CHAPTERCLVII.

CHAPTERCLVII.THE EXAMINATION OF CHARLES PEACE UPON THE CHARGE OF MURDERING MR. DYSON—​SCENES IN COURT.Peace remained in a very prostrate condition, and, according to his own account, he was not fit to make his appearance in a court of justice. It was deemed, however, expedient to proceed with the charge.Mr. Pollard, on Friday morning, put it to the Sheffield stipendiary whether the “leap for life” which Peace, the burglar, made from the express train was not inconsistent with his innocence of the crime of murder.Mr. Welby suggested that a convict under a life sentence might have other reasons for the leap than the fear of hanging. No doubt it was with the convict a case of mixed motives.Had he been able to escape, even for a few days, a lease of life for at least six months would have been secured, as his case would have been kept over till the Leeds Assizes following those which open next week.Having been remanded for eight days, the desperado, like many less deeply interested, believed that his respite had been secured. Perhaps but for this knowledge the criminal would have played a deeper game by not getting better so soon.The brandy with milk and arrowroot, which from the first few hours of his capture he took pretty freely, produced such an effect on his sound and wiry constitution that by Thursday evening Mr. Hallam, the surgeon specially in attendance, was able to say that if no change for the worse occurred, he might be brought before the stipendiary on the following morning.The prisoner has proved such a troublesome and expensive “guest” that the authorities seemed to entertain a strong desire to see him again in Pentonville or such other place of security as it may seem fit to assign him to.The secret of the examination being held to-day was last night divulged to the press, but only on condition that they should keep it private till the prisoner had been actually brought up.Of course it was kept yet more secret from the prisoner.This helped him to sleep last night, and, though he showed himself much more querulous than has been his wont, he took in the morning a plentifully early breakfast.The surgeon, having seen him, decided that he was fit to be brought up. Soon after ten o’clock the prisoner was accordingly helped out of his cell, but apparently had no idea of where he was being taken.The warders presently placed him in a large armchair in the corridor, and into this he sank with a lengthened sigh, leaning his head on his hands, as if much exhausted.Then suddenly, with an ugly expression in his eyes, he protruded the lower part of his face across the long table which had been set in the corridor, and exclaimed with clenched teeth, but in a low tone, “What are we here for? What is this?”The scene might well arouse the criminal’s curiosity. Unwilling to cause excitement either to the prisoner or to the public, the authorities had improvised a court in the corridor of the prison, where the light was supplied by candles.The stipendiary, with his clerks, sat ready to examine the prisoner.The chief constable was present, also Inspector Bradbury and Police-constable Walsh, who was in charge of Mrs. Dyson. Mr. Pollard again appeared to prosecute, and Mr. W. E. Clegg conducted the defence.The scene was dreary and depressing, especially as there was no audience for the principal actor to play up to, even had he been so disposed, the public having been excluded.After several half-whining protests from the convict the stipendiary decided to go on, when, with a sudden change of voice, Peace exclaimed in his old sharp tones, “I wish to God there was something across my shoulders.”He was then plentifully supplied with coverings through which his newly-bandaged head at times could hardly be seen. His high but narrow forehead slopes rapidly upwards, and, though much of his apparent weakness was evidently mere affectation, his wan and haggard aspect was pitiable as well as repugnant.Towards Mrs. Dyson, who was placed at some distance along the table, he alternately glared, and scowled and leered, and more than once became very excited in his demands for justice when the stipendiary firmly refused liberty to press certain questions which he deemed irrelevant.Mrs. Dyson was tastefully dressed entirely in black, and without her veil. She seemed in good health, and, though apparently suffering somewhat from suppressed excitement, gave her evidence clearly, calmly, and without a particle of flinching.The whitewashed walls of the cold corridor did not look more stonily at Peace than did the face of the woman whom he tried to claim as his former paramour.The absence of spectators was a relief to her, and she stood quietly and without apparent weariness during her long and trying cross-examination.Mr. Clegg did the best he could for his client, but refused to take any notice of the low mutterings or loud protests of the prisoner.The stipendiary refused to let the letters be read aloud, but the most exciting passages were given. These documents are a series of comparatively dull communications written on old envelopes and dirty scraps of paper.Here is a specimen: “How well you never told that man I looked at you out of the window you left me to find out for myself and would not put me on my guard, as I do you. Hope you won’t do it again. Don’t talk to little Willie much, or give him any halfpennies. Don’t be a fool; it looks as if you want people to know the way and—”A blank occurs here, and the remaining portion of the letter now legible says: “If you are not more careful we will have to say quits. I have told you not to say anything until—”On the theory of the defence the Willie referred to is Mrs. Dyson’s son, aged seven and William Henry by name. (Mrs. Dyson’s reply to every question was a decided repudiation of the suggestion that the letters had been written by her.)At these repudiations the convict affected to be savagely indignant. Also when Mrs. Dyson said the portrait had been stolen from her room he muttered between his clenched teeth—“Stolen—​stolen—​stolen!”He glared towards the witness with a tragic air, and then buried his head in his arms, which were stretched on the table.At another time, when Mrs. Dyson was being questioned as to whether any struggle took place between her husband and the murderer, and replied in the negative, Peace, who had seemed comparatively quiet, shot his head up and made his lower jaw protrude in a loathsome manner, as he glared at the witness.While Mrs. Dyson’s depositions before the coroner were being read the prisoner caused another scene. On being removed to his cell, at the end of the proceedings, his energy seemed quite to leave him; but when his counsel visited him in his cell shortly afterwards the prisoner seemed comparatively cheerful and careless, and gave his instructions and suggestions in quite a business-like fashion.Only passages from the letters alleged to have been written by Mrs. Dyson were read aloud in court.In spite of the policy of secrecy followed by the stipendiary and Chief Constable Jackson, a large crowd gathered at the Town Hall, and long before the usual time of opening the doors so great became the pressure against them as to burst them open, and the courts were rapidly filled.The police were able, however, to clear them without any serious trouble.People knew that the ordinary business of the Court would commence at eleven o’clock, and they settled down to wait as comfortably as possible for that time, knowing that they would then be able to gain admission.When the doors were opened to the public, the two courts were soon filled again, and the people rested in expectation till authentic word came that the convict’s examination was well-nigh over.Throughout the time there was greater excitement than at any period since the great Sheffield flood, but the police were able to preserve order.Robinson, who captured Peace at Blackheath, after such a desperate struggle was in Sheffield, on a visit to some friends, and his frank and yet jovial bearing has impressed very favourably those who happened to meet him.A suggestion was made that a public testimonial should be presented to him for his bravery, and, in spite of dulness of trade, was likely to be received with favour. Robinson had not seen Peace in Sheffield.Up to half-past ten at night the prisoner was behaving with comparative composure, and had taken refreshments when he required them.The following is a fuller account of the particulars of this examination:—A few minutes after ten o’clock Peace was assisted