Western Railway Company—I was on duty at Rugby Station from six p.m. on February 3rd till six a.m on the 4th—we have a book

in which we book the trains in and out, and make entries of anything unusual, or out of the ordinary course, occurring—the midnight train from Euston ou the 3rd arrived at Rugby at 2.3 a.m. on the 4th, and left at 2.8 for Liverpool—after the train had gone, three men came up and spoke to me—Hall was one or the three—he said they were for Liverpool—I told him the train had gone; there was nothing else till 7.12—they said they went to the refreshment-room, and after coming out of the refreshment-room, they went to the urinal, and when they came out of the urinal the train had gone, and they had been left behind—I told them there was no other train till 7.12 that morning, and that they would have to wait at the station for that train—with my permission, they were shown into the first-class waiting-room, and they were still there when I went off duty at six a.m.—two of the men were shore and one was tall—that was the last I saw of them till April 28th, when I went to the Holloway Gaol, and there a number of men were paraded in a corridor, and from them I identified Hall—I have my book with me, in which I made an entry of the occurrence.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. Before I went to the Police-court I saw Gummer—he showed me a photograph before I came to town—he said, "Have you seen any of these men before?"—the photograph was similar to this—it was on a card; I do not think it had a number—Gummer asked me if I saw anyone like him, and I said, "Yes"—I was told it was Hall after I had been to Holloway—he only showed me that one photograph—I told Gummer, at Rugby, that I could identify the man, and I did so at Hollo-way—Gummer was not there; Conquest was—I think that was on April 17th—there were about twenty men at Holloway when I identified him—I did not see either of the other two men who had been at Rugby Station.

THOMAS HOLLICK . I am an inspector at Rugby Station of the London and North-Western Railway—I was on duty there from six p.m. on January 27th to six a.m. on the 28th—I was there when the midnight train from Euston arrived at 2.12, and left at 2.17—I keep a book in which I enter the arrival and departure of trains, and if anything occurs I enter that—no passenger was left behind on that date.

FREDERICK ERNEST MORRIS . I am counter clerk at the Bedford Street post-office, Strand, London—I keep a book containing particulars of registered letters transmitted from that post-office—I produce my book for February 6th; there is an entry in it of a registered letter handed in on that day, addressed to "Benjamin, Liverpool"—in the ordinary course a letter so addressed would go to Liverpool post-office until called for.

WILLIAM HENRY PORTER . I am a first-class sorting clerk at the General post-office, Liverpool—on February 7th a registered letter arrived at Liverpool, and on that day it was handed out to the prisoner, who signed the receipt, "Moses Benjamin," and after that "Mr. Benjamin"—the full address on the letter is "Mr. Benjamin, Pembroke Place post-office, to be called for."

KATE SWEENEY . I am the wife of James Sweeney, a coffee and lodging-house keeper, at 48, Digbeth, Birmingham—on Sunday night, February 9th, after ten, the prisoners came together—they said they had left Liver-pool oh the Saturday morning, and had stayed on Saturday night at Brad-shaw's, the eating-house in Dudley Street, Birmingham, and that they had

left Bradshaw's because it was too expensive, and they asked me to let them have beds—I let them each have a bed in a room in which there were other beds—they remained from the Sunday night till the Saturday morning, the 15th, and then they went, saying they were going back to Liverpool, as near as I can think—there is no fair in Birmingham in February—the fair is in October, I think; there was a fair last week, and there is one in the fall of the year—there was something on; football, or something—they said they came to Birmingham to visit their relations—they brought no luggage or parcel.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I was busy through the house; they said they had come to see some of their relations they had not seen for tome years; I am not certain if they said that, or if they said they came to see the fair—I did not hear Watts say he had stopped at Bradshaw's on the Friday night; I only remember him saying Saturday; I was busy, of course—I am certain they did not say they had come from Liverpool two days before—Watts spoke, I think, as near as I can tell.

SARAH MULLINGS . I keep a shop at 71, Cheapside, Birmingham—I sometimes let a room over the shop—towards the end of February the prisoners came together and engaged that room—they said they wanted a room, to stop pretty nearly the summer, and travel about to get orders, and come in and do some writing—they took the room at 8s. a week for the two—they both occupied the same rot and the same bed—they brought with them a carpet bag, a portmanteau, and another small bag—they said they came direct from Bradshaw's, a cookshop in Dudley Street, against New Street Station; they said they had been to Mrs. Sweeney's—their luggage was with me a week—on the Friday they brought their luggage—they were not with me above three nights; they did not come in on the Thursday night, and they sent for their luggage on the following Friday night, when they were apprehended—this is the carpet bag they brought—I gave it to Inspector Baker when he came on the Saturday morning.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. There were some good linen shirts and clothes in the bag, and a jemmy wrapped up in flannel or something—they looked two respectable men, and I was very sorry to hear they were in trouble.

FREDERICK BAKER (Detective Inspector, Birmingham Police.) Towards the end of February I saw a communication in the Police Gazette which caused me to make inquiries in Birmingham—about 12.30 on Friday, March 6th, I went with another officer to the Minerva public-house in Bordesley Street, Birmingham, where I saw the two prisoners—under my instructions, they were taken to the Central Police-office under arrest—they there asked the reason why they had been brought there, and were told they must wait till the police officers from London came to see them—I showed them, by the Police Gazette, that the charge would be robbery with violence—Hall looked at the Gazette—there were the prisoners' portraits in the Gazette—Hall smiled, and said he must have altered, as it was not like him—he was asked his name, and said, "James, of Manchester "; he said he had come from Manchester, and did not know Watts—Watts made no reply, so far as I recollect; I knew him so well, I did not ask him anything—Watts said he did not know Hall; he was a stranger to him, and he said he knew nothing about the charge—they

were detained in custody until the arrival of the London police, who came on the next day from London—meantime I had gone to 71, Cheapside, and seen Miss Mullings, and she handed me, among other things, this carpet bag—I examined the bag in her presence, and found some boots, underlinen, and this jemmy, wrapped up in this handkerchief, at the bottom of the bag—I handed them to the London police.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I did not speak to the prisoners in the Minerva—Carbwright and Wheeler, the officers who were with me, are not here to-day—I told them to fetch out the prisoners while I kept watch on the passage—a number of men were in the place—Hall was not told he was charged with picking a lady's pocket—he asked the officer what they would take him for, and the officer said there had been some robberies in omnibuses in New Street, and he would be taken to the station—that was a ruse to get him to the station—he was told outside the Minerva he would be taken for identification for picking pockets—he did not then say he knew nothing about the case—I saw the jemmy on March 7th at Miss Mullings's house—I do not know how many people had been lodging there—on March 6th two other people, besides the prisoners, were living there, and they now live in a cottage at the back—I did not know that Hall was wanted for not reporting himself on the 2nd—I had not heard a man was wanted for not reporting himself.

WALTER VAGG (Sergeant.) On March 7th I was in Birmingham with Gummer—I found the two prisoners detained at the Central Police-station—I had charge of Hall on the way to London—on the way from the Police-station to the railway station he said, "Where are you going to take us to?"—I said, "To Blackheath Road Police-station, Greenwich"—Hall said, "What date did you say the robbery took place?"—I said, "On the night of January 31st, about nine p.m."—Hall said, "I was at Manchester at the time"—Hall gave the name of James at that time—after getting to Blackheath Station, London, on March 7th, Gammer asked Hall whether he still stuck to it that his name was James, and he said then, "I admit I am Hall," or some such words.

STEPHEN GUMMER (Inspector S.) I am stationed at Greenwich—I was informed about this occurrence to Mr. Evans on the night of January 31st, and on February 6th I took a number of photographs to Mr. Evans, and showed them to him in the presence of Sergeant Newport—he picked out these two—on February 21st information with regard to this offence was circulated in the provinces in the Police Gazette—on the 6th of March we heard from Birmingham, and, in consequence, I went to the Central Police-station, Birmingham, with Vagg, and on the morning of the 7th I saw the two prisoners there—I said, "Watts, and you, Hall, I am a police inspector from London I am going to take you there, and you will be put up for identification and if you are identified, you will be charged with being concerned with a man named Carter, who has been convicted, in committing a robbery with violence at Lewisham on the night of January 31st"—Hall said, "My name is Thomas James"—Watts said, "I can prove I was in Liverpool at the time"—shortly after, I and Vagg took them to the railway-station, and took the train for London—in the train, Watts said to me, "I could not stay at home, as my wife and family were all caged up in one room and I left Euston at midnight on Monday, January 27th, for Liverpool. When we got to Rugby I got out to get

some refreshment, and I went to the urinal, and missed the train, and had to stay there till 7.12 in the morning. They put us up in the waiting-room at the station. There was a commercial gentleman with us. We went on in the morning, and I stayed at Beattie's Coffee-house, 51, Islington, Liverpool, until Saturday morning, when I came up to Birmingham"—the prisoners were taken to Greenwich Police-station—fourteen or fifteen, men were brought in from the street, and the prisoners put among them in a room—Mr. and Mrs. Evans had been sent for—Mr. Evans was taken in first, alone—he recognised both prisoners immediately—then Mrs. Evans was brought in—I told her to look at the men, and, if she knew anybody, to touch them; she looked, and paused—I said, "Do you see anyone there you know?"—she lifted her hand, and said, "Time"—then there was another pause, and I said again, "Do you see anyone there you know?"—she said, "Yes, I do; but I am afraid—Sergeant Croston said, "If you see anybody, you must touch them"—she immediately went to Hall, who raised his arm—she touched his arm—then, she went to Watts, and touched him—the prisoners were then formally charged with the offence of January 31st—Watts said, "I can prove I was at Liverpool at the time"—Hall said, "I reported myself to the police on February 2nd, and if I had done this job I should not have done that"—on March 9th the prisoners were brought before Mr. Kennedy at the Police-court, and after Mr. Evans had given his evidence I heard Watts make a statement to the Magistrate—it was not taken down—he said, "I have explained to Inspector Gummer where we were; we left London at twelve o'clock at night on Monday, January 27th, and when we got to Rugby we got left behind, there We went on to Liverpool at 7.12 in the morning, and stayed at Beattie's coffee-house, Islington, until Saturday, when I went to Birmingham, and Hall came up to London to report himself. If you have Miss Beattie up she can prove I stayed there"—I did not make a note of it—I did not think I should be called on to give the evidence—on March 11th I went to Rugby Station, and saw the two inspectors, Walton and Hollick, and took verbal statements from them—I then went on to Liverpool, and saw Mrs. Borbidge, at Beattie's coffee-house, 51, Islington—I had some conversation with her, and showed her two photographs of the prisoners, not those produced in this case—on March 16th the prisoners were again before Mr. Kennedy, and in their hearing I said to the Magistrate, "I have been to Rugby Railway Station, and have seen the station inspectors there, and I have seen an entry in the station inspector's book there that three passengers were left behind on the morning of February 4th by the train that left Euston at midnight on the 3rd, and there is no entry of any passengers being left behind on the night of January 27th. I have shown the photographs to the inspector, and he thinks he will be able to identify the men. I have been on to Liverpool, and I have seen Miss Beattie (she is Mrs. Bocbidge), and she baa failed to identify the photographs. She has stated—"(MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS considered that the statement of the Witness that a person had failed to identify photographs was no proof that she did not recognise them, and that this evidence was of no value.) After I had made my statement to the Magistrate, Watts said, "Oh, that. was the second time we went to Liverpool. If you have Miss Beattie up, she will be able to prove it. I want you to have her up"—I cannot say

whether or no he said anything about his first journey to London before his return to Liverpool, or how he came up—the prisoners were remanded till the 18th, and an effort was made by communicating with the Liverpool police, to ensure Miss Borbidge's attendance—she did not come—I did not subpcena her—on March 18th the prisoners were committed for trial to his Court—the Sessions began here on March 23rd; the trial was adjourned to the April Sessions—in April the prisoners were again brought before Mr. Kennedy.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. After I made my statement to the Magistrate, Watts still insisted on having Miss Beattie up—the prisoners were sent for trial before Mr. Justice Wills, and again Watts asked for Miss Beattie to come up—she is here now—I was present when Mr. and Mrs. Evans identified the prisoners at Greenwich Police-court—Watts had on a long overcoat and hard felt hat—he had no handkerchief round his neck, but a collar and tie—he did not want to take off his overcoat; I did not insist on his keeping it on—they had nob been in the cells, nor did they come from the prison van; I had just brought them from Birmingham, and had detained them in the waiting or charge-room at the station—Vagg was present part of the time—I probably brought them from the room where they had been kept till the witnesses came—he was put among the other men, with his overcoat and hard felt hat on, just as he came from Birmingham—so far as my memory serves me, it was a dark blue overcoat; I believe the same as he has on now; it was similar to it—Mrs. Evans came in to pick him out almost momentarily after Mr. Evans; he still had his dark overcoat and hat on.

Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. Mrs. Evans picked Hall out first; she is mistaken if she says she first picked out Watts—I know Boakes's restaurant; I have never been in it, and don't know the size of it—I have only taken two people in connection with this case to the Greenwich Police-court to identify the prisoners—I did not take a boy, Thomas Nunn, or any people who told me they were standing outside Evans's shop on the evening of January 31st—Inspector Conquest took some of such people—I did not see Evans on the evening of January 31st—I told Newport to go and see him on Sunday, February 2nd—I did not tell him to get a second description—I knew that one had already been given—when I went to Rugby on March 11th, I took with me one sheet containing two photographs, which I showed to Walton—on the sheet was "Ben Hall," with a number and a description, but Walton did not see that—I did not tell him whose photograph it was—I told him the object of my visit—I did not say I wished him to identify the masked burglars at Lewisham—I said, "I have two men in custody, who state they were left behind here on the night of January 27th"—he did not say at once he should be able to identify Hall—I felt sure he would be able to identify him—I did not caution the prisoners after telling them the charge. (MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS stated that, in his opinion, it was not proper to caution a prisoner under such circumstances. A police officer had to right to cross-examine a prisoner, and if he did so he ought to caution him first; but if an officer arrested a man, and told him the charge, there was no need to caution him.) I did not ask Hall any question, except that at Greenwich I attked him if he still denied his identity as Hall, but that was not for the purpose of this offence, but because I knew he was wanted for

not reporting himself on March 2nd—I got the sixteen photographs I took to Mr. Evans on February 6th from my office—I put the two photographs with the other fourteen, and took them in a bundle to Mr. Evans.

ALFRED GROSE . I am the schoolmaster at Holloway Prison—on March, 11th I handed Watts a blank form of petition, and received it back from him on March 12th, as it is now produced, dated March 12th—this first part was filled in in the office after he had it. (This petition was read as follows:—"Sir,—I was discharged from Pentonville Prison on the 25th of January last. On the 27th, at twelve p.m., I left Euston Station for Liverpool; when the train stopped at Rugby, at two in the morning, I got out to have some refreshment, and the train started off and left me and two other gentlemgn, on the Station—The man that was in charge of the station told us we should have to stay in the waiting room till 7.12 for the next train, which we did. I landed in Liverpool between ten and eleven on the 28th. I "stayed with Mr. Bettie, No. 51, Islington, Liver-pool from the 28th till 1st of February. On the 1st of February I came to Birmingham, and I slept at Bradshaw's eating-house, Dudley Street, at the back of New Street Station, for five nights: then I stopped at a Coffee-house in Digbeth—Mrs. Sweeney's—for a week and also at the Temperance Coffee-rooms in Digbeth for a week; and then I took a room—79 Cheapside—with Miss Mullins. Sir, I was taken in Birmingham on the 6th, and brought to London on the 7th; I was charged at Greenwith burglary at Lewisham. How could I be at Lewisham when I was in Liverpool on the 31st of January? I am a ticket-of-leave man, and I have failed to report myseff; that is what the police are trying to get me convicted for upon a charge I am innocent of. Sir, I ask you kindly if you will have Mr. Bettie, of 51, Islington Liverpool, and the station-man that was on duty at Kugby on the 28th of January at two o'clock in the morning—it was published in the papers that I left London after the Muswell murder—Sir if you will kindly have Mr. Bettie and the old man that was on duty at Rugby on the 28 January brought at two January brought up to London, I can clearly prove that I have never been within one hundred of London since the 27th of January last—Your humble Petitioner, BEN WATTS.")

ADOLPHUS DOWDEN . I am a warder at Holloway Prison—Watts was under my charge there while awaiting trial—on April 6th he handed me this letter, and this envelope, addressed to Mr. Frayling Solicitor's Department, Treasury," with instructions that they should be Posted—I handed it to the principal warder which is the first stage towards having it posted—"Kind Sir,—You kindly asked at the last Old Bailey Sessions to have my case put back to April Sessions to bring a witness from Livernool Sir, I went to Liverpool from Euston on the 27th of January and I stayed at Bettie's Coffee-rooms at the first of February. Sir I came back to London on the 1st of February and stayed till the night of the 3rd. I left Euston at twelve o'clock, and got into Liverpool on the 4th. My reasons for going back was that friends told me there was a registered letter sent to the post-office for me in the name of Mr. Benjamin. I receivod the letter on the 7th of February, and I signed the postal order in the General Post Office in the name of Moses Benjamin. Kind Sir, my reason for telling you this is that Inspector Gummer has tried to make the Magistrate believe at Greenwich that I did not leave London for Liverpool till after the robbery they are trying to

charge me with was committed. When I went back to Liverpool on the 4th of February I stayed at an eating-house at the back of the Haymarket, but I do not know the people's names; if you think it is necessary, would you kindly send one of the Liverpool Police to me, so as I could describe where the eating-house is, and describe the man that keeps it. Of course, the people would know me again when they saw me. Kind Sir, I can't understand, after the prosecutor describing the man to two different police officers on the night of the robbery as having a fair moustache and brown hair, and being a North countryman, how he could swear to me, when my hair and moustache are both jet-black, and I am a London man bred and born. Sir, I have a wife and five children, and I have no money to pay for witnesses to come up to London; therefore, I beg of you, kindly, as a Christian man and a gentleman, to see that I get justice. I am truly thankful to you for asking to have my case put back, as I am innocent of the charge they have brought against me.—Humbly,"—on April 17th he handed me this other letter, also addressed to Mr. Frayling, at the Treasury, with a request that it should be forwarded to its destination: "Kind Sir,—I am one of the men you caused to be put back last Old Bailey Sessions. I had an interview with Inspector Conquest, and a detective from Liverpool, last week, and they told me they had been to the place where I stopped, and the lady knew me. Sir, the lady acknowledges me writing two letters the morning I came away, which I put in the post in Liverpool: that was the 1st of February, on a Saturday. I came up with my with my friend to London to report himself to the police at Tottenham Court Road Police-station on the 2nd, which he did. if he two letters which I posted in Liverpool on the 1st had not "been destroyed, the envelope would have cleared me by the date. We stayed there on the 29th, 30th, and 31st, and left on the 1st of February. How could I be at Lewibhain at 9.30 on the 31st of January, when I was in Liverpool? Because the three nights I stayed at Bettie's Coffe-rooms, the 29th,.30th, and 31st, I never stayed out after ten at night; that the lady knows. The reason for going back to Liverpool the second time was this, my sister told me that a registered letter was sent there for me on the morning of the 1st of February. We both went back to "Liverpool on the 3rd, and I have told Inspector Conquest the name I signed the postal order in, and where it was sent to for me. Sir, Inspector Gummer at Greenwich did not treat us fairly, but I think by what Inspector Conquest says, he will give us fair play. Sir. if we get justice in this case we shall have much to thank you for. On the night of the robbery the prosecutor gave a description of the two men that got away to two different sergeants, and he described me as a man thirty-two years of age, fair moustache, and brown hair; I am fifty-six years of age, and my hair and moustache are both black. That was because I was a ticket-of-leave man, he was told who to pick out by my clothes.—Humbly (signed), BEN WATTS."—I remember an occasion when the convict Fowler and Hall were close together in the exercise yard at Holloway, waiting to go to the w.c.—they were not exercised in the same yard—I separated them—they were not talking; it is against the rules—there are two exercise yards, and the prisoners from the different wings, A and B, exercise in different yards—Fowler was confined in A wing, Hall in B wing—Watts was also confined in B

wing up to his removal to the infirmary—there is only one w.c. building used for men exercising in both yards, and that is in the B wing; there are eight w.c.'s in that building; between each is a partition going right up—there is only one warder to supervise the eight closets; there would be about ten warders in B yard.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. The one warder is always in attendance to watch the prisoners going into the w.c.—Watts has been for a considerable time in the infirmary—Fowler was always kept under supervision—he was exercised with the other men—since he was sentenced he has been under two warders—he was regarded as a dangerous man, and we should keep our eye on him more than others, to see that nothing wrong should take place.

Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON I do not recollect the day I saw Hall and Fowler together; I did not make any note of it—I only saw them close together once.

CHARLES ADAMS . I am a warder at Hollo way Prison—it was part of my duty during these Sessions, when Fowler was brought here for trial, to keep him under supervision—when Fowler was awaiting trial, and when he was in the exercise yard at Newgate, I saw him talking with Hall on one occasion—it was before Fowler came up for trial, and before he was sentenced—I cannot remember the date—Fowler was not brought here on the first Monday of the Sessions, but on the Tuesday; it must have been after the Monday I saw them talking together—Fowler was exercising in the yard—Hall was awaiting trial at the time; he had been brought from Hollo way, just as Fowler was brought, and they were both exercising in the same yard.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS Fowler is not six feet; he is a tall man—you might take him for thirty, or thirty-two, or forty—he had a fair moustache.

Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. It is Against the rules for prisoners to talk together; directly I see them talking I stop them—I was in supervision over the prisoners at the time—directly I saw Fowler and Hail talking I put other men between them—I was watching them the whole time.

WILLIAM BURRELL (Police Constable, C.I.D., X). Prior to January 31st, I knew Fowler—on January 31st I was in the Kensal Road, near the Britannia public-house, about 5.30 p.m., and I saw Fowler standing in Kensal Road, talking to two men, and about 7.15, from that to 7.30, the same evening, I saw him looking in the Britannia public-house, in the Kensal Road—after looking in he walked leisurely away towards the Harrow Road—he was alone—I am quite certain of the date and the hours to which I have spoken.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I was first spoken to about this matter about a fortnight ago, when I went to see Mr. Frayling—Conquest ordered me to go and see him—Conquest sent for me, and asked me if I knew January 31st, and it I had seen Fowler that day—he did not know it till I told him—I am in the X Division, Harrow Road, not the same division as Conquest, is in—I do not know how he knew I knew anything—I had not spoken about it to anyone, except when I was called as a witness at Fowler's trial on the date he was sentenced—I then gave evidence about haying seen Fowler on the 31st—that was before Conquest sent for me, which was about a fortnight ago, for the purpose

of this trial—I have been about eight years in the force—in the early part of January I was instructed to watch Milsom, on account of burglaries committed in our neighbourhood, and then he met Fowler when he came out of prison—I tirst saw Fowler on January 31st—I did not make a note of having seen birn on that date—I did not make a note of having seen him until the early part of February—I have no note in my diary of the day or hour I saw him—I should say the place where I saw him is ten or twelve miles from Lewisliam; in a different direction altogether.

Re-examined. The entry in my diary refers to another day, but, it refreshes my memory with regard to the 31st—Fowler and Milsom were both in the neighbourhood of Kensal Green.

JOHN CONQUEST (Inspector, C.I.D.). I first took part in the inquiries in this case on April 20th—on April 28th I arranged for a number of witnesses to attend at Greenwich Police-station, and on that day the prisoners were placed, with twelve other men, in the yard, and the persons who attended were brought into the yard one by one—Sergeant was one; after looking at the men he picked out a man who was not either of the prisoners—almost immediately after he said something to me—on April 29th this letter, signed by Watts, from the prison, was handed me by the Commissioners. (Asking that Inspector Conquest might be sent to him, and hat he would give him the names and addresses of persons who could prove what he said.) In consequence of that letter I went to Holloway Prison on May 1st with Sergeant Hayter—Watts commenced to tell me the story—I said, "Do you wish me to take this down in writing, what you are going to say?"—he said, "Yes; I wish you to make inquiries; I am innocent of the charge"—I said, "If I write this down I shall submit it to the Treasury Solicitor, and whatever you say may be used in evidence against you"—he said, "I will stand by it"—he then made a statement I took it down in writing, and then read it over to him twice, and he signed it—it is the statement marked G:—"I, Ben Watts, a prisoner under remand, and detained in the above prison, after due caution as to what I now state may be used in evidence against me, say as follows:—The letter now shown to me by Inspector Conquest, and dated 29th April, 1896, is in my handwriting, and it was sent by me to the Commissioners of Police. My reason for asking Inspector Conquest to come here to see me is that I want to make it known that I was released from Pentonville on 25th January last, which was on a Saturday, at ten in the morning. I went straight to Scotland Yard, and reported myself. I then went home to 29, Tottenham Street, where my wife lives; she occupies two rooms on the second floor; she passes by the name of Mrs. Hilley. She was not at home when I arrived, so I left a parcel of clothing with the three youngest children, and went to the corner of Charing Cross Road, and met my wite and daughter and Mary Hennessy, who lives at 29, Tottenham Street, in the room on the first floor. We had drinks together, and she promised to be home in about half-an-hour with some steak, and they all came home as promised. We had dinner together, and then her sister Annie (Mrs. Harding) came upstairs. My wife dressed my boy George, who gave evidence last Tuesday, and then gave him and his brother Joseph some money to go to a theatre, I then went to my sister's, Mrs. Holliday, 2, "Rockliffe Street, City