out of his cell and placed in an armchair in the corridor where the inquiry was held. He seemed to be exhausted, and sinking into the chair he exclaimed, “Oh, oh!” and leaned his head on his hand. He then looked about with an air of surprise, and exclaimed, groaning deeply, “What are we here for? What is this?”The Stipendiary (Mr. Welby): This is the preliminary inquiry which is being proceeded with after being adjourned the other day.Prisoner (groaning again): I am not able to bear it. I ought not to be brought here.The Stipendiary: Then you must do the best you can. This is only the preliminary inquiry. You are not absolutely obliged to be here—​so you must attend as well as you can. You are represented here, and the preliminary inquiry is to be finished to-day.Prisoner: I wish to God there was something across my shoulders. I am very cold. Oh dear! oh dear! Then am I to be committed to-day?The Stipendiary: The preliminary inquiry will be finished, and if the evidence is sufficient you will be committed.Prisoner: I want to have my solicitor here. Oh dear! and I want to call my witnesses.Mr. Clegg: You will have sufficient time for that; you will have plenty of time to call your witnesses.Prisoner (groaning): I am not able to go on. Oh, I am so cold! (A thick rug was here thrown over him by one of the warders.) I am not able to go on; I am not. (Groaning again.) This is not justice; it is not justice.The Stipendiary: You must take it for what it is.The prisoner here uttered some words, which were taken to be “Oh, never mind that;” and afterwards asked that his counsel should come nearer. He seemed to suffer from the cold and the draught of air in the corridor.Prisoner (apparently recovering himself, and looking more alert, and speaking with more energy): Then, I say, it is not justice; it is not justice. Why does not my solicitor prevent this, and ask for a remand. What is my solicitor doing not to prevent this? Tell my solicitor I want him.Mr. Clegg: Well, what do you want?Prisoner (sharply): Why don’t you ask for a remand?The Stipendiary: It is no use asking for a remand at all, I tell you; the inquiry is going to be proceeded with.Prisoner (piteously): It is not justice. I am not able to go on; you know how I am. Oh, dear, it is no matter if I’d killed myself. It would be no matter. You know how I am, and ought to have a remand. I feel I want it, and must have a remand.The Stipendiary: Remand will not be granted; and you had better attend to what is said.Mr. Clegg: If you want to say anything wait until I am cross-examining Mrs. Dyson, and it can be done then. You had better save your energies until then. The inquiry will be proceeded with to-day.Mrs. Dyson was then called and sworn. She looked well, but spoke slowly, as if labouring under suppressed emotion.Mr. Pollard: Catherine Dyson, there were some papers produced the other day in court. Bradbury, will you produce those papers?Inspector Bradbury handed in the papers.The Stipendiary: Those, I suppose, are the papers and the card.Mr. Pollard: They are the papers produced by Bradbury. (To witness): Have you seen those papers before?—​Yes; at the coroner’s inquest in December, 1876.You have Seen the first card—​the card numbered one. That, I think you say, is the handwriting of your husband on the back of it?—​Yes.With reference to all the other papers, do you know the handwriting?—​No, I do not.The Stipendiary: You had better look over them, every one of them, before you speak to them all.Witness then looked over them, prisoner meanwhile languidly saying: They are not all there. I want to look at them.Mr. Clegg: Be quiet.Witness: I do not know whose handwriting it is.The Stipendiary: You do not know whose handwriting it is on any of them?—​No.The Stipendiary: You have looked at them?—​I know none of them except the post-card.Prisoner (interrupting): I want the milkman called.The Stipendiary: You had better be quiet. Your time for calling witnesses will come.Mr. Pollard (to witness): Were any of those written by your authority? Do you know any of them?—​Not by my authority. I know nothing of them.What distance should you say it is from the house that you lived in at Darnall to the house you removed to at Bannercross?—​About five or six miles, to the best of my knowledge.Mr. Clegg: Before proceeding with the cross-examination I should like to recall Mr. Inspector Bradbury.The Stipendiary: Why so?Mr. Pollard: I have a question to put to the inspector that I omitted to ask the other day.Mr. Bradbury was recalled, and was examined by Mr. Pollard.Do you produce a bullet?—​Yes (producing it).From whom did you receive it?—​From Dr. Harrison, onDec.8, 1876, the day of the inquest.Cross-examined by Mr. Clegg: You remember on the last time, Mr. Bradbury, that I asked you if you had seen a photograph?—​Yes.Have you got that photo now?—​Yes. (Produced a photo.) I got it from Mr. Jackson, the chief constable.The photo was then handed to the stipendiary, and Peace, eyeing it, said in an aggrieved voice: “They have taken it out of the case.”Mr. Clegg, addressing him, said: Will you be quiet?Mr. Pollard: I want to ask one or two questions of Mrs. Dyson with reference to these photographs.The Stipendiary: Certainly.Mr. Clegg: Perhaps it will be better if you let me finish my cross-examination first.Mr. Pollard: I prefer to do it now.Mr. Pollard: Mrs. Dyson, have you any remembrance of being photographed? First of all, whose photograph is this? (Handing a photograph to the witness.)—​It is the prisoner’s and mine.Where was that taken?—​It was taken in 1876.The Stipendiary: What part of 1876?—​I cannot remember the date. It was summer.When was it taken?—​At Sheffield Fair.Was it at the summer or winter fair?Peace: It was the winter fair.Mrs. Dyson: I won’t say, because I am not sure.How near was it toNov.29, 1876?—​It was some months before that date; at the Sheffield Fair.The Stipendiary: There is a name at the back of the photo.Mr. Pollard: Will you look at that (handing a small photo to Mrs. Dyson)?—​That is mine.Had you in the years 1876 or 1875 a photo like that, in that position?—​Yes; I had one in a locket.Was it in 1875 or 1876?—​I had it in 1875.Can you say at all whether it was in 1875 or 1876?—​Yes; I had it in the early part of 1876.You say you had it in a locket?—​Yes.Have you that photograph is the locket now?—​No it was taken from me.How do you mean?—​It was taken out of the house without my knowing how.It was in the winter?—​Yes, 1875, as well as I can remember.The Stipendiary: Before the larger one was taken?—​Yes it was.Can you say it was the winter of 1875 or 1876?—​Well, it was about Christmas.Do you say that the locket was stolen?—​No, the photograph was then out of the locket.You were living at Darnall then, were you?—​Yes.Where was the locket when you missed the photograph from it?—​It was in my bedroom.Did you speak about the loss?—​Yes, I mentioned it to my husband.Did you make any search for the photo?—​Yes; I also told an officer before I went to America.You made a search for the photo?—​Yes.Did you ever find the photo?—​No.Mr. Pollard: Is that the locket, or a copy of the photograph that you so lost?—​That is not the original, because the one that I had was taken in Cleveland, Ohio.Mr. Pollard: And this is a copy of it—​is it?—​Yes.Mr. Pollard: I see that this has the name of F. Barber, photographer, Church-gates, Sheffield.—​Witness: This is not the original. The original was taken by Mr. Wragg, Cleveland, Ohio.Mr. Pollard: Did you ever go to Mr. Barber’s to be photographed?—​No, no; I never had a photograph taken in this country except that one.Mr. Pollard: Except the one that was taken at the fair.Mr. Pollard (to the Stipendiary): That, you see, is done on glass. That was done at the back of the other.The Stipendiary: Oh, I see.The Clerk: There was only one photograph taken then?—​Witness: Only one.The prisoner here put his legs on the table, and the Stipendiary, addressing him, said severely: You must not put your feet on the table.—​Prisoner (sharply): All right.Mr. Pollard (to witness): Did you tell any other person at the time besides your husband of the loss of the photograph from your locket?—​I told one of the officers.That you told us; but anybody else?—​No.Mr. Clegg: Besides, if you did it would not be evidence.Mr. Pollard: Unless the neighbour was—​I do not want to put it in her mouth.Mr. Pollard (to witness): Was your husband with you that day in Sheffield Fair?—​Yes.On the day you were photographed?