Gardens, City Road. I stayed there till nine in the evening, and then met my wife at the Bluecoat Boy public-house, opposite the Angel, Islington, and we went together to Mrs. Harris, I, President Place, President Street, City Road, where we stayed till eleven at night. We then rode to King's Road, and from there to Tottenham Court Road, and I went" with her to the door of 29. Tottenham Street. She then said, 'Ain't you coming upstairs?' and I said, 'No, I have got a lodging. Before the boys went to the theatre I told the youngest one, 'George, to say that I lodged at 3, Colville Place, if anyone should call. I afterwards had a drink with Fred Ligo, the butcher, who has a stall at the corner of Goodge Street and Charlotte Street, and then I went home to 3, Colville Place, but before going I took home a quartern of gin which I bought at a public-house at the corner of Goodge Street. I gave this to the landlady, but she gave it me back the next morning (Sunday) as I was coming out. I slept at Colville Place on Saturday night, and on the Sunday morning I went again to 29, Tottenham Street, and had breakfast with my wife, and afterwards went out with my son Joseph, and we were together till three o'clock, when we returned to 29, Tottenham Street, and had dinner. I remained there till nine o'clock, when I went out by myself and met Jem Brady at the Grafton public-house, and I stayed with him till the public-houses closed, and I then went home. Jem Brady is now in prison for some trouble at Reading. I slept at 3, Colville Place, this night (Sunday), and about 9.30 the next morning (Monday) I went to Debenham's Stores, where I saw 'Markee,' who is a friend of mine, and I asked him to buy me an over-coat, which he did at Debenham's Stores. I also borrowed £3 10s. of him (Teddy Markee). I waited in the neighbourhood with several friends till about eleven a.m., and I then went to the Orange Tree, Euston Road, and stayed there till four o'clock. While there my boy, George, who gave evidence last Tuesday, came in with his sister Nelly and. said that my wife wanted me at home, but I didn't go. I then went alone to the Victoria public-house, King's Cross, to meet a friend, and I stayed with him till twelve midnight. He is called' Badger.' My friend was not William Hall. My friend and I then went to Euston Station, and took tickets to Liverpool but we got out at Birmingham. when we arrived there we went to the house of a friend of mine in Great Bath Street, and I sat on the sofa till they got up, and we had some breakfast. My friend's name is Billy Matthews; he is a fighting man, and well known at Birmingham. His house is just over the bridge, a barber's shop. I met several friends at Birmingham, and was drinking with them till about ten o'clock at night, when my London friend and myself went to Bradshaw's Eating-house, at the back of New Street Station. We had a double-bedded room on the first-floor front. Two large iron bedsteads are in the room, and we paid 1s. each for the beds. Mr. Bradshaw was at the door, and spoke to me. I am positive that Mr. or Mrs. Bradshaw would know me, but we gave no names. The next morning (Wednesday) I left, and went on to Liverpool, where I met Hall accidentally, and we went together to" Mrs. Beattie's Coffee-house, 51, Islington, and we remained there till the 1st of February, and then came on to Birmingham, where I inquired about some things I wanted. We were in Birmingham about two hours, and then came on to Euston. It was just getting dusk when we arrived; it was a fast train. I have

explained where I was after this in my previous statement to the Home Secretary. I also wish to say that Mrs. Hilley wants to make people believe she is not my wife, and she will do anything to get me sent away, because she has been cohabiting with a man named Charley Watson, who, I believe., is working for Crosse and Black well. She visited me in Pentonville Prison from December, 1888, till June, 1890, and sent me letters and received letters from me. In September, 1890, I was gent to Parkhurst Prison, and she received my letters and answered them, also visited me there. The children also visited me there. If this is allowed to be proved, it will show that my wife is vindictive, and sending my own child to Court to commit perjury agrtinst me. I am sure that she has got hold of the landlady at 3, Colville Place and tampered with her. I gave my solicitor, Mr. Gray, 67, Barnsbury Street, Liverpool Road, a statement in writing, on 20th April, to the effect that the land-lady at No. 3, Colville Place, had been tampered with to alter the date, to make believe that I was in London when I was in Liverpool—(Signed) BEN WATTS." When the prisoners were committed for trial from Greenwich Police-court, on May 14th, Mrs. Ellen Borbidge. and John Beattie were bound over for the prisoners—they are in attendance here—in addition to those, there are brought, at the request of the prisoners, and at the expense of the Treasury, Mary Henessey, Miss Hilley, Annie Harding, Mrs. Holliday, Mrs. Harris, Mr. and Mrs. Brad-shaw, Joseph, Jane, and Annie Taylor, and Inspector Leybourne, of Liverpool—on May 28th I saw Henry Joseph Hilley and his wife, Agnes Hilley; he lives at Johnson Street, Westminster; they are separated—I produce the certificate of marriage of Henry Joseph Hilley to Agnes Hilley.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. The marriage certificate was dated February 2nd, 1879—the man told me they had been separated four or five years; I don't know how long it was—I saw Watts twice in Hollo-way—Leybourne, the Liverpool inspector, who went with me to the prison at the prisoner's request, showed him a map of Liverpool, and Watts pointed out on the map about the spot at which he said he stayed on the second visit—I took other people to Holloway to see if they could identify the prisoners—the prisoner asked to be allowed to take off his overcoat, in order that the witnesses might identify him by his features only—I allowed him to take off his overcoat—all these people failed to identify him. (MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS stated that the witness could not prove whether a man who looked at another identified him or not.) The people were Boakes, Mrs. Ereeland, Edward Walton, and Henry Nutt—on another occasion I took Miss Knight—I don't think Watts was wearing his overcoat then—I took the people there in connection with the Lewisham outrage—a tall man, with an over-coat and a moustache, I believe, was touched by a witness.

Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. Altogether I have taken nine people to identify the prisoner—Gummer took some in the first instance.

Re-examined. The place Watts pointed out on the map of Liverpool, as where he stayed on his second alleged visit was said to be an eating house behind the Haymarket, kept by some persons named Taylor.

WILLIAM SAVILLE (Warder 23). I am a warder at Holloway Prison—Watts was under my charge there—I handed him this, envelope and sheet of note paper; they were then unwritten on; he returned them to

me for posting, with the writing on them as it now appears, with the date March 19th, and addressed to Mrs. or Mr. Beattie—I collect the letters and take them to the chief warder's office:—"Kind Friend,—I feel sorry to have to write to you under such distressing circumstances, but the Secretary of State has authorised the governor of this prison to tell me that I can write to you, as your evidence will he of great use at the Old Bailey in case I am charged with innocently. I stayed at your house for three weeks, on January 29th, 30th, and 31st last. You remember on February 1st you supplied me with two sheets of writing-paper and two envelopes, and you sent the little boy with me to show me the Post-office, as I wanted some stamps, and bought the child some sweets. When I came from the post-office I wrote two letters in your parlour at the back of the shop, if you remember; it was on Saturday morning; your brother was out at the time. I asked for a few cards, and you had none by you at the time, so you gave me your address at the counter, and shook hands with me when I was coming away. I slept two nights in the top front room, and one night in the top back room, where the two beds are in the backroom. I am a tall, dark man; my friend is a short man. You can't forget me, as you was talking to me at the table for some time when you brought me my breakfast. Kind friend, I am charged with committing a robbery near London at the time I was staying with you. Kindly let me know if you will come up and speak the truth at my trail, as your evidence is of great importance to me. I feel very sorry to hear of your brother's death, as I always found him a nice fellow.—Humbly, B. WATTS."

GEORGE NORMAN (Inspector D) On February 1st I was in the company of Police Sergeant Simmonds, in Charlotte Street—Simmonds was in Tottenham Court Road—I was engaged in search of someone—it was shortly, after 1.30 p.m.—Simmonds made a statement to me at that place about that time.

Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. This is my first appearance in the case—I was sent for on Saturday by the Treasury; that was the first time I was spoken to about this matter—I made no note on that day of seeing Simmonds.

JOHN CONQUEST (Re-examined) I was present on May 29th at New-gate Prison, when Fowler and Milsom, guarded by warders, were marched in front of certain witnesses in this case.

Witnesses for the Defence of Watts.

ELLEN BORBIDGE . I live at 51, Islington, Liverpool, and am a widow—I keep a cocoa-room and restaurant there, and let six beds—last February my brother, Alexander Beattie, was living with me—he died on February 26th—during his life I assisted him; he carried on the business—since his death I have carried it on myself—I have no children, but I have a nephew, John Beattie, seven years of age, living with me—I saw the prisoners, as well as I can remember, in January—I cannot give the date—I remember giving them breakfast on two mornings—I they had slept in the house the nights before those two mornings—I think it was in January because my brother was taken ill the first week in February, and he took them in and gave them the beds—we keep no books at this establishment—my brother was ill all the first week in February; he was not in bed, but he was not able to attend to business—it should have been before his illness began that the prisoners came;

but I do not remember, because I never took them in—my brother did no business that week; I did it all that week—my brother took people in at night when he was attending to business—it was on a Saturday morning they went away, and I never saw them again.

Cross-examined. I keep no books—our lodgers stay with us a very short time, generally about one night, and then go away—my brother was bad all the week, including the first Friday in February—I made a statement to the police, and repeated it to Mr. Angus Lewis, of the Treasury, who came to Liverpool towards the end of March—I told Mr. Lewis, "My brother was taken ill on the first Friday in February"—he was about the house till the Tuesday after that—the first Friday in February was February 7th, and the following Tuesday would be February 11th—it was only on the 11th that he took to his bed—I cannot quite remember any date—the only reason I give for saying it was not the first week in February was because I never remember taking any money for the bed; I never saw them come in at night—I remember Gummer showing me some photographs—I did not recognise them—these are very like them—I told him I was uncertain as to the dates when the prisoners were there—I said, as far as I can remember, they had never been in my house; neither would I have remembered, only for the letter which I received from Watts recalling certain incidents that happened on a Saturday morning, and describing the rooms in the house which he and Hall occupied—in that letter the date January 31st was mentioned—I saw the two men together in the house—I only remember giving them breakfast on two mornings—they occupied the same room—they said they had stopped at the Old Haymarket in Liverpool for a couple of nights before coming to my house, as far as I remember—Hall asked me questions at the Police-court; I think he asked whether my brother was ill on February 7th, and I said on February 7th he was ill.

Re-examined. I do not remember the exact words he used—he was very bad on the Friday—I don't remember him doing anything all that week, the first week in February, or taking any money—he took money up to the last Saturday in January; he took all money coming in all day—he tried as well as he was able to move about and look after business when he was taken ill, but his head gave way, and he was very bad—for a week before he took to his bed he was not able to do his business—I did not remember anything about this matter till I got Watts's letter; I then remembered his getting the note-paper from me to write the letters—they wrote two letters, I think, when they were at my house—I don't know who wrote the letters, nor whom they were written to.

By the COURT. My brother sat downstairs as late as February 11th; he got up late, and went to bed early—I only have a book in which we put down the amount of the day's takings in the restaurant—I have not got that here—my brother used to enter the day's takings—he had inflammation of the brain—he had a doctor every day—when the prisoners stayed in the house he was not so well; he was complaining; he had not taken to his bed—I believe he and the prisoners had some talk together—I am quite sure they were in the house when he took to his bed——I last saw them on the Saturday morning—the only reason I remember anything is because I do not remember taking any money from them, only for their breakfast; they always pay that separately.

JOHN BEATTIE . I am Mrs. Borbige's nephew—I saw Watts at my aunt's house in the early part of this year, on a Saturday. (MR. LAWLESS here stated that the witness was too young to be examined.)

ELLEN BORBIGE (Re-examined by the COURT). I did not know what the prisoners' business or occupation was—no one called to see them—they never spoke of any business they wore doing in the place, or of anybody they had seen—they went out together—I only saw them come in once, when they came from the post-office on the Saturday—they had no luggage—a great many people come in for a night without luggage—I could not say distinctly how they were dressed—they spent all the time out of the house—they never hinted what they were doing, or what brought them to Liverpool; they said, the morning they were going away, they were more comfortable at my house than at the Old Haymarket.

JOSEPH TAYLOR . I live at 911, William Brown Street, Liverpool; it joins the Old Haymarket—I have never seen either of the prisoners before, to my knowledge. (Two other witnesses were brought into Court and asked if they recognifed the prisoners; they said, "No")

WILLIAM CARTER (incustody). I was tried for and convicted of this Lewisham outrage in this Court two months ago, and was sentenced to twelve years' penal servitude and twenty-five strokes with the Cat—I received the flogging the day after I was sentenced—I was tried for robbery with violence—I do not know Watts—he was not in my company on January 31st, when I assaulted Mr. Evans—two men were with me—I swear Watts was not one of them.

Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I do not know Hall.

Cross-examined by MR. MATHRWS. I do not know any man named Fowler, I have not seen any man of that name—no man of that name was in my company on this night—I do nofc know a man named Milsom; he was not in my company on this night, and neither of the prisoners was in my company on this night—one of the men with me was about three inches taller than myself; the other man might have been an inch or so shorter, but, roughly, he was about my own height—I carried a big walking-stick till I got in the jeweller's shop; I did not give it to the tall man; I believe I put it on the floor when I went out into the back yard—I will swear the tall man had not got the stick when we went into the shop; we went in nearly all together; if the tall man went in first he would be about an inch before me—I went in second; the third man came last; he just stepped in, and bolted the door behind him; it was a wide door, and as it opened we stepped in very well simultaneously together—a cabman was not exactly in the robbery, but he was there to take us away—he did not exactly know what we were going for; he thought we were going to take some property to sell—I made a statement, in which I said, "There was no one else in it, except the cabman"—that was true—he had pulled up just as we were going in, and he was waiting outside—I don't know the cabman's name—the tall man went to pick him him up, and after that I saw the cabman coming along the road—I did not take any notice of the horse or cab—the cabman lives somewhere in Lewisham, but I don't exactly know where—I don't know where the Tottenham Court Road is; I know somebody who lives there, but I have never been there myself, and do not know where it is, or where Charlotte Street is—my friend, living in that neighbourhood, that I wrote to used to

come from Lewisham, and has moved to Whitneld Street—it is his young woman, her name is Lizzie; she has no other name that I know of—I can give you no information about the cabman—I cannot give you the names of the men who were with me—I promised them (they were very good to me) that if I had the misfortune, I would go down—the tall man's nick-name was Scottie—I don't know the men's right names, I swear—I don't swear I don't remember the names; I do know the names; I will not give them—they are not the prisoners—I have been convicted several times, beginning my criminal career in January, 1885, when I was sentenced to twenty-one days, and four years in a reformatory, for stealing boots—I was convicted on January 6th, 1889, being found on enclosed premises, and charged with being there for the purpose of committing a felony, and sentenced to two months' hard labour—I was sentenced on August 7th, 1889, at Greenwich Police-court, to five months hard labour for stealing spoons; on November 27th, 1891, at the same Police-court, to two consecutive terms of six months each—up to that time I had gone in the name of Walter Thomas—I was sentenced to three years' penal servitude on May 16th, 1893, at the South London Sessions, for breaking and entering a counting-house at Brockley Railway Station—in August, 1895, I was released on licence—in January, 1896, I was at Lewisham and I was sentenced herein February—twenty-six is my right age—I had a revolver on this night—the tall man had not got a revolver. I swear it, nor had the short man—I had the only revolver—I carried the stick, the revolver, and the Jemmy—I carried the jemmy in my waistcoat pocket, the revolver was in my hand when I entered the shop; I had it in my hand, in my pocket, before the door was opened—I did not strike the blows—I believe the tall man struck the blows on the man's head—I did not hear the old woman screaming in the garden; she was in the garden before I was, and standing against the fence when I got there—I ran after her with the object of stopping her, but she reached the garden before I got there—I brought her back—I did not throw her; I placed her on the ground—I placed a revolver to her head to frighten her; it was not loaded, and the trigger was broken, it was only an old thing; I could riot have fired it—it was broken before that night; it was a rusty black one—I said I would shoot her, but only to frighten her—I said to her, "One word," and she promised to be quiet—I threw the revolver in the first garden I came to after I fell down, and the watch and chain I placed in the third, I think—I placed the jemmy on the table when I wanted to pick up the woman, and when I got to the door I found I had not got it, and ran back and got it—in running away I fell, and when I came to I placed the jemmy in the gutter, and then struggled into the garden, and placed the revolver in the first garden—neither of my companions was armed on this night; when I went after the woman I dropped the stick in the shop—the other men carried several things, a screw-driver, brace, and bits—I carried the only jemmy—the tall man carried the brace and bits—the tall man did not carry the stick, the third man had no jemmy—I know a draper's shop opposite No. 97—we came from the Bromley end, coming into Catford, and came up to the door of 97—one of my companions stopped at the public-house with the tools on him—they joined me just before we went into Evans's shop—I was standing there twenty minutes or half an hour—I know the obelisk—I had not

been near there that night with my two companions about two minutes to nine—I did not go up as far as that—I was waiting not quite half an hour in front of the premises, waiting for them to shut up, and reading the paper—I saw the assistant leave—I knew that Evans went out habitually about nine, and that after that his mother would be left alone on the premises—the robbery was planned in Lewisham; it was suggested to me some two months before to do it in this way, but I suggested that the better way would be to break in; but I said I did not want to break in, and said the two men should go, and they did go to break in before this—I don't think I could say where it was planned two months before—I was not watching the premises, and going up and down this road on the day before we went into the house—I had not been in the High Street, Lewisham, between Christmas Eve and January 31st—we had looked at the premises two months before.

Re-examined. The two men who went before to break in, two months before, are the two men who went with me—as far as I know, they waited two months, and then we all went together; they were the same two men I swear.

By the COURT. This is not the jemmy I had in my waistcoat pocket; if it is, it has been altered; this is rounded—this has been newly made, and is nearly new, and no good at all to a housebreaker—I said I would not disclose the names of the friends who behaved so well to me—when the alarm came at the front door they got in the cab and left me in the lurch—I have not seen them since, or heard from them—I should say, if they are not in America, they are somewhere that way—they might be in Philadelphia—I have no particular reason to suppose they are there, only I knowit is a place they have bwn to before—we went into the house with our masks on; they were on before Mr. and Mrs. Evans came—the masks were not pulled down in the house—I carried my mask away with me; I don't know what became of the others—I saw the other two men go out of the house; I cannot say if they went out with their masks on—I believe the men did throw the masks down when they got into the shop—I threw mine away in Boston Mews—there were only three of us in the house, and only three masks—I don't believe Mrs. Evans picked up three; I know what I carried away—she told a lie if she said she picked up three, because I carried mine away—I attribute her error to a wilful lie—the three masks were made out of a stocking.


WATTS was further charged with having been previously convicted in February, 1886, to which he


HALL also PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction in January, 1893; and several other convictions were proved against each.

Fifteen Years' Ptnal Servitude each .

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-470
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude; Imprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

470. WILLIAM DONNELLY (24), JOHN NEVILLE (24), and HENRY SULLIVAN (30) , Bobbery with violence on George Gale, and stealing a watch, his properby.

MR. ABRAM Prosecuted.

GEORGE GALE . I am a labourer, living at Marlborough Street, East Greenwich—about 11.15 p.m. on Good Friday, April 3rd, I went into a public urinal at King. Street, East Greenwich—I was sober—no one was

in the urinal—as soon as I got inside, I was pinned behind by more than one man, and I was confronted by Neville and Donnelly; Neville snatched my watch, and broke its swivel—Donnelly snatched at the albert; I struggled hard and saved my albert—I have not seen it—the men went away—I went into the road and holloaed "Police!" as loud as I could—a lad came up, and asked what was the matter—I gave information to the police—next morning I went to the station, and picked out Donnelly and Neville from about sixteen others—I could not see either of the men who held me behind.

Cross-examined by Neville. I was coming from a friend's house, 400 or 500 yards away—I was perfectly sober—before I went into the urinal I saw some men round a whelk-stall—I did not recognise you among them—some onecame up behind me, and pinned me by the arms as I went in, as well as you and Donnelly, who came in at the other entrance, and confronted me—no one struck me—my arms hurt me for three or four days afterwards—you all made away towards the waterside, past the hospital, when I called "Police"—I saw you at the station—I went to the Police-station at 11.30 or 11.45 that night—I never saw you before you confronted me in the urinal—I recognised you instantly the next morning—I touched you first and Donnelly afterwards—it takes about four minutes to go from the urinal to the Nelson.

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

Re-exatnined. I was not hurt when I was pinned.

HENRY THEW . I am a labourer, of Marlborough Street, East Greenwich—on April 3rd, between 11.20 and 11.30, I was in King William Street: I went to a whelk-stall to get change, and there I saw the three prisoners, and another man pretending to be drunk, and eating whelks—I had a good look at them; I saw they were not drunk, only pretending—I saw Mr. Gale go into the urinal, and the three prisoners and the other man followed him, Donnelly and Neville going in one way, and Sullivan and the other man the other—I went to the urinal, and just as I got in I heard Gale holloaing out, and all the four men ran away—I picked out Donnelly and Neville the next day at the station, and Sullivan I picked out three or four weeks afterwards—I was about three minutes with them at the whelk-stall, because I had to wait and see if the man had change; he had not got it—I only went into the urinal once.

Cross-examined by Neville. It was 11.20 or 11.30—I could recognise the fourth man—you had all gone when the police came—next morning Moore came and said, "I want you to come to the station, to see if you can recognise two prisoners concerning that watch robbery last night"—I saw these men, two going in one way and two the other, after the prosecutor, and just as I got in I heard some one holloaing, and they all ran away except one, who stayed in the corner, and he afterwards ran away.

Cross-examined by Sullivan. I saw you—I am sure I have made no mistake about your identification.

CHARLES HENLEY (196 R). On Good Friday, April 3rd, I was in Trafalgar Street and Romney Road shortly after eleven—I saw the prisoners together; one or two other men were with them—they were going in the direction of King William Street, near the urinal—I did not see them again till they were in custody.

Cross-examined by Neville. I was standing at the top of the street with another constable—it was 11.15—I said before the Magistrate that it was soon after eleven—no one spoke to me—I believe Sullivan spoke to Constable Shine—it would take four or five minutes to walk from where we were to the urinal.

Cross-examined by Sullivan. You said good-night.

WILLIAM MOORE (Detective R). On Saturday morning, April 4th, I arrested Neville in Trafalgar Road, and said I should take him into custody on suspicion of stealing a watch; he said, "What time was the watch stolen?—I said, "I believe between ten and twelve"—he said, "You cannot f——well take me for no watch"—he caught me by the collar, tore my tie and shirt, and threw my tie and collar into the road—I eventually overpowered him, and, with assistance, took him to the station—he was violent—I subsequently took Donnelly—I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned with Neville, in custody—he said, "All right, Charley, I will go with you"—at the station he said, "I am innocent of this"—when Neville was charged he said, "All right"—I took Sullivan on April 24th at Wandsworth Prison on suspicion of being concerned with Donnelly and Neville in custody, and others not in custody, in stealing a watch on Good Friday night—he said, "I heard you were coming for me; who put me away? Is Neville on remand?"—at the Police-station he was placed with others and picked out by Thew—the constable also recognised him—on the 13th, in the precincts of the Police-court, Donnelly said to me, "Look here, Charley, I am innocent of this; I don't know anything about it; I will tell you the four; that is Neville, Rainbow (Sullivan), Bluff and Cooper."

Cross-examined by Donnelly. While I was talking to Neville his hat blew off, and you picked it up and met me with it, and said, "Take this to Neville," and I said I was going to take you as well.

Cross-examined by Neville. You were standing at the top of East Street with other men—you asked me for a penny, I might have laughed—you spoke to me first—I took you on suspicion.

Cross-examined by Sullivan. You were arrested on April 24th, and committed on May 13th—you asked for two or three remands.

The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: Donnelly said that he was indoors just before eleven, and ttiat Mr. Turner, his landlord, shut up the place at eleven, as it was Good Friday, and that he fell asleep and did not go out till 6.45. Neville said that he left a public-house at closing time, and met Sullivan, and they said "Good-night" to a constable, and that he left Sullivan and went to bed. Sullivan said that at 11.10 he saw the two constables at the top of East Street, and that he went straight home with Neville.

Donnelly called

ALFRED TURNER . I am a beer-house and lodging-house keeper—I live at the Princess Alice beer-house, about 500 yards from this urinal—you have lodged with me for six months—on Good Friday night you came in about two minutes to eleven—you had a glass of ale, and went to bed about 11.10—I left you in the kitchen—there was nothing to prevent you going out if you wanted to, and shutting the door after you—you could not get in again without going round the back way and over some walls—I did not see you on the Saturday morning—you occupy a room with sir

others—I cannot say whether you slept in my house that night—I did not see you for nearly three weeks afterwards, when I went to give evidence—I know nothing about you after eleven that night.

Sullivan called

MARGARET CARR . I am married—I am your sister—I saw you talking to a policeman at 11.10 on this night—I said to you, when you left him, "Why don't you get away home? Be ready to be at the Police-court in the morning; you are on bail"—I got my hat and shawl, and went home with you; my door is not far from where you were standing—I was not five minutes getting my hat and shawl—there was only the college between us and the whelk-stall and urinal.

Donnelly, in his defence, asserted his innocence. Neville said that Donnelly was innocent. Sullivan said that his sister had seen him home.