—​Yes.The Prisoner; Call Daird (meaning the policeman of Darnall)—​will you, please?At Sheffield Fair the prisoner was a neighbour of yours?—​Yes. I believed him at that time to be a respectable man.And a picture-frame maker, as you said?—​Yes.You said you had this (referring to the photograph) with you then. Where was it kept?—​On the mantelpiece, in the kitchen.When did you miss it?—​In a week or so after it was taken.When did you next see this one (lifting another photograph)?—​I cannot exactly say the day. One day last week, in Mr. Jackson’s hands.In the hands of the police?—​Yes.Did you give it to any one?—​No; I did not give it to any one. It was taken away without my knowledge.Then with reference to the photograph which was taken from your locket—​what about it?—​It was taken away without my knowledge.When was that?Mr. Robinson: I have got all that down as in the winter of 1875.Mr. Clegg: I might as well take this photograph at once (showing the double one to the witness). Was not that photograph taken in the fair of 1876?—​In 1876—​I think so, as well as I can remember.The photograph I am now holding?—​Yes, I see.Was this photograph taken in the fair of 1876?—​I said I could not remember the date.Was it during the time that you were residing at Darnall?—​Yes.When did you leave Darnall, was it onOct.29?—​OnOct.25, 1876.Was it at the fair preceding the time that you left Darnall?—​It was at the fair before I left Darnall.I want now to know, for certain. Are you certain this was taken in the preceding fair before you left Darnall?—​I did not say the preceding fair.Well, I ask you now?—​I cannot say. I am not quite certain, but I should be able to find out, if necessary.But I want to know now?—​I cannot say.You have already said you thought it was the Summer Fair of 1876?—​I think so, but I am not quite certain; but it was taken at Sheffield Fair.I will try and assist your memory. Did you not say before the coroner that you had known the prisoner for about ten months?—​I don’t recollect exactly.At the time you gave evidence before the coroner in December, 1876, how long had you known the prisoner?—​Perhaps near a year.Had you been with him to more than one fair?—​No.Had you been with him to what is called a Winter Fair?—​No.Then the fair at which you had been with him was the Summer Fair?—​Yes.You say you had only known him a year, and you had not been with him to a winter fair. Now, then, cannot you now say that it was the summer fair of 1876?—​Oh, no; I cannot say, because I am not quite sure.I will try and assist you a little further. How many months was it before you took out the summons against him for threatening your life that you had been with him to the fair? I cannot tell you how many months. I cannot tell you exactly. It might be two or three months, perhaps. I cannot be quite sure.When were you married to Mr. Dyson?—​I do not remember the date.Don’t remember the date? What year was it?—​I can’t tell you that.Do you mean to swear that you can’t tell the year when you were married?—​No, I can’t say what year.Not what year?—​No; but I can find out.Dou you mean to say you don’t know what year you were married in?—​I don’t.Where were you married?—​In Cleveland, Ohio; Trinity Church.Mr. Clegg: Were there any witnesses present at your marriage?—​Certainly; my sister, Mrs. Thomas Mooney.Mr. Pollard: I object to this. I can’t see the relevancy of it.The Stipendiary: She says she can’t remember when she was married.Mr. Clegg: I don’t wish to waste time; but I believe all the questions I ask will have a relevancy to the case.The Stipendiary: I must trust you to a great extent. I do not myself see the relevancy.Mr. Pollard: It will do no good to go into the whole history of a person’s life from their first years.Mr. Clegg: I am only starting the question of whether she was married, and I have every reason for asking for full particulars of the facts.The Stipendiary: If she could remember the year of her marriage I should say the rest was not necessary.Mr. Pollard (to Mr. Clegg): Ask when it was about.Mr. Clegg: If she had told me the year I should have been satisfied. (To witness): Your sister was one of the witnesses. Who was another?—​Dr. Sargent.Did you get a certificate of your marriage? Certainly; it is with my agent in America.What is your agent’s name?—​Booth, Barratt, andCo.,St.Louis, Missouri, United States.Had you any object in leaving your certificate there?—​I have left other papers there. They are more safe then carrying them about.The Stipendiary here interposed with reference to the manner in which Mr. Clegg was cross-examining.Mr. Clegg: In this case it is a question of credibility as to what actually happened, and as this witness is the only person who actually saw what happened I think I have a right to test her credibility in every possible way. I have an object in asking these questions as to her marriage, in consequence of what I am instructed she has told somebody about it. I wish to inquire into it, whether it is true or not.Mr. Clegg: Was your husband friendly with the prisoner?—​Yes.Did he frame any pictures for you?—​Yes.(Prisoner muttered something which was not distinctly heard.)Did he tell you what they were?—​Yes. One was a portrait of my sister, one of Mr. Dyson, and my brother, and my little boy.Was your husband’s mother not amongst them?—​I think not.Will you swear he did not frame that?—​No, he did not.Had your husband a portrait or picture of his mother?—​I had one.The Stipendiary: What about your objection, Mr. Pollard?Mr. Pollard: Of course I make my objection. I was leaving it in your hands.Mr. Clegg: Will you swear he did not frame a portrait of your husband’s mother?—​No, he did not. There was one in a pot frame.The Stipendiary said something to Mr. Clegg, who replied, “I will show the portrait to you, sir. I do not want to prove anything that is not material.”Mr. Clegg: This is a material object; a most material object.The Stipendiary: It is not, in my idea, of sufficient importance to be gone on with.Mr. Clegg: I think you will see, when I bring out what I want to know about this portrait, that it is a very material object.The Stipendiary: Very well, I will say no more; but if it is merely a question of general credibility, it is unnecessary.Mr. Clegg: Did you ever ask him to frame this portrait—​this picture of your mother?—​Yes. I was to get a large one of my mother. I mentioned it to him about framing them, but I never got the photographs.Did you ask him to frame your mother’s portrait?—​Yes; but he never did it.Mr. Clegg: Did you write him any letter?Mr. Pollard: She gives a reason why she did not ask him.Mr. Clegg: It is not an answer to my question. I do not care about her reasons.—​(To witness): Did you send him a letter about it?—​No.Mr. Clegg (holding a bundle of letters in his hand, and calling the attention of the witness to one markedNo.6): Look at this letter. Is it in your handwriting?—​No.Is it in your husband’s writing?—​No.Do you know whose writing it is?—​No, I don’t.Did any person know of your wish that he should frame the picture of your husband’s mother but your husband and yourself?—​Not that I am aware of.Except your husband and yourself?—​Not that I am aware of.Have you ever seen the prisoner write?—​No.You will swear that you never saw him write?—​No, I never saw him write. My husband used to write for him. I have seen him sitting at a table with writing materials in front of him.Can you tell his writing if you see it again?—​I have not see him write.(Peace here leaned against the table, and looked with great interest at the witness.)Have you never seen letters purporting to come from him?—​No, I never have, for I did not know he could write, because he used to get my husband to write for him.As far as you are concerned in reference to this wish, that you wanted the prisoner to frame your photo—Mrs. Dyson: I did not ask him to frame mine.I did not ask you that. I said your husband’s mother’s photo. You did not tell anyone of that?—​I do not remember that I did.Now, just listen to this letter; will you take it into your hands and follow it while I read a copy? Now listen: “Saturday afternoon—​I write you these few lines to thank you for all your kindness, which I shall never forget, from you and your wife. She is a good one. Does she know that you are to give me the things or not? How can you keep them concealed? One thing I wish you to do is to frame his mother’s photograph and send it in with my music-book; if you please do it when he is in. Many thanks for your kind advice. I hope I shall benefit by it. I shall try to do right to every body as far as I can, for I can always look upon you as a friend. Good-bye. I have not much time. Burn this when you have read it.”Madame, will you still venture to swear that that paper is not in your writing?