DONNELLY then PLEADED GUILTY** toa conviction of felony in May, 1888; NEVILLE**† to one in January, 1895; and SULLIVAN** to one in February, 1893.

The prisoners were stated to be dangerous men, who did no work, and were a terror to the neighbourhood. NEVILLE and SULLIVAN— Five Years' Penal Servitude each . DONNELLY— Twelve Months' Hard Labour .

The COURT considered that Thew had behaved extremely well, and rendered important service to the public, and awarded him £2.


Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-471
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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471. JOHN PARKER (29) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of John Joseph Webb, and btealing a box of cigars, his property.

MR. PKOBYN Prosecuted.

ISRAEL BEDFORD (Detective W). On April 20th, about 12 p.m., I was in Claphain Road, and saw the prisoner go Iroui the side entrance of No. 263, a tobacconist's shop—I heard glasa break, and he turned away—I stopped him, and said, "What have you been doing?" he said, "Nothing"—I searched him, and found this box of cigars in front of his trousers; I asked where he got them; he said, "A man I don't know gave them to me"—I took him back, and found the window broken—he made no reply to the charge.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. A man crossed the road, but I did not see him come and speak to you; that was fifty, sixty, or perhaps 100 yards from the spot, not 300 or 400 yards.

Re-examined. There was no other man there when the window was broken.

JOHN JOSEPH WEBB . I am a tobacconist, of 87, Claphain Rise—on April 20th, at 12 p.m., I was out for a walk, and a constable called my attention to my window being broken—I missed this box of cigars, which were safe a short time previously, and tlie window was intact.

SAMUEL SANDERS (Police Sergeant). On April 20th I found a square of glass had been taken out of the window of 363, Clapham Road—I found this plaster (produced), which is used for breaking windows without making a noise.

Prisoner's Defence: I was 300 or 400 yards from the place where he took me back to. He felt down me, and said, "What have you got

about you?" I said, "That is the man that gave them to me." He showed his lantern, and there was a window broken. He said to a man who was with him, "Where did that other fellow go?"


He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Clerkenwell, on July 26th 1895, in the name of John Desmond .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour .

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-472
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

Related Material

472. WILLIAM JACKSON (36) , Unlawfully occasioning grievous bodily harm to Stephen Roberts.

MR. HORACE AVORY Prosecuted.

STEPHEN ROBERTS . I live in Kew Road, and am Alderman and J.P. for the Borough of Richmond—I was sitting oa the Bench at Richmond, in January or February this year, when the prisoner was charged with deserting bis wife and family, and leaving them chargeable to the parish—he was ultimately discharged on payment of £3 to the Guardians—Mr. Bladry is one of my colleagues—on April 17th, between six and seven p.m., I was in Kew Road, and just before reaching Michael's Road I received a violent blow behind my left ear—I saw no one—I remember no more; I do not even remember falling—I found myself in a butcher's shop—I was attended to by a medical man, and was unable to attend before the Magistrate till last Monday—I was totally incapable, and could not even sit up in bed—the doctor is still attending me.

LEONARD CAVANAGH . I am potman at the Shaftesbury Arms, Kew—on April 17th I saw Mr. Roberts in Kew Road, and the prisoner walking two or three paces behind him, and strike him with his fist at the back of his neck, which knocked him down in the road on his right side—the prisoner walked away as last as he could up Mitchell's Road—on the following Saturday I picked him out from a number of others at the Police-station.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I was about six yards from you when you struck the blow—I have not said that you struck him on the back of his head, or on the top of his head—I did not give a different account at the Police-court each time—I am sure you are the man.

WILLIAM LANGSTON . I am a carman, of Michael's Road, Richmond—on April 17th, about 6.30 or 6.45, I saw Alderman Roberts passing a greengrocer's shop in Kew Road—I was about a yard and a-half in front of him when I heard a blow, and, before I could look round, the prisoner rushed past me, and brushed against me—I said, "Where are you coming to?" and looked at his face—I found the Alderman insensible—I knew the prisoner before by sight, and saw him next on the Monday morning at the Police-court.

WILLIAM HENRY LANGTON . I am a bookmaker, of Richmond—on Friday, April 17th, about 6.45, I saw a man come hurriedly up and ask a man to let him come into his yard, and afterwards he asked the man to come and have a drink—he said, "No"—on the next Saturday I picked the prisoner out from seventeen or eighteen others—the man came out of Kew Road, through Mitchell's Road.

Cross-examined. I did not see you assault Alderman Roberts, or you would not have got so far as you did; I should have been on your track.

FRANCIS WINCHCOMBE (Police Inspector). On April 17th, at eight p.m., I saw Alderman Roberts at his house—in consequence of what I

heard, a detoctivoand I made inquiries, and ou the Saturday following I went to Murtlake, and at three o'clock the prisoner was brought to me in custody—I paid, "Well, Jackson, I am going to charge you with knocking Alderman Roberts down in the Kew Road last night"—he said, "All right Mr. Winchcombe; it is a pity old Bladry was not there, too; I am very fond of both of them"—he was identified at the station, and made no reply.

THOMAS HAWKINS (Detective Sergeant V). On April 18th I went in search of the prisoner, and found him outside the Wheatsheaf, Sheen Lane, about three p.m.—I told him he would be arrested for assaulting Alderman Roberts in Kew Road last night—he said, "All right; I will go with you"—I handed him over to Winchcombe on the way to the station, he said, "It is a pity old Bladry was not there; I am very fond of them both"—previous to that he said, "I may as well be there as anywhere else, as things are now."

Cross-examined. Inspector Winchcombe and I did not say that it was a pity Mr. Bladry was not there—while you were waiting for identification a man was inside, very drunk, and smoking a clay pipe; he said, "I am a detective, I can soon find him"—I turned him out of the station.

Re-examined. The prisoner was brought up four times, waiting for Mr. Roberts to attend—he never suggested that he wanted anybody called.

RALPH WILLIAM WILSON , M.D. I practise at Richmond—on April 17th I was called to attend Mr. Roberts—he had considerable swelling and bruises, chiefly on the right side, but the chief one was behind his left jaw—the mucous membrane of his throat was echymosed, which oozed out, and caused a great deal of nausea—those might be the effects of a blow—the injury to the right side of his face might be caused by a fall—he was rather confused, his pupils were dilated, and he was almost pulseless—he was in a state of slight concussion of the brain—I am still attending him—the hœmorrhage is still going on; that is evidence of severe injury, but, from a doctor's point of view, the chief injury was in the brain from the shock—it is a dangerous place to strike a man—if there had been fracture of the base of the skull, it might have been fatal—knocking him down in that way might have produced instant death.

The prisoner produced two letters, stating that he did not know what he was doing, and had no animosity to Mr. Roberta, who liad often assisted his father in the winter; that he had never been in trouble except when under the influence of drink, and that it might be a case of mistaken identity.

Prisoner's Defence: I can only say I had no animosity against Alderman Roberts. No one saw me do it.

GUILTY .—He had been convicted in January, 1894, of assaulting the police in the execution of their duty.— Six Months' Hard Labour .

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-473
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour; Imprisonment > hard labour; Corporal > whipping

Related Material

473. JOHN NOLAN (23) and JOHN WHEELER (20) , Robbery with violence on William Baxter, and stealing a watch and chain and a pencil-case, his property.

MR. KENT Prosecuted.

WILLIAM BAXTER . I live at 285, Kensington Road, and am of no occupation—on May oth, about 8.30, I was in Kennington Lane, going home—there was a rush behind me, and I was in considerable pain, as

if I was pressed in a vice—I was thrown to the ground, and could not speak—two men picked me up, and I missed my watch—I saw one man running away—I went to the station and made a report—I have not got over the pain in my arm yet.

MAUD FREEMAN . I am thirteen years old—I go to school—on Tuesday night, May 5th, I was in Lower Kennington Lane, minding a baby—Mr. Baxter was walking along the street, two men touched him on his neck, and he fell; and I saw them run down the street—Nolan was carrying a chain—I do not know who the other man was, but I knew Nolan before by sight; I have seen him standing in our street—the other man was taller.


I will PLEAD GUILTY to the robbery.

ALBERT BABTLETT . I live at 140, Lower Kennington Lane—on May 5th, at 8.30 p.m., I was at the top of Mark Street, and saw the prisoners very near the King's Arms public-house; I knew them both by sight before—Nolan went up behind Mr. Baxter, and Wheeler followed him, but Wheeler did not touch Mr. Baxter; he was about two yards from him—the prisoners were together—two men came and picked Mr. Baxter up.

Cross-examined by Wheeler. I did not pick you out at the Police-court because I was frightened—I picked out one man, and it turned out not to be Nolan.

FREDERICK COLLINS (260 L). On May 5th I received information of this robbery, and at 8.25 I was off duty in Kennington Lane, and saw the two prisoners, with three others, outside the King's Arms, looking through the glass door—I knew all five of them well—three days afterwards I saw the prisoners and another man in Kennington Park Road, and said to Nolan, "I shall take you in custody for stealing a gold watch and chain from a gentleman on Tuesday night"—he said, "I reckon you won't,", and struck me—I threatened to strike him with a stick, overpowered him, and took him to the station—he said he knew nothing about it; he could prove where he was—on the way to the cells he said, "I look like going through it for this; I was there, and witnessed the robbery, but I had nothing to do with it. I did not have a drink of beer out of it. Why don't you arrest Mead?"—that is Wheeler.

CHARLES KEY (277 L). I arrested Nolan—Wheeler was there, but he ran away—on the following morning I arrested him, and told him I should take him in custody for a violent assault and robbery—he said, "Don't tell my mother; I suppose the dirty b——has shot me; I can prove where I was last Tuesday night."

Cross-examined by Wheeler. I did not arrest you for being a deserter.

EDGAR WILSON . I am a waiter, of 45, Hercules Road, Lambeth—I have known the prisoners two or three months—I spoke to them for about a month, and they said they were going over the water—on the evening of May 5th I saw them in White Hart Street, and turned round and saw a gentleman lying in the road, and a gentleman picked him up.

Nolan's defence. I saw a man take the watch.

Wheeler's defence. I left the other prisoner three or four minutes before the robbery occurred.


Nolan then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Lambeth Police-court, on October 21st, 1895, in the name of John Moon. Seven other convictions were proved against him, in one of which Wheeler

was convicted with him, and the police stated that tradesmen were afraid to appear against them in consequence of the violence of their gang. NOLAN— Twelve Months' Hard labour. WHEELER— Nine Months' Hard Labour, and each to receive Twenty Strokes with the Cat .

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-474
VerdictGuilty > lesser offence
SentenceMiscellaneous > sureties

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474. JAMES McSWEENEY, Feloniously wounding Barbara McSweeney with intent to do her grievous bodily harm.

MR. SANDS Prosecuted.

BARBARA MCSWEENEY . I am the prisoner's wife—we have been parted four months—on Saturday, May 9th, I saw him in Great Church Street wheeling his barrow; I went up and had a row with him—I struck him; he had an orange in his hand, and the knife struck against me—they took me to a doctor—I am quite well now—he has never struck me in his life before.

DAVID JAMES BELLRINGER . I live at 93, Church Street, Kennington—I saw the wife rowing the husband; she was walking by his side nagging at him—he said, "I will stab you," and picked up the knife—I was four or five yards from her—he held the barrow with his left Land, and picked up tie knife from the barrow with his right, and stabbed her—he was not eating an oiange; it all happened in a minute.

HERBERT MAYALL (774 City). On May 9th, about 5.30 p.m., the prosecutrix spoke to me—the prisoner was about fifty yards off—I said that I should take him for stabbing a woman in the breast—he said that he thought it would come to that; she had been annoying him all day to get drink—on the way to the station he said he had a knife in his hand, and was eating an orange, and gave her a push, and it was an accident.

ALFRED. WITHERS GREEK , M.E.C.S. The prosecutrix was brought to me in the infirmary on Saturday evening, with a wound on her left breast about an inch deep and two and a-half inches long—it could be inflicted with this knife—if he had it in his hand and said, "Get away," that might do it—I have seen her from day to day; she is out of all danger now—she was sober.

The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate:—"I can only say it was an accident, it was done in the souffle."

GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. He received a good character, and the Police stated that the prosecutrix wan a continual annoyance, and had thrown something in the prisoner's face a few days before.— Discharged on his own Recognisances .

Before Mr. Common Sergeant.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-475
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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475. WATSON COWDRAY (25) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully obtaining money and goods by false pretences with intent to defraud.— Seven Months' Hard Labour .

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-476
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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476. JAMES MURPHY (19) , to unlawfully uttering a counterfeit half-crown**†.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-477
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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477. WILLIAM DEED (19) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas Marchant and stealing hair brushes and other articles; also** to a conviction of felony in April, 1895.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]. And

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-478
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty

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478. MARY COLSON (26) , to marrying Alfred Henry Willis during the life of her husband.— One Day . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-479
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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479. JOHN MOCKFORD (25) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas Tucker, with intent to steal therein.