—​No, it is not.Peace: I will prove it, though.You remember you are upon your oath?—​Yes, I do.Peace: I want these witnesses of mine called.You were very intimate with Peace, were you not?—​Yes, I used to go into his house with his wife and daughter.Have you been together with him, and have you not been to places of amusement together?—​I have been with him, his wife, and daughter.I did not ask you that. Have you not been alone to places of amusement with him?—​Not to places of amusement. I have been to one place in Sheffield alone with him.Where?—​I don’t know where. Peace said there was a man there who was his brother.What sort of place was it?—​A public-house.Mr. Robinson: Did you see that man there?—​Yes, we saw him.Do you know the name of the street?Prisoner (raising himself up, and addressing his solicitor, extending his arm towards Mrs. Dyson): Ask her about going to the theatre with me.Mr. Clegg: Have you been to the theatre with him?—​I was with him and his daughter and wife.Was your husband there?—​No; but I had other friends along with me.Have you been with him alone to the Albert Hall?—​To the Albert Hall?Yes, to the Albert Hall?—​No, I never was with him alone; his daughter was with me.The prisoner again raised himself up, and exclaimed, “Send for Mr. Cowen;” and then, as no attention was paid to his request, he leaned back again on his rugs.Have you been to any public-houses together?—​I have already told you I have been to one.More than one?—​No, not along with him; but he has followed me into public-houses when I was with my husband. He followed me into one or two at Darnall. I cannot tell you the names of them.Was one the Duke of York?—​I believe so.Didn’t you use to go there alone?—​I used to go there.Stop a bit. Did you not sometimes go to that house to get something to drink, and tell the landlord to put it down to Peace, the prisoner?—​No. (Peace muttered something about it being false.) There was no landlord, only a landlady, in the house then.Oh, you do remember that? The name is Mrs. Liversidge—​is it not? I ask you now, have you been to the Halfway House?—​Yes.Have you told the persons belonging to that house to put down the drink you had to Peace?—​Not to my knowledge.Not to your knowledge?—​No.Will you swear you have not?—​I cannot swear it but I say I never have to my knowledge.Did you frequent that house?—​I called there two or three times, I believe.Did you know a person of the name of Goodlad?—​Goodlad?Yes. Did you know the pianist at the Star Music Hall, in Spring-street?—​No.Mr. Goodlad was here called up.Mr. Clegg: See, that is the man.The Stipendiary: Do you know that man by sight or name?—​Which one?The Stipendiary: Come forward. See, that is him. (Mr. Goodlad advanced.) Look at him, Mrs. Dyson.Witness: I never remember seeing him before.Prisoner (groaning): Call his master; call his master.Mr. Clegg: Have you and the prisoner been to the Star Music Hall together?—​I don’t know it by that name.Then I will ask you this question—​have you been to a music hall together, and to a public-house?—​He called it a picture gallery. I didn’t hear any music there. There was no music there.The Stipendiary: You had been to a place he called a picture gallery?—​Yes.Mr. Clegg: Where was it?—​It was in Sheffield.Can you tell me whereabouts it was?—​I could not tell you the street. I could not find it now.Have you been to a public-house with him, where there was music and singing?—​We were at his brother’s public-house; and he said his brother was in some music society. I believe so, I am not quite sure.Have you been to music-hall held at a public-house where there was some music and singing?—​Not to my knowledge.What?—​It looked as if there was some music because there was a small stage, but there was no music in our time. It was early in the afternoon.Have you not been at night, when there has been music and singing, and that man who was called has been playing there?—​No, I do not remember to have seen his face.The Clerk: You say you have not been there at night?—​Witness: No, it was in the afternoon.Mr. Clegg: Do you know a public-house in Russell-street, Sheffield, called the “Marquis of Waterford?”—​No.Mr. Clegg (to witness): The public-house that I am talking about now is in the street where the prisoner’s brother lived?—​I do not know it by name.But do you know it now I have given you the place? Do you know where the prisoner’s brother lived?—​I do not know where he lived. He was in that public-house.Mr. Clegg: Will you call a man of the name of Cragg? (Cragg was brought before the Court.)Mr. Clegg: Do you know that man?—​No, I never remember seeing him before.That man is the landlord of the public-house that I have been talking about?—​I never remember seeing him, but he may have been there and me not see him.Have you been to several public-houses with him (the prisoner), and had something to drink with him at those public-houses?—​No, I had soda water.Mr. Clegg: Well, that is something to drink.The Stipendiary: You do not deny that you have been at these public-houses?—​I have been there.But you have not seen these men that have been produced, to your knowledge?—​Not to my knowledge.Mr. Clegg: You have had some drink there?—​I have had a bottle of soda water or pop.Have you had something stronger than either of those two?—​No.How many times have you been with him to these various houses?—​Only once.Where?—​The house where you speak of.But I think you do not know it?—​I have been to the house where his brother was.But I am not talking about the place you call the picture-gallery. I am talking about another public-house altogether.—​Oh, I did not understand.Have you been to more than one public-house with him?—​I have been to the picture-gallery and another place with him.Those are two, and have you been with him to the “Halfway House?”—​Not with him.Or to the “Duke of York?”—​Not with him.Have you and he been out of the town together?—​Yes; he followed me one day to Mansfield.Was any one with you?—​Mrs. Padmore and her three children.When was that?—​The summer before we returned.Was that about the time you had your photograph taken with him?—​No; not about the time.Was it before the fair or after the fair?—​I cannot tell you exactly.Don’t take refuge behind “Cannot tell exactly.”—​I cannot remember the date, and you don’t want me to tell a lie.I don’t want you to tell me a lie.—​It was in the summer some time.Before or after the photograph was taken?—​I cannot tell you exactly.Was it immediately preceding or subsequently?—​I can’t tell you exactly.Can you tell me whether it was before the fair or after the fair?—​Don’t remember.Oh, please do try and remember?—​Well, I can’t; but I will find out for you.Was it before or after you had taken out the warrant?—​Why, long before.The Stipendiary: Was it a warrant or summons?Mr. Clegg: Well, both.Mr. Pollard: The summons was taken first, and then the warrant.Mr. Clegg (to witness): It was long before that, you say?—​Yes.Then at the time you went to Mansfield with Mrs. Padmore had you had any quarrel with the prisoner?—​Yes; I didn’t want him to annoy me.Had you had any quarrel?—​Yes, because he was a nuisance to me.That was before you had your portrait taken with him when you went to Mansfield?—​I don’t remember.At this point the prisoner groaned loudly several times, and finally caused his head to fall forward on the table, placing his hands underneath. In this position he remained.Examination continued: Do you say it was two or three months before?—​I didn’t say two or three months. I said a while before.What do you call a while?—​A month or so—​two or three weeks. It might be longer. I am not quite sure.Before you took out this summons against him, had you any quarrel at all?—​Had I any quarrel?Mr. Robinson: You summoned him for a certain thing. Had you any quarrel before that certain thing?—​Not a quarrel, only that he was such a nuisance about the house, calling me a brute, and listening on the doorstep to our conversation.The prisoner here again groaned, and asked for the surgeon.Mr. Hallam, the police surgeon, felt his pulse. He then suggested that his feet should be raised by being placed on a chair. This was done, and then the prisoner lay back in his arm-chair with his feet curled before him.Had you any unpleasantness before you went to Mansfield?