MR. MACMAHON Prosecuted.

JAMES SNOW . I am manager of the Two Breweries public-house, High Street, Wandsworth, belonging to Thomas Tucker—he has a sleeping-room there, but does not often sleep there—at 1.40 on May 11th I went to bed—at two I heard a noise downstairs, and went all over the place (including the bar and kitchen) except the tap-room—everything was right—I went to bed again—at 3.30 I was called by one of my servants, and dressed and went downstairs, and gave the servants a whistle to blow outside for the police—I saw the prisoner lying pn the floor of the kitchen—he partly roused himself up, and said, "Where am I?"—I said "You are all right, don't disturb yourself"—the window that gives access into the tap-room and the kitchen window were both down as far as they could be, and the shutters of the kitchen window were open—I did not miss anything—two keys of the house were lying outside.

KATE SILLERS . I am a servant at the Two Breweries—on the night of May 11th I went to bed at 9.55—I left the kitchen window bolted with the bar across—the barmaid afterwards came and spoke to me, and we went and called the manager, and then stopped on the stairs for a time, and then blew a whistle outside—when I got downstairs I saw the prisoner standing up.

WALTER ORFORD (243 V). On the night of May 11th I was called to the Two Breweries—I found the prisoner lying on the floor with the manager standing over him—I said, "What are you doing here?"—the prisoner said, "I don't know; I have been sleeping"—he was sober—he did not appear to have been drinking.

FREDERICK CHURCHER (Inspector VR). I was called to the Two Breweries, where I found the prisoner detained—I found entry had been effected by climbing over a wall in the St. Anne's Road and forcing the clutches of the tap-room and kitchen windows, and pushing open the shutters of the kitchen window—marks on the inside door of the tap-room correspond with this sardine opener—the prisoner appeared to be sober.

JAMES SNOW (Re-examined). This knife does not belong to the premises—the prisoner was not asleep when I came down; directly I walked into the room, and he saw me armed with a poker, he kept his position—he was lying down, but his eyes were wide open.

The Prisoner, in a written defence, stated that he had been drinking heavily, and recollected nothing about it.


He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in November, 1894. A constable stated that the prisoner's parents lived in dread if him: and that he was a violent man when drunk.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.

Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-480
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

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480. ALICE ST. JOHN (45) was indicted for, and charged, on the Coroner's inquisition, with the wilful murder of Frederick Charles St. John.


Alexander Clyde, Police Sergeant V, produced and proved a plan of the premises in question.

THOMAS PRESTON . I live at 10, Stanmore Street, Battersea; I am the

landlord of the house—Mr. St. John and the prisoner occupied two rooms on the first floor for about eight years, a front parlour and a bedroom behind, with a door between the two rooms—the deceased gave way to drink periodically all the time he was with us—his allowance was paid quarterly, and that was the time when he gave way to drink—I don't know his age; he was of medium height, a little taller than myself—when he drank the prisoner also drank, never at any other time—when not in drink they lived very happily, on most affectionate terms—when in drink he used to quarrel with her very often—on Easter Sunday, April 7th, she called me up about a quarter to one in the morning—she said, "Mr. Prtston, will you please to come upstairs? my husband is very violent"—I went up into the bedroom—Mr. St. John was out of bed, standing on the hearthrug in his flannel shirt, nothing else—he was drunk; she was sober—she said, "He wants me to give him some whisky; I have already given him some; he has had sufficient"—I tried to persuade him from having any more drink, to have something to eat, and to calm himself upon which he ordered me out of the room, and I went—that was the last time I saw him alive—prior to Easter Sunday he had been drinking for some little time; this last time it was about three weeks continuously—the prisoner had been drinking occasionally, not continuously, but at different times—on Wednesday evening, April 8th, about a quarter to nine, she came into our bedroom (my wife was there); she had been drinking—she ordered supper, a saveloy and peaspudding, for herself and her husband, and retired to her room—our bedroom adjoins their parlour—about a quarter to eleven I heard Mr. St. John calling in his usual tone for "Alice" (that was his wife) three or four times; then there was a sound as of a clapping of hands—that was all I heard; then he was silent—our servant was in our room at the time; she left the room, and I and my wife went to bed—I heard no sound during the night; I am a very sound sleeper, and so is my wife—about a quarter to six in the morning Mrs. St. John knocked at our door three or four times before she could rouse me—I opened the door, and she came into the room; she had on only an ulster, and she said, "Mr. Preston, Teddys dead; do come in with me, and look at him"—I went into the room with her and saw Mr. St. John on the bed, with his flannel shirt on, no other covering; I could see his body and legs—I merely put my hand on his wrist, to satisiy myself that he was dead; he was perfectly cold, as cold as ice; I had not the slightest doubt that he was dead—the room was verv dark; I could not see very plainly—his face was very much swollen—I did not see his bare throat—the prisoner was dreadfully agitated—she wished her husband back again; she wished he was alive—I advised her to send for a doctor, and she went and directly afterwards returned with Dr. William Kempster—I went into the room with him—the body had not been disturbed at all; it lay exactly as I had seen it—I stopped with the doctor a bit; I then left—he called me back, to witness his locking the door when he left the room, and it remained locked until Dr. Felix Kempster came at three o'clock; nothing was moved—there was a chest of drawers in the bedroom—nothing was said to me about that at the time—I went out and returned about half-past one—I saw the prisoner then; she was weeping very much, and was very distressed in her mind—she had something to drink in the morning, no doubt; I did not see her have any

she was lamenting the less of her husband—I know her handwriting—this envelope and letter are undoubtedly her writing; I received it by post it is dated April 11th, 1896. (Read: H.M. Prison, Holloway. dear Mr. Preston,—Will either you or Mr. Wheatman come here to see me, as I could then explain what I want done. There will be some money required, and I want poor Teddie's brother to know, as he must defend this case for me, as well as the solicitor who has taken my case up for me here. You know very well that it was not my fault that poof Teddie died; he fell against the chest of drawers, which caused his death. They are kind to me here.")

Cross-examined. The deceased was always very violent when in drink—he was a perfect brute when in liquor—I have seen his wife with black eyes on many occasions—I have heard scufflings and sounds of blows on different occasions—I never saw the prisoner out of temper in my life—she was a very quiet wife—when in drink he was in the habit of falling about a good bit; on Easter Sunday, when I went up to his room, he was standing on the hearthrug in his shirt—he was hardly standing, from drunkenness—I did not consider the clapping of hands anything unusual; I have heard it before on several occasions; I had not heard him call for Alise on those occasions; I could not understand what the clapping of hands meant; I thought perhaps it was a habit he had; of course, I could not tell which did it—she has done it to my children sometimes—I never heard one unkind word or action from her to him—the grief she manifested was undoubtedly genuine—there was no window to the bed-room, the only light was from the front room—they used a lamp and candles also—I did not notice where the lamp was when I was called in that morning.

Re-examined. She would sometimes clap her hands to emphasis anything she wanted done, if it was not done immediately—their door was always boiled inside, and our door was always locked.

CATHERENE PRESTON . Mr. and Mrs. St. John lived with us seme years—he drank, and he forced her to drink at times—when they were not drinking they lived very happily together—she was Very devoted to him—they drank whisky mostly—they sent out for one bottle at a time, and when it was gone they would fetch another—I have known three bottle fetched in a day—he used to get his money once a quarter, and this he would pay his rentin advance, and then drink—the last time he went out of the house was the Sunday before Easter Sunday, the Sunday before he died—he was drinking for some time before he died—on Wednesday the 8th, I saw Mrs. St. John in our room about 8 or 8.30; she had some supper, and seemed a little muddled, but I was too ill to notice much—I was dressed, and going about the room—my mother was there—Mrs. St. John came to me about the supper, and then left the room, and I saw nothing more of her that night—I usually go to bed about eleven—as I was going to bed my husband was in the room, and the servant, Charlotte Taylor, and I heard a noise like slapping or slapping—I heard no name called out; I am very deaf at times—we went to bed after that, and next morning, about 5.45, the prisoner came to our bedroom door, and spoke to my husband, and said, "Ted is dead," and asked him to go and see—I did not go into the room—I did not see the prisoner about the house, but she was in my bedroom next day—she was crying, and was in hysterics, calling, "Teddy,.come back"

—she asked me for a little whisky; I said that she must not have it, and gave her some tea—I told her that whisky had killed her husband—she went out for a few moments after the tea—on Easter Sunday she showed me a letter which she had written to her brother-in-law—it was in her own writing, and she told me she had shown it to Mr. St. John—she brought it down to me, and took it away again—I have not got a copy of it—it began, "Dear Edwin"—in it she said, "He is lying in bed drunk; I will live with him no longer"—she showed it to my niece, Alice Preston—she took it upstairs.

Cross-examined. I have heard this clapping of hands on other occasions, and have heard her call out to him, "Don't drink"—when I heard the clapping that night I thought nothing of it—when he was in drink he was very violent; he was like a madman, very noisy—he was a shocking brute—the prisoner showed me her arms some time ago, and from the top to the bottom was one mass of bruises—she said he had beaten her with his stick because she would not supply him with drink—I have seen him pull her in from the landing, and slam the door, when she has called me up, but I did not see him strike her—he did that in a very violent manner—I have seen her with many black eyes, and always when the drink was going on—she always behaved very well to him; she was afraid to say anything—she always tried to screen him—I remember his attacking my daughter-in-law, and she begged of me not to take any proceedings against him; she was doing his room up, and he said he would murder her—she was leaning down, and speaking about her husband; she was about to be married—I said I would summon him for the assault, but she begged her not to take any proceedings—when I heard the deceased call out, "Alice," he was drunk; we were so used to it, he was so drunk—it was followed by a groan, "Alice," and then "errrrr"—when he was in drink, his face has always been very swollen—he had some gathering in his ears, and he told me he could not hear—that lasted a few weeks—on the day after he died the prisoner was with me the greater part of the day—she was very much distressed—I told her to go to sleep, and gave her some tea—I thought it was genuine distress; I thought he had died from drink—her mouth was very dark and dry all round the lips, as if it had been bleeding underneath; it was a little way down from her bottom lip—she was lying on the bed most of the time—the mark was dark, and yery dry and thick; it looked like dry blood, and my nephew made the same remark—I saw her in the morning of the previous day, and did not notice it then—they had a cat called "Boddle," which was like a child, and used to sleep in bed with them, and they used to nurse it all day—it had a diseased head, which breaks out and bleeds; it is bad at the present time; it never gets well—the inspector brought the cat in the afternoon to pacify her; she used to cuddle it up like a baby—the cat's head would be on her arm.

Re-examined. I have never mentioned this dry mark on her mouth before; I was not asked the question; it was just like dried blood—her lips were discoloured and rather swollen—she could not get any drink in the course of that day—she went out on the 26th, but I did not notice anything particular when she came back.

CHARLOTTE MORRIS TAYLOR . I am a servant employed by Mr.

Preston—I have been there twelve months, up to Mr. St. John's death—at intervals they both drank very much-about a week before Mr. St. John's death, one week-day, I received an order from bim about some drink, and said, "Mrs. Preston has given me orders not to fetch any"—he said, "Tell Mrs. Preston to mind her own business; I know what to take"—on the evening before he died I bought two shillingsworth of gin—Mrs. St. John told me to get it, and I bought it and gave it to her, and she went into her own room—that was after I had told him about her orders—I saw her later that evening, when she came to Mrs. Preston's supper—I slept on that floor—there is a kind of half landing at the back of the house—on this night, about eleven o'clock, I was coming out of my bedroom, and heard Mr. St. John calling "Alice" three or four times, and something which sounded like the clapping of hands—I heard no more sound that night coming from that room—about 5.45 next morning the prisoner came up to my bedroom and said, "Will you knock at Mr. Preston's door, as my husband is dead?"—she had no bodice on—she had a blanket over her shoulders, and a skirt on—she was very much upset—when I got to Mr. Preston's door they were opening it—the prisoner asked me to go and see her husband. and to go and speak to a doctor—she said, "Whatever shall I do? There is no one to help me"—I came back to the house with the doctor—she made no statement.

Cross-examined. I once saw the prisoner with black eyes two years ago, and her nose was slightly damaged—a few days before the death the prisoner came to my bedroom at five a.m., and asked me to go out and get some drink; I said that it was too early, and she went back to her husband's room—I heard him say, "Go and ask her again"—she said, "It is too early; the girl cannot go. For God's sake don't go into the girl's bedroom; you shall have the drink later in the day"—when I took the supper in on the Sunday night the prisoner was in a good temper—I had never heard the clapping of hands before—after that I heard the calling "Alice."