—​He was a constant source of annoyance by his disagreeableness. He used to listen at the door, and jump over the wall, and be very disagreeable indeed. He was a constant annoyance.What train did you go by when you went to Mansfield?—​The afternoon train.Where did you go after you got there? Was he with you?—​He followed us, and came into the house just as we were sitting down to tea.Do you know a person of the name of Kirkham?—​Kirkham?Mr. Clegg: Call Kirkham. (Kirkham a person about twenty years of age, was brought into the corridor.)The Stipendiary: Do you know him?—​Yes; I remember his face.Mr. Clegg: You know him now; there can’t be any doubt about it?—​I remember his face.Mr. Pollard: Do you know him by name, or only know his face?—​I only know his face.Mr. Clegg: He delivered the milk?—​He and his father.Have you never give him notes, with instructions to deliver them to Peace?—​I gave him two receipts.Two receipts? What were they for?—​For pictures, framing.What were they written on?—​On paper. I don’t know whether there was an envelope. I think only a piece of paper.Have you not given him notes or receipts?—​I have given him two receipts.I ask you have you not given him notes?—​No, no notes.Little scraps of paper?—​No, I have given him two receipts.Where did your husband keep his address cards?—​In his writing-desk.Locked up?—​No.Where was the writing-desk?—​In the sitting-room.Had you no address cards?—​I, myself? No.Did you ever see your husband’s?—​No.The prisoner had a daughter named Jane—​had he not?—​Jane Ann they called her.Now, then, look at that (showing her a card).—​It is in the same writing as the other.Mr. Pollard: It is an address card. What is its number?Mr. Clegg: It is “No.2.” (To witness): Read out what it says (handing witness the card).—​Witness: I cannot read it, and it is not written very plain.Then I will try and assist you. You can read?—​Yes.And you can write?—​Yes.This is what it says then: “After he is going out I won’t go if I can help it—​so see me. Love to Janey.”—​I did not write it.Has that card been altered from “Mr.” to “Mrs.” Look?Mr. Vickers: Is there some alteration there?—​Yes; there is an “s” there.Will you venture to say you did not use that address card and alter that from “Mr.” to “Mrs.?”—​I did not alter it.It is on your husband’s address card?—​I am aware of that.Now, do you know a little girl named Hutton?—​I don’t remember the name.Do you know a Mrs. Hutton living in Britannia-road?—​No, I don’t remember the name; but I might know her if I saw her. I can’t tell her by name.Did you not go and meet him there?—​No, I never did.Were you never together in Mrs. Hutton’s?—​We called together one day, when I was looking after a little girl to go errands for me.Was it Mrs. Hutton’s little girl?—​Yes, I believe that was the name.Will you swear that you never gave notes to her little girl to give to the prisoner?—​I will.Will you give her a pen? I should like to see her write what I shall dictate to her. What do you write with generally—​a steel pen or a quill pen?—​It does not make much difference, though I usually write with a quill.Well, write with a steel pen, “I will write a note when I can, perhaps to-morrow.” Yes, that will do. Go on and write, “You can give me something as a keepsake if you like, but I don’t like to be covetous, and to take them from your wife and daughter. Love to all.” You have not written this half as well as the first part.—​It is the best I can do.Now, look at this first line, “I will write to you a note,” and look at this card. Now, madame, will you swear that this is not your writing?—​That is not my writing.Now, I will go over these letters. Did the prisoner ever give you a ring?—​Yes.Peace: Did I give her what?Mr. Clegg: Do you be quiet.Did you write to acknowledge the receipt of that ring?—​Not to my knowledge.Had you any envelopes in your possession like this?—​I cannot say.Look it well over. It is important.—​I cannot say.Was the prisoner living next door to you when he gave you the ring?—​Yes.The attendant surgeon, Mr. Hallam, here went to feel Peace’s pulse, whereupon the prisoner groaned a good deal, and seemed to be very ill. He, however, found his invalid all right, and left him for a time.Now, then, just look at that letter—​that envelope with the writing upon it. Is that your handwriting?—​No; it is not my writing.Did anybody besides you and the prisoner know he had given you a ring?—​I don’t know. I guess his daughter knew; at least he said so.Did you know whether the daughter could write or not?—​I don’t know. I guess she could.Do you know about when that writing was given to you?—​No; I can’t remember.Very well. Now then, listen to me. I am going to read a letter, and you follow me. “I don’t know what train we shall go by. I have a good deal to do this morning. Will see you as soon as I possibly can. I think it would be easier after you move; he won’t watch so. The r—​g (meaning the ring) fits the little finger. Many thanks, and love to Jennie. I will tell you what I thought of when I see you about arranging matters. Excuse this scribbling.”Mr. Clegg: What is the next word—​is it “hello?”—​I don’t know, I cannot tell.Now, you admit you have received a ring from him?—​Yes; he gave me a ring.Will you swear that is not a letter from you to him?—​It is not from me.Not about putting the ring on, and trying it on and telling him the ring fits?—​The letter is not from me.You will not swear the letter is not from you?—​It is not from me.Did the ring fit?—​No.Did you tell him not?—​I did not keep it very long. It did not fit my little finger.Mr. Clegg: Did you try it on?—​Yes, I tried it; but I could not put it on.What sort of a ring was it?—​I could not tell you exactly. It was not worth much.Do you remember the prisoner’s foot being damaged?—​No; I do not remember anything about it.(The prisoner groaned, and his solicitor had a consultation with him.)Will you swear that you did not write this note to him (producing a letter markedNo.5)? Is that in your handwriting?—​No.Mr. Clegg: I will read it to you.Mr. Pollard: The witness keeps on saying she did not write the letter to him, or the note. I object that, unless it is proved the thing is connected with the case it cannot be used. She denies that she wrote it.Mr. Clegg: I submit, then, sir, that you have a most curious coincidence. She admits that the ring is given to her by the prisoner, and yet she denies writing the letter in which the ring is mentioned to her.The Sipendiary: What does it all lead to?Mr. Clegg: It leads to this. This woman has sworn now, as she did previously, that she did not write any of the letters, and I am in a position to prove that she did.The Stipendiary: She distinctly denies it. You have evidence quite enough to damage her credit.Prisoner (moaning): I demand that justice be done.The Stipendiary (to prisoner): Don’t you interrupt.Mr. Pollard: I will take your opinion on the subject.No.89.Illustration: EXAMINATION OF MRS. DYSON.EXAMINATION OF MRS. DYSON.The Stipendiary: I think enough has been gone into for the purposes of the preliminary examination. You can reserve the rest for the trial. I consider that enough has been gone into for the purpose of the preliminary examination.Mr. Clegg: Supposing that at the trial this man is not defended—​a state of things which is not at all unlikely.The Stipendiary: You know very well that in that case the judge would order some learned counsel to defend the prisoner. I am not going to deal with a state of circumstances that may arise at the trial. It would be presumption in me to provide for want of justice before the judges.Mr. Clegg: This is a preliminary inquiry, and I can put in whatever I think is for the benefit of the prisoner. Though it is only a preliminary inquiry I am bound to do it.The Stipendiary: I rule that sufficient has been asked about those lettters.Mr. Clegg: I shall persist in asking these questions until I am stopped.The Stipendiary: Then I stop them now. You have quite enough for your purpose.Mr. Clegg: I don’t think I have.The Stipendiary: You have quite enough. You can prosecute her for perjury if she has spoken falsely as to what has been asked of her. There are two very particular points, on which she has decisively spoken in reference to these letters.Prisoner: She has done more than that.The Stipendiary: You may if you have cause, indict her for perjury; it can lead to nothing else.Mr. Clegg: Then at present I don’t think I have got sufficient, in my opinion, to test this witness’s credibility.The Stipendiary: In my opinion, you have. If what you have asserted is shown to be true, you have more than sufficient to damage her credibility, and more than sufficient to have a cause for indicting her for perjury. Beyond that it is not necessary for you to go, and I rule you shall not go.Mr. Clegg: How can I indict the woman for perjury unless I put the letters in her hands?The Stipendiary: She has looked at them, because I told her to look at them myself. I said to her, “Look at each one, and see if it is not in your handwriting.” That is in itself sufficient.Mr. Clegg: Those letters have been already produced by the prosecution. I have the right to call for those to be read, and if you will not now let me cross-examine her in reference to them in detail, then I ask that the letters be read; then I can cross-examine upon them, and that comes to the same thing.The Stipendiary: You should have done that before. It is too late now. I cannot have them read now.Mr. Clegg: Put that decision on the depositions. I ask that those letters put in by the prosecution be read by the clerk of the court.The Stipendiary: You have seen them.Mr. Clegg: I have not seen them. I have not had the opportunity of reading these original letters. By mere favour I have had copies of them sent to me.Prisoner: It is nothing but injustice.The Stipendiary: You will take the ruling of the Court, Mr. Clegg, if you please, and have done with it.Mr. Clegg: I put it to you as a matter of law.The Stipendiary: I have given my decision.Mr. Clegg: I object to proceed until these letters are read.Prisoner: Hear, hear.The Stipendiary: You can proceed with your cross-examination.Mr. Clegg: I have a right to have the letters read if I please.The Stipendiary: You can read them over yourself if you like.Mr. Clegg: If they are put into my hands I shall read them to witness.The Stipendiary: Then you may read them.Mr. Clegg: Very well, then; that is all I want. The witness has denied that she has had anything to do with them. (To witness): Have you read them?—​Some of them.Have you read them all?—​Not all of them.Then I will read them to you.Mr. Pollard: There will be no necessity for their being read aloud. Let the witness read them for herself.Mr. Clegg: I will read this one to you now, if you please. (Reading): “If you have a note for me send now whilst he is out, but you must not venture, for he is watching, and you cannot be too careful. Hope your foot is better. I went to Sheffield yesterday, but I could not see you anywhere. Were you out? Love to Jane.” Did you write that letter?—​No.Mr. Clegg: Now I put that letter in. Have you had an envelope in your possession like that (handing an envelope to the witness)?—​I don’t know; perhaps I might have. As regards the envelope, the prisoner used to come for paper and writing materials to my house.Prisoner: No, I did not; oh, no.Mr. Clegg (holding a yellow envelope in his hand): Have you read the contents of this?—​Yes, excepting something I could not make out.Will you swear that is not your handwriting?—​I swear there are none of them in my writing.Mr. Pollard: I think you need hardly put it to her now, because she has sworn over and over again that there are none of them in her writing.Mr. Clegg (to witness): Did you ever give the prisoner an American cent?—​No.Did you ever borrow any money from him?—​No.Not at all?—​I never did.Mr. Clegg, reading: “Things are looking very bad, for people told him everything. (Then there is something missing.) Pick out F. D.” Do you know what that means?—​No.Mr. Clegg (again reading): “Do keep quiet, and don’t let any one see you.” You did not write that? No; I did not write that.The Stipendiary: She says she didn’t write these letters.Mr. Clegg: Well, I wish to question her on the point.The Stipendiary: I will not have it, and I will have my ruling attended to. It shall not go down on the depositions.Cross-examination continued: You had a son named Willie?—​William Henry.How old is he?—​Seven years old last December.Did the prisoner ever give your son any halfpennies or coppers that you know of?—​No, not that I am aware of.You have seen that letter as well (handing a letter to witness)?—​Yes, I have seen them all.Do you know a woman named Norton?—​Norton! I seem to remember the name. I think I remember the name.Did you ever write this to the prisoner, “Mrs. Norton is raising h—— about what I——(then follows a blank)——. Can you settle it, and send me the prints?”Mr. Pollard: Witness denied that she ever wrote the letter, and the magistrate has given a ruling.Mr. Clegg (to witness): When you were before the magistrates last week you said that you left Darnall in consequence of the prisoner annoying you?—​Yes, on account of his annoyance.Had you seen him from July, 1876 up to the time when you left in October?—​No.Did you know where he was?—​No, I did not. He made himself scarce on account of the warrant I had taken out against him.Did his family leave the neighbourhood before you left?—​I don’t know.What do you now say was the reason for your leaving Darnall? Because we were afraid of him. That was the reason. We thought he might come in in the night. We thought we had better go where he would not know where to find us.It was because you were afraid of him?—​Yes; he had threatened both my life and that of my husband.Was the sole reason you left because you were afraid of him?—​Yes; and we were told that he visited Darnall in female attire.Did you say that the prisoner had threatened to blow your brains out, and those of your husband?—​Yes; I said that.Will you say that he threatened to blow your husband’s brains out?—​Yes; I will swear that threatened to blow out both my brains and my husband’s.Did you state that before the coroner?—​The case was not brought before the coroner.Were you not examined before the coroner?—​Yes; on the case of murder, nothing more.Were you examined as to the death of your husband?—​Yes.Did you say then that the prisoner had threatened your life at all?—​Not that I remember.The depositions of the witness were then put in by Mr. Pollard, from which it appeared that before the coroner witness had said that Peace had threatened to blow out both her brains and her husband’s.Had there been any quarrel between prisoner and your husband?—​I say he had been very annoying.Was there any quarrel?—​I can’t say there was any quarrel, because my husband would not speak to him.Have you ever received a letter from the prisoner at all?—​No sir. Oh! yes. I have received threatening letters.Have you got them?—​Mr. Chambers has them, I think.I am now talking about the night of the murder. Previous to your going into the closet had your son been taken to bed, do you know?—​Yes.Did you see the prisoner when you were in the bedroom?—​No.When you were coming out of the closet did you see the prisoner?—​Yes, I did.Did you say to him, “You old devil, what are you doing here now?”—​I don’t remember saying anything to him, but he said, “Speak or I’ll fire.”Will you swear that you did not say, “You old devil, what are you doing here to-night? I should have thought that you had brought enough disgrace upon me?—​I don’ remember speaking at all. I was too astonished.Did he say to you, “I will let you have the notes back again if you will get him to stay proceedings?”—​No.Did you say, “You know very well he won’t do it, as he has placed it in the hands of the lawyers?”—​No; I did not speak to him.Your husband then came up?—​Yes.How far was he from you and the prisoner before you first saw him?—​About two or three feet.How far is the passage from where you were to the closet? Close by.Well, how many yards?—​I can’t say.How far were you from the closet door when you saw your husband?—​Only three or four feet; I was just at the end.Whereabouts was the prisoner when he came up?—​The prisoner was going down the passage.Was he walking or running away?—​He was going at a rather quick pace.Was he walking pretty quickly away from your husband?—​He was going down the passage.Away from your husband?—​Away from him.When your husband was going towards the prisoner did you hear him say, “If you don’t stop I’ll fire?”—​No.Did you see the prisoner on the ground?—​How do you mean?With your husband. Was there any struggling between your husband and the prisoner?—​No, no.How far were you away from them when your husband was shot, did you say?—​A few feet off.Did you hear the prisoner speak to your husband before he fired?—​No, I did not. There was no speaking at all.Not from the time that he came out right up to the time he was shot?