ALICE MAUD PRESTON . I am the daughter-in-law of Mr. and Mrs. Preston, and the wife of Thomas Preston—I was at the house on this night, and left between 11 and 11.30—about eleven I heard some sounds coming from the St. Johns' bedroom, such as I always used to hear; it reminded me of a dog, and there was a clapping of hands—he always made that whining noise when he was drunk—he said, "Alice, Alice, if you will give me a drop more drink I will be quiet, and go to sleep"—I heard the clapping both before and after that—he asked for drink, and then he whined—I then went away for the night.

Cross-examined. I remember the deceased asking me for the key of the glass house—that is a kind of conservatory, but it is my bedroom when I sleep there—they had two cats, one named Boddles and the other Betty, and one morning the key was missing, and Mr. St. John shut the door after me and accused me of having the key—I said, "No," and he used filthy language to me, and threatened to kill me and my future husband, too, and took me by my throat and threw me on the bed, and said, "I will murder you, you b—and your husband, too"—Mr. and Mrs. Preston wanted me to prosecute him for assault, but he came and apologised next morning—I saw the prisoner the day after her husband's death; her mouth was very black, as if it was bruised.

Re-examined. I asked to speak about that at, the inquest, but they

said that it was unnecessary to go back so long—he was drunk when he threw me on the bed, and sober when he apologised—I said nothing about the mark before.

THOMAS PRESTON, JUNR . Not examined in chief.

Cross-examined. I am the son of the landlord of the house—I saw the prisoner on the day after har husband's death, and saw dry blood on her mouth—I am often at the house—she was in the habit of clapping her hands to the children when she was excited.

GEORGE WHEATLAND . I am a lodger at 10, Stanmore Street—I was sleeping there when Mr. St. John died—I was in my front parlour about eleven o'clock, and heard Mr. St. John call out "Alice"—I heard no other sound—next morning I took a telegram at the prisoner's request; it was returned twice, because there was some inaccuracy in the address; eventually it was sent off to Mr. John, of Tenby.

Cross-examined. I was present when Concannon arrested the prisoner—she had a box, and said, "This is what I took away from him last night"—her mouth was black round the lips, like dry blood.

EDWIN SHOESMITH (18 V). I am the Coroner's officer—I received information on April 9th, about seven a.m., went to Stanmore Street, and found the bedroom door locked—I opened it with a key which I had with me, and found the deceased lying on a bed—his head was very much bruised—I locked the door and went down, and saw the prisoner on the landing—she appeared drunk—she said she found him dead on the bed at five a.m., and called the persons at six—I asked for particulars respecting the death, for the purpose of informing the Coroner; her reply was, "He has drunk two or three bottles of—"and then she altered, and said "a day"—I found she was drunk, and I could get no further information from her—she seemed excited, but, judging from her manner, she was not distressed.

By the COURT. I did not put down in my note that I found her drunk and incoherent—she said that he had been drinking very heavily of late—I did not write that down—I can't say why not—I did not summon her before the Coroner, but she appeared.

WILLIAM COOPER (Police Sergeant V). On April 9th, about 9.30, I went to this bedroom with the inspector, and on the floor, between the bed and the fireplace, I saw this banister brush (produced), and some fibres on the floor, corresponding with those of the brush, and inside the bed and on the mattress—the prisoner was in the house; I asked her where she slept that night; she pointed to a chair in the front sitting room—I locked the door, and kept the key—I went again on Monday, the 13th, and found a piece of fibre sticking to the mattress, with something on it which looked like blood—there were five, six, or seven stains, which looked like blood, on the pillow and bolster case (produced).

Cross-examined. This is the jacket she was wearing at the time she was arrested—I saw a lamp in the front room, and a fender and fireirons—there were no poker or tongs.

By the COURT. I saw a razor handed to Coneannon; these articles have not been submitted to an analyst.

JOHN CONCANNON (Police Inspector V). On the evening of April 9th I went to 10; Stanmore Street, and saw the prisoner; I said, "Alice St. John, I shall arrest you on suspicion of murdering your husband. You are not bound to say anything; if you do it may be used against you"—

she said, "Oh, my goodness! is it by giving him drink?"—I said, "No"—she said nothing more then—I wrote these notes at the time, before I got to the station—she appeared excited—later that evening I went with Dr. Kempster, and examined her hands at the station, and found five scratches on the inside of her left fore-arm, three scratches on the back of her left hand, a slight bruise on her right wrist, and three bruises on her left upper arm; all, I thought, recently done.

By the COURT. I found braises on her—the doctor asked her about the scratches, and I took down what she said—she said, "He gave them to me last night; he bruised me when he held me by his hands; he used to beat me with his walking-stick about the head and legs. My head is all one mass of bruises"—I called Dr. Kempster to examine her hands, and she said, not in answer to any question, "He done them all last night, because I would not give him drink; all night long I have been giving him little drams; I was afraid to give him too much, to make him drunk; if I did not give it to him, he used to knock me about"—I noticed a stain on her bodice, which looked like blood—she said, "That blood on my cuff came from the scratches which he caused last night"—it was a small red stain on her cuff, near the scratches on her hand and wrist—she was charged about one a.m.—she was not charged at once, because I went to make further inquiries before charging her with wilful murder—I had charged her on suspicion only.

Cross-examined. She was only asked one question, but I said, "This looks like blood on your sleeve," and she then gave the explanation—she was put in a cell at one o'clock, and she had a constable and a matron with her—I received the result of the post-mortem by wire from another station, from Shuster, who is in our division—I did not suggest to Dr. Kempster that it was a case of murder, but he said it was a suspicious case—Sergeant Cooper was present after the prisoner's arrest; I think he saw me write down the answers she gave—I did not read them to her.

Re-examined. I first went to the room about 12.30 mid-day on information from Sergeant Shuster—I do not remember her giving me a case of razors.

By the COURT. I believe I saw them afterwards—they were not produced—they might be introduced afterwards, but not at that time; to the best of my belief, I did not see them, but there was something received—George Wheatland is my witness; I did not hear him say, "I saw the prisoner hand a case of razors to Concannon"—something was said by Mrs. Preston about razors, but I did not see them—I did not hear anybody say that the woman put her hand under the table and pulled out a box of razors, and said, "This is what I took from him last night"—she did not do that.

By MR. HEWITT. I did not think it desirable to forget—the blood on the body has not been submitted to an analyst, but it has to the divisional surgeon.

EDWIN WILLIAM JOHN . I am a solicitor, practising at Tenby, in Wales—the deceased was my brother; his name was Frederick Charles John—about sixteen years ago, I think, he added the "Saint" to it—he never had any occupation—at the time of his death he was about thirty-nine years of age—he had an income of about £150 a year, derived from his father's estate; it was a life interest, and ceased with his death—the prisoner was his

wife—they had been married about eleven or twelve years—there were no children of the marriage—they had lived for some years at 10, Stanmore Street—I last saw him alive in November—he seemed quite well then—recently his income was paid quarterly; I sent him the last instalment on March 26th, by cheque—I got an acknowledgment of its receipt—I knew nothing of his death till I got this telegram on the evening of April 9th from the prisoner, "Teddy is dead; Coroner wants to see you"—I came to London—I did not receive a letter from the prisoner at any time in which she said, "Teddy is lying in bed drunk; I will live with him no longer."

Cross-examined. The prisoner was a widow when she married my brother—I do not know if she was in as good a social position as he was—I did not know her before marriage—they have not stayed in my house—the £150 has gone from him; the loss of it is a loss to her; she has nothing.

Re-examined. I used to see him perhaps three times a year, when I came to London—he came to see me—I only went to see him once—he was addicted to drink a good deal—I never knew that he had delirium tremens.

WILLIAM HENRY KEMPSTER . I am a registered medical practitioner, living at the Albert Road, Battersea—I attended on the deceased in August, 1894, and January, 1895; on both of those occasions he was suffering from delirium tremens—I did not see anything of him professionally after February, 1895, till I was called to see him on the morning of April 9th—the prisoner then came and saw me about six—she was in a nervous, agitated condition; her hands and lips were trembling—she smelt strongly of drink, and, in my opinion, was suffering from a state of debauch—her lips were covered with sordes, a brown crust at the meeting of the lips, which is very often found in persons who have been drinking heavily—I looked at them, and saw no sign of dried blood or anything of that kind on them; what I saw was a natural appearance of a person who had been indulging in excessive drink—in consequence of what she said, I went with her to 10, Stanmore Street, and in the back first floor room I saw the deceased lying on the bed—the room was very untidy, but there was no sign of disorder, and no sign of any struggle having taken place—I examined the body about six a.m., or a little after; it was perfectly cold; rigor mortis had set in—I should say he had been dead about six hours—he was lying diagonally across the bed on his back, with his right leg extended, his left leg raised, the upper part of the body on the left side of the pillow; the left arm raised towards the head; the right arm extended on the right side—the head was completely discoloured and pulped, and about twice its natural size—I said to the prisoner, "How do you account for this condition of the deceased's head?"—she aaid, "He has been beating his head about the end of the bedstead the whole night"—I looked at the iron framework of the bedstead—I could find no mark or spot of any kind whatever to show there had been a beating of the head against it—the bed-clothes were off the man, and at the bottom of the bed; he was completely uncovered, except as to his night shirt—I came to the conclusion that only one person had slept in the bed that night—I said, "One person only has slept in this bed last night"—she said, "Yes; I have slept in the arm-chair in the front room"—before I left the house, the

prisoner poured out half a tumbler of whisky, and drank it off neat in the sitting-room—I did not try to prevent her—I thought it very bad for her; but she drank it off before I could interfere—I was three or four yards from her—I did not step forward; it did not occur to me till she had drunk the whisky—I left—I did not go back to the house with my brother at ten o'clock—the next I saw of the body was at the post-mortem, which was made at 5.30 that afternoon, at the Battersea Mortuary—two small lacerated wounds were then found, one behind the ear, and one on the noise; neither of them had bled much—the face and head were frightfully bruised, pulped—the left arm was bruised from shoulder to fingertip—I did not observe any bruises on the right arm; the shirt-sleeve, which I did not turn up, was on it—my brother turned it up—the eyes were congested, and contained blood in the cavity and in the conjunctiva, about a spoonful in each—the nails of the hands were black, and the hands clenched—the tongue was between the teeth, protruding—the right hyoid bone was fractured, on the right side of the neck—it was impossible for that fracture to have been self-inflicted: I came to the conclusion that it had been inflicted by some other person by pressure; there were marks on the outside of the throat, one on one side, and three or four down the other side, corresponding with the thumb and fingers of the hand—the cause of death was asphyxia, or suffocation, arising from strangulation—in my opinion, the fracture of the hyoid could not have been occasioned accidentally by a fall, or anything of that kind, alone; if it had been caused by a fall there would have been other fractures, in all probability'; not of necessity, but generally there would be, because it is a bone well protected by flesh—in my opinion, it was not a possible result of accident—the injuries to the head were not self-inflicted, nor were they this possible result of accident, in my Opinion; in my opinion they were inflicted by some second person—they might have been inflicted with this banister brush—these injuries to the head would have produced insensibility, and that condition preceded the asphyxia by strangulation, in my opinion—after the asphyxia occurred it would be impossible for the deceased to inflict the wounds on his head himself, as the asphyxia killed—my brother, Dr. Felix Kempster, a divisional surgeon of police, made a post-mortem with me, and he afterwards saw the prisoner at the station.