—​No.Will you swear that your husband and the prisoner were not struggling together on the ground?—​No, they were not struggling. They were not close enough together.Mr. Clegg: What became of the lantern that you had?—​What became of my lantern?Yes, had you it in your hand?—​I threw it down.Before you saw your husband come out had you the lantern still in your hand?—​Yes.This concluded the cross-examination of Mrs. Dyson.Mr. Pollard (re-examining): Are there some steps coming from the passage into the roadway?—​There are one or two steps.When your husband fell in what direction did his head fall?—​From the side of the passage.Did he take any step forward after the bullet struck him?—​No, he dropped instantly.At the time the bullet was fired did you see whether Peace was down on the pathway of the causeway?—​Yes.Therefore he would be some few feet below your husband?—​Yes. He was down off the steps on the causeway when he fired the second shot.And you say he would therefore be some two or three feet below your husband’s head at the time he fired?—​Yes.You were saying something about threatening letters. Between July and October, 1876, did you see any threatening letters?—​Yes.How many?—​I know of two, and there were perhaps more.Have you those letters?—​Mr. Chambers, solicitor, has them. Mr. Dyson gave them to Mr. Chambers.You gave them to Mr. Dyson, your husband, and he gave them to Mr. Chambere?—​Yes.You don’t know whose writing they were?—​They were signed as if from prisoner, and seemed to come from Germany.(Prisoner: I wish to call witnesses.)The Stipendiary: It’s not time to call witnesses.Prisoner: Am I going to be committed to-day? I want my witnesses called before.The Stipendiary: It’s not the time.This concluded Mrs. Dyson’s evidence, who then retired.Police-constable 235, John Pearson, was next called and examined by Mr. Pollard. Do you know the prisoner?—​I do, three or four years.Prisoner: Let that person come up here, will you? I don’t know him.Mr. Pollard (to witness): Three or four years from now?—​Yes, I knew him about two years before the murder.You remember the date of the murder of Mr. Dyson in November, 1876?—​Yes.Did you receive some instructions from your superior officer to go in search of the prisoner?—​I did. I received instructions the same morning at half past two o’clock.That wasNov.30?—​Yes.Did you go to any place in Hull which you had any reason to know?—​Yes, I went to 37, Collier-street.Who was living there?—​Peace’s wife, I believe. The same person who had been locked up here in the name of Hannah Peace. She was keeping a shop.You failed to find him there?—​Yes.Mr. Pollard: I propose now to take the escape and recapture of the prisoner on the last occasion.Stipendiary: You have gone after the time.Mr. Pollard: I put it on the ground of what it is worth, as an element for a jury to consider, whether an innocent person after having been examined, and hearing evidence such as was given on the last occasion, would have attempted to escape as he did.The Stipendiary: He was a convict, you know, suffering under sentence of penal servitude for life.Mr. Pollard: Well, I will not press it.Mr. Pollard then said that was his case.Prisoner here exclaimed: “I want my witnesses called. Why don’t you call my witnesses?” and then fell down.The depositions were now read over, Mrs. Dyson’s being taken first.Whilst her depositions were being read the prisoner conducted himself in an excited and somewhat insolent manner. Making a faint of jumping from his chair, he fell back suddenly, calling to be taken to his cell. The warders stepped forward, and he then refused to be removed, and called for his counsel, to whom he began to give instructions in an excited fashion. Mr. Clegg took little notice, and soon after Peace put his arms on the table, laid his head between them, and moaned loudly. He next drew the rug over his head, and made such interruptions that the rug was drawn back, and he was asked to be still. He paid little attention to this request, but kept moaning and muttering till the deposition were read over.Stipendiary (to Peace): Do you hear what is said?Prisoner (whining): Oh yes, I hear.The depositions were afterwards read over of Sarah Ann Colgrave, Mary Ann Gregory, George Brassington, Thomas Wilson, Police-constable Ward, Inspector Bradbury, and Police-constable Pearson.Prisoner: Cannot you call my witnesses? What is the use of my having witnesses if they are not called?The Stipendiary: Listen to me.Prisoner: I cannot have them called.The Stipendiary: Oh, yes, you can, Listen to me. You first of all have to make a statement, and then if there are any witnesses to be called they can be called. Now listen to me. The charge against you is that you wilfully and of malice aforethought did kill and murder one Arthur Dyson, onOct.29, 1876. Having heard the evidence, do you wish to say anything in answer to the charge?Prisoner: Yes; I wish to say that——Stipendiary: You are not obliged to say anything in answer to the charge. What you do say will be taken down, and may be given in evidence against you.Mr. Clegg: If you take my advice you will simply say not guilty.The Prisoner: I say I am not guilty, and that justice has not been done to me so that I can prove I am not guilty. That is what I want. I want that. I want justice done me. Why don’t they let me call my witnesses, because you are asking me shall my witnesses be called? Why should they not be called here? Why? because I have not the money to pay the expenses.The Stipendiary: What is it you complain of?The Prisoner: I want my witnesses called to prove that I have really not done this.The Stipendiary: Are there any witnesses to be called?Prisoner: Yes, sir.The Stipendiary: Are they here?Prisoner: Yes, sir.The Stipendiary: Then you must ask your solicitor.Mr. Robinson (reading): You say, “I say I am not guilty, and I want my witnesses called to prove I am not guilty.”Prisoner: That is what I said. I have lots of witnessses who can prove that that base, bad, woman has threatened my life, and has threatened her husband’s life; but I can’t talk to you, I am so bad. I feel very bad. But she has threatened to take my life often.The Stipendiary: Is this what you say?Prisoner: I say I am not guilty, and I say I have not justice done me to prove I am not guilty, and that I want my witnesses called. (Loudly.) I say I can prove that I have not threatened her life. She has threatened her husband’s, and she has pointed pistols and things at me.The Stipendiary: Have you any witnesses to-day? You are not taking your trial to-day. This is only a preliminary examination.Prisoner: I cannot have those witnesses without I pay for them.Mr. Clegg: I say I don’t intend calling any witnesses to-day.The Stipendiary: Do you care to sign your statement? Would you like to put your name to the statement?Prisoner: I will try.Prisoner (to his warder, in a very rough tone of voice): Let me be. Then, taking up the pen, he said, I cannot see.Mr. Clegg: Just sign it there.Prisoner then rested his head on one arm and signed his name very deliberately, the capital “C” and “P” being particularly well flourished.The Stipendiary: You are committed to take your trial on this charge at the assizes at Leeds.The Prisoner (with eagerness): When are they?The Stipendary: They are next week.Inspector Bradbury was then bound over to prosecute, and the witnesses to appear at the trial.The Prisoner: Will you let me sit before the fire a bit before I go? I am really very bad.Mr. Clegg: He complains of being cold.Prisoner: You can put me in irons if you like, but put me near a fire.The Chief Constable: The cells are warm enough. It is only in this corridor that there is so much air.Mr. Clegg: You will be warm enough in the cell.Prisoner: I want to see you.Mr. Clegg: Yes, I will see you.Prisoner was then removed to the cell, groaning and whining, apparently overcome by the result of the day’s proceedings.Mrs. Dyson laboured under suppressed emotion, but bore the ordeal well. The utmost precautions were taken to keep down excitement in the town, but popular feeling ran very high.We have during the progress of this work had occasion to refer in more than instance to the latitude allowed to counsel on police examinations. A striking instance of this was made manifest on the several examinations of the prisoner Webster for the Richmond murder, and before then, in a lesser degree, perhaps, a similar instance occurred in the examination of the witnesses brought forward to give their testimony upon