Cross-examined. I did not say anything to the prisoner about an inquest 'being necessary—she called and said, "My husband is dead; come at once"—I and my brother performed the post-mortem under the Coroner's order; we had separate instructions—the deceased's head was swollen to about twice its size—I attributed that entirely to the blows—the lacerations behind the ear and on the nose would not help to cause the swelling; they were not much bigger than a pin's head—I am quite sure that the 'bruising from head to tinger-tips would not be more indicative of falls than blows; there was no abrasion of the skin, it was bruised—there were very small bruises at the knees, no abrasion—there was no abrasion, except the very slight ones on the nose and behind the ear; they were of no moment—the bruises on the knees were above the knee-cap—I should not think them more indicative of falls than blows; they could not have been caused by a fall; they were above the patella; he could not have fallen and caused them by rolling over; they were small, round bruises,

About the size of a finger-tip—he might have caused them by rolling over and hitting the corner of a fender or chest of drawers—in my opinion, all the bruises were caused by his being hit with this broom—continued debauches might have the effect of producing very slow and general paralysis; if he suffered from that, he would be confined to his bed from loss of use in the limbs—if he got out of bed he would be liable to fall about—very frequently, in a chronic drunkard, the small vessels of the face are greatly distended—that would not account for the swelling or pulpingof the head—the superficial vessels about the nose and cheeks might be reddened and swollen, but it would not account for the pulping or swelling to the smallest extent—I had seen him in delirium tremens a little over a year before—the face of a man sodden with drink would bruise more readily, but the deceased was a lean, spare man—it is not easy to confound extravasation of blood with cadaveric lividity; you can tell the difference on section, because, in bruising, you find blood under the bruise—I was qualified in 1891, and have been in practice since then in Batterses, in partnership first with my father, and afterwards with my brother—in my opinion, the hyoid could not be fractured by a fall alone; it is so protected by muscles, and so mobile, that it cannot be fractured without the exercise of great violence, and falling with great violence, or meeting with enorrmous force; accident could not do it unless accompanied by extreme force—in this part of a skeleton, there are perfect hyoid, thyroid, and cricoid and larynx—the hyoid is at the top; it is called the bone of the tongue; it is very slender, and is shaped something like the section of a stirrup—in a dried preparation, you could snap it between your fingers directly—when you applied force it would be pushed on one side in its situation in the body; it is perfectly movable in the live subject—I have heard of Holme's Surgery—the hyoid could not be fractured by a fall on a projecting object unless there was something on the other side to act against it—have never before seen a case of a fracture of a hyoid bone; it is very rare—the fracture of that bone would not itself cause asphyxia; you could have it put right again—if the thumb were in a certain position (not as it was here) the thyroid and cricoid would be likely to be broken, and not the hyoid—the cricoid is cartilege, but breakable—in a case of strangulation, the larynx is usually injured, and not the hyoid, as it is usually affected by pressure on the larynx—there was no sign of compression of, or injury to, the larynx; the bruise was above the larynx—whatever did it must have been done very rapidly, and must have been all over in a minute—it is a difficult spot to get at; it is hidden away in the jaw, and among the muscles; the pressure would more naturally be on the thyroid cartilege beneath—I am certain that the deceased did not die from any other cause than strangulation; I found no other cause—I looked for every other cause—we did the post-morten thoroughly—in such a subject there would be a probability of there being an effusion of serum or blood on the brain; we found a small quantity—we examined the brain very carefully—asphyxia by strangulation means such pressure on the tubes and vessels leading to the chest that life cannot be continued—I attribute that as the cause of death in this case, because of the livid face and projecting tongue and the clenched teeth—those might be symptoms of other forms of death—I did not examine the blood—an unusual fluidity is not a recognised

symptom in oases of strangulation—I have heard of Dr. Husband's book—I did not specially look for fluidity of blood, but, in cutting through the vessels it was noticed as being present—I made no special note of that; I took heed of it—the left base of the lungs was congested, and a frothy, mucous fluid exuded on section—the right side of the heart contained blood; the left was empty—the kidneys were enlarged, the capsule partially adherent; they were healthy but enlarged; there was no pathological condition—all the organs were in a more or less healthy state—the stomagh was congested, the spleen healthy, the bladder full, the liver serotic, such as you would find in a man that drank heavily—his organs were not disordered, except that the kidneys were enlarged, the lungs congested, and the liver serotic—I found no foreign body in the mouth—there was nothing to notice about the lingueal artery, or I should have noticed it; I did not specially examine it—the only marks on the throat were a small mark on the right side, under the jaw, and the whole of the left side was congested and bruised, from the jaw to the collar-home, and right down the arm—that could not have been done by mere pressure of the fingers; it was completely bruised—on the right side the mark was most distinct; it was very narrow, and just under the jaw—such pressure as that could fracture the hyoid bone—a person in a state of frenzy, caused by intoxication, could not break his own hyoid, because directly he pressed sufficiently he would become partially unconscious, and his hands would drop away—if he had pressed enough his fingers would leave bruises—before he became powerless he might effect the injuries—a drunken man, and especially a man suffering from delirium tremens does not feel pain much; he is. very frequently violent, and prone to jump out of window or cut his throat, or it may be to commit murder, but not as a rule—he requires close watching—if he strangled himself he could not afterwards inflict the blows on his head; if he inflicted the blows on his head he would be so insensible that he could not have strangled himself—he might have fallen—sordes is not exuded blood, bat a sort of brown serum round the lips of a person who has drunk heavily the night before; you also get it in cases of typhoid fever—there are no blood conpuscles in sordes—it is difficult for an unscientific witness to distinguish between sordes and a blood crust.

Re-examined. I have never met with the case of a man throttling himself with his own hands—I made a thorough post-mortem, in order to arrive at the cause of death, of all the vital organs—the right cavity of the heart contained blood, the left was empty—all the organs were consistent with and indicative of death by asphyxia by strangulation—the fluidity of blood was consistent with that—I could see no other cause of death—there was no indication that the deceased was suffering from general paralysis—as far as I could see the organs, except where they were diseased by drink, were healthy.

By the COURT. I never met with a case on all fours with this—I have not read a line for the purpose of learning about this case—I have not consulted anybody—this is the first case I have had of the immediate sort—I have had pcactice in medical jurisprudence—it did not occur to me that I should have my experience corroborated by submission to a gentleman of larger experience in cases of tibia kind; my brother and I made

a joint examination—it would have been better if we could have been corroborated by a gentleman of larger experience and knowledge; it would have strengthened our opinion, perhaps.

FELIX KEMPSTER . I am a registered medical practitioner practising in partnership with my brother—I was in partnership with my father—I have been qualified about thirteen years—about ten a.m. on April 9th I went to 10, Stanmore Street, and saw the dead body of the deceased—he had then been dead some eight to ten hours—rigor mortis was well marked—the whole of the face and head were extensively bruised—the bruises had been created within twelve hours or so of the death, approximately, I should say—there were scratches all over the face, more apparent on the right side, owing to the Absence of bruising—there were scratches on the neck—the scratches had been occasioned by finger nails, I should say—the left arm was extensively bruised from shoulder to fingers—on the right arm were bruises, as if from finger marks, about the centre of the biceps, as if it had been grasped by a hand—there was a bruise on the knee-cap—I noticed two brushes beside the bed; one contained ordinary hair, and this is the other—some bristles are missing from it—I saw on the bed, and by the bed, fibre corresponding to that of the brash—I took a solution of some of the stains on the brush; and made a microscopical examination, and detected the presence of blood—I also made a solution of a small clot of blood on one of the fibres handed to me by Sergeant Cooper at the first hearing at the Coroner's Court, and, under the microscope, I saw the red corpuscules of blood—I have not examined the stains on the pillow or bolster—they appear to be blood-stains, but I am not able to form a decided opinion about them, because I made no microscopical test—in the other cases I speak positively—later that same day, and under the Coroner's order, I, assisted by my brother, made a full and complete post-mortem examination of this body in order to arrive at the cause of death—I found two trifling lacerated wounds, one behind the ear, and one On the nose—there was slight bleeding from each, but not much—the face and head were much contused, the left arm was extensively bruised—there was the mark of a thumb below the angle on the right side of the jaw, and two or three indistinct wounds on the left-hand side; but that side was so bruised—that it was impossible to say—the eyed were contused, and had extravasated blood between the lids—the tongue protru ded between the teeth—I made a complete examination of all the organs of the body, and am prepared to give the result of that examination if it is desired—when I opened the throat I found extravasated blood around the larynx, and on the right side the great horn of the hyoid bone was fractured; it was separated at its junction with the body of the hyoid bone—I should imagine that considerable violence would be required to cause that—it could not possibly have been self-inflicted—in my opinion it was not a possible result of accident in the sense of an accidental fall or accidental violence—taken in conjunction with what I saw outside the throat, in my opinion that fracture was caused by excessive violence and pressure brought to bear on the right side of the hyoid bone by some person other than the deceased—the cause of death was asphyxia, or suffocation, brought about by strangling—the marks outside the throat and the racture would be indicative of the strangling—when I first saw the

head it was double its proper size, but on the second occasion the eyelid had burst, and a quantity of blood had escaped, and it was not then quite so large—whei we reflected the scalp we found the muscles generally pulped up, so that we could scoop them out with our hands—that, in my opinion, was ocasioned by excessive violence inflicted by some blunt instrument before death—the banister brush might have occasioned it—those injuries to the head preceded the asphyxia—they were inflicted before death, and asphyxia was the cause of death—the injuries would cause the person to become insensible; and that, in my opinion, happened in this case—the man was first rendered insensible, and afterwards killed by the injury to the throat—the right cavity of the lung' was full, the left cavity empty—the heart itself was diseased; one side was full the dark, veinous blood, and the other side empty—that is an indication you find generally in death from asphyxia—the indications generally spoke to death from the cause I have-named—there was no cause other than that of which I have spoken that I could find—on the evening of" that day I was at the Police-station and examined the prisoner—I was called there to examine her—I said, after the inspector had cautioned her, "You can object, if you like, to be examined; do you wish me to do me?"—she said, "Yes, I do; I will show you my marks"—she had five scratches on the inside of the left fore-arm and the wrist; they might" have been' inflicted by a human being or an animal; they were not very distinct—on the back of her left hand she had three linear scratches, not so broad as the others; I imagined they had been done by a cat—there is no ground for saying so, and it was not my opinion at the time—I pointed to them; she said; "He gave them to me"—there was a slight bruise on the right wrist, and three on the left upper arm, all quite recent—she said, "He bruised me, and used to beat me with a stick about the head and legs; he has bruised my head all over"—I examined her head, and could discover no bruises—I found some blood' about a quarter of an inch up the cuff of her left sleeve; she said they were from the scratches—it was too high up for blood from the scratches to reach that point; it might have come from lifting the body about; or quite innocently—after that examination she was charged.

Cross-examined. I understood her permission was to examine her thoroughly—she pointed out the blood on the cuff herself—I am a M.R.C.S. and Licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries—I heard of the death at 9.45, just before I went to the house—I think Sergeant Cooper and the coroner's man fetched me to the house—he said, "I want you to examine the body of a man lying dead in a house in Stanmore Street"—I did not know then that my brother had already seen him—all of the bruises on the body did not suggest falls as much as blows; some of them might have been from falls—the laceration behind the ear would not help to swell the head, but would tend to lessen the swelling—there were no wounds except the two mentioned; it was simply a contused state—there were no wounds on the head; if there had been any they would have been hidden by the swelling—there were no indications of blows on the head—those wounds could not have arisen from the man beating his head against the bedstead, as it was so rough at the back—I do not say it is impossible for any of the wounds to have been caused by the man coming in contact with the bed or wall or furniture in the

room, but it is improbable, except with reference to the bedstead—I do not suggest that the bruises on the knees was made with the broom—they were likely to arise from a fall—there was one bruise on the skin of the right side of the throat—I also said there were other indistinct marks on the left hand side, but so obscured by the bruising of the skin that until I cut the skin open I could not be sure of them—I did not notice that there was no mention of the second bruise in the depositions—the injury to the throat could not have been caused by a fall—the man could not have broken his hyoid bone by rolling over on the floor and going against the fender—he might have caused the bruise on the skin in that, way—the hyoid bone cannot by itself be broken in any other way than by forceable power, in my opinion—it might be broken together with a lot of other bones, but it is so protected by the lower jaw, and is so movable that it can hardly be broken, except by seizing the bones and snapping together—Holme's Surgery is a very eminent work—if the violence was sufficient, I should expect to find the other bones broken—I have never before seen a fractured hyoid bone, except in general accidents where the whole of the body has been crushed—a steam-roller would do it, or a fall from a cliff—the thyroid cartilege and cricoid cartilege were bruised, but not broken; only the hyoid was broken—the whole of the larynx was bruised—the pressure must have been just on this point—it is not possible to ascertain under the microscope whether blood is human or not—the blood on the brush might have been blood from a cat—I did not examine the blood on the sheets and pillow cases, only those things sent me by the Treasury—I examined all the organs of the body; they were in a congested condition—the heart and liver, and most of the organs, were diseased by alcohol—the heart was adherent to the pericardium, the lungs were congested at the left base, the liver was serotic, the kidneys enlarged and congested, and the spleen normal; the stomach was congested—practically all the organs were disordered—it is difficult to distinguish for certain whether death results from asphyxia, apoplexy, or drunkenness—I should say the signs would be very marked if a man died from apoplexy; both sides of the heart would be full of blood; in this case one side was full and the other empty—if a man was intoxicated, and became suffocated, he would have the same symptoms—the results would be the same as I found if he died from the results of intoxication, except as to the injuries.

Re-examined. In what I saw, except the injuries, there was nothing to occasion the man's death—the organs were those of a man who drank to excess—their congested condition was consistent with death from asphyxia—on April 13th I went to the house and saw the chest of drawers; there was no blood-stains, or mark, or anything of the kind to indicate that there had been a fall on them—there were bruises on the head, as distinct from wounds, but how occasioned I cannot determine—they were consistent with having been caused by this brush.


Before Mr. Recorder.

18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-481
VerdictGuilty > pleaded guilty
SentenceMiscellaneous > sureties

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18th May 1896
Reference Numbert18960518-482
SentenceImprisonment > hard labour

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