the Bannercross murder.Peace was a daring and reckless burglar. An adept at disguising himself in a style that eluded the scrutiny of the police, he set small value on the vigilance of professional detectives.The comparative immunity with which he had escaped the consequences of his iniquity induced him to wax bold in transgression.Even to the last there seemed an idea that he might still be able to baffle justice. Everything a wicked ingenuity could do was done to discredit the testimony on which he was convicted; but the utmost license of counsel was unavailing.We are not disposed to say anything severe about a barrister struggling with the difficulties Mr. Lockwood was called to combat. In such circumstances the old adage of “No case—​abuse the plaintiff’s attorney,” is a sufficient explanation of what might otherwise appear unseemly.On the present occasion, however, it was not the attorney, but the press that got abused. In the recent trial of the directors of the City of Glasgow Bank, a similar policy was pursued by a prominent and really able advocate.But the barrister to whom the defence of Charles Peace was committed passed beyond the duty of counsel in the denunciation of newspapers.It was thus that Mr. Lockwood delivered himself:“Never in the course of my experience has there been such a cry raised on the part of those who ought to be most careful of all others in preserving the liberties of their fellow-men and the independence of the tribunals of justice. I say that in this respect these parties have proved false to the great duties entrusted to them, and have not hesitated to raise a merciless cry for blood for the sake of the paltry pennies which they have been able to extract from the public, whom they have tried to gull.”This charge against the press is false. There had really been no attempt to stimulate public antipathy against the Bannercross culprit. In point of fact, a judicious critic might with some show of reason insinuate that the details of the life of Peace had been placed before the public in aspects more attractive than just.The convict was not at all averse to the notoriety which he had recently achieved. But when his life is carefully scanned from the day that he first enlisted in the “Devil’s Regiment of the Line” until sentence of death was passed upon him, it is abundantly evident that the way of the transgressor was hard.Charles Peace commenced his criminal career before he was fourteen. He was not yet fifty, but already there was unambiguous evidence that premature old age was stealing over him.Though devoted to crime, Peace never consorted with criminals. This peculiarity in his career constituted his safety. It is mainly because the haunts and habits of criminals are known that they are detected.The impunity with which, for a very considerable period, Peace was enabled to commit the Blackheath burglaries arose from the air of mystery with which he was surrounded.It must not, however, be assumed that there was anything heroic in the kind of housebreaking with which he was identified.Houses in the district that formed the scene of his depredations afford every facility to the “cracksman.” But the good fortune which had so often favoured Peace in this region at length deserted him.A constable whom a revolver could not scare mastered the burglar.When he was condemned to penal servitude, it was discovered that the culprit had been guilty of a more serious crime. “Information received” enabled the authorities to connect the Blackheath burglar with the Bannercross murder.That crime was fast fading from the memory of even those amongst whom it had been committed, and every hope of arresting the murderer had been abandoned.Mr. Dyson’s widow was in America, and Peace, who knew this, thought himself safe.But, if “justice steals along with woollen feet, it strikes with iron hands.”Mrs. Dyson was brought back from the United States to avenge in the witness-box the brutality of her tormentor.Her evidence as to all that transpired on the eventful night that her husband fell was too minute and circumstantial to be shaken by even the severest cross-examination.The line of evidence which counsel was instructed to take only deepened the infamy of the accused.Even had it been possible to prove an improper intimacy between Peace and Mrs. Dyson, that would have done nothing to mitigate the atrocity of Mr. Dyson’s murder.A most persistent effort was made by Mr. Lockwood to show that, previous to the firing of the shot from which Mr. Dyson fell, there had been a struggle between the murderer and his victim.On this point, however, the widow’s evidence was decisive. There was indeed no necessity that Mr. Dyson should close with the culprit.Moreover, inoffensive people are not usually anxious to fight ruffians who are armed with “six-shooters.”When Peace was in a difficulty or in a passion, recourse to firearms seemed perfectly natural. Society was his legitimate prey, and in presence of unarmed antagonists the burglar waxed valorous. Rarely has a more wanton murder been perpetrated than that of Mr. Dyson.The only offence of which that unfortunate man appeared guilty was his abhorrence of the attentions of Peace. To escape them, he removed from the neighbourhood in which the convict dwelt.The scamp, however, followed the Dysons with a fiendish malignity. When threatening to blow out Mrs. Dyson’s brains, Peace had the effrontery to ask a bystander to “bear him witness that she had struck him with a life-preserver.” This idea was a pure myth.The preserver existed only in the foul imagination of the criminal, and the struggle with Mr. Dyson on the 29th November, 1876, a still bolder fiction. It is possible that the crime was unpremeditated, and that annoyance rather than murder was intended. But a man who makes a revolver the instrument of annoyance cannot guard against the most dreaded contingencies.Mr. Campbell Foster was justly enough precluded from making any reference to Peace’s attempted escape from the railway train. But it is not difficult to understand the motives under which the desperate leap was taken.If Peace had possessed any confidence in his ability to support the plea set up in his behalf, there would have been no attempt to escape. But he was awnre of what awaited him.He knew enough of Mrs. Dyson to fear that her testimony was not likely to be shaken. Every incidence in her career, so far as it was known to counsel, was reproduced for the purpose of disconcerting and discrediting her. Nevertheless, she left the witness-box with her evidence unshaken.Thus has Charles Peace been condemned. Hunted down while not yet fifty, there is in every feature of his forbidding face evidence that such a career is as unprofitable as it is criminal.It is difficult to conceive what this malefactor might have been under other and brighter auspices. But, dedicated to crime from his youth upward, as years passed away, conscience, which in his case was never tender, became “seared as with a hot iron.”When the final stage in his trial was reached, and Peace was asked if he had anything to say, he whimpered out, “Is there any use of saying anything now?”But in his cell the convict collapses, and his courage proves melodramatic.

Peace remained in a very prostrate condition, and, according to his own account, he was not fit to make his appearance in a court of justice. It was deemed, however, expedient to proceed with the charge.

Mr. Pollard, on Friday morning, put it to the Sheffield stipendiary whether the “leap for life” which Peace, the burglar, made from the express train was not inconsistent with his innocence of the crime of murder.

Mr. Welby suggested that a convict under a life sentence might have other reasons for the leap than the fear of hanging. No doubt it was with the convict a case of mixed motives.

Had he been able to escape, even for a few days, a lease of life for at least six months would have been secured, as his case would have been kept over till the Leeds Assizes following those which open next week.

Having been remanded for eight days, the desperado, like many less deeply interested, believed that his respite had been secured. Perhaps but for this knowledge the criminal would have played a deeper game by not getting better so soon.

The brandy with milk and arrowroot, which from the first few hours of his capture he took pretty freely, produced such an effect on his sound and wiry constitution that by Thursday evening Mr. Hallam, the surgeon specially in attendance, was able to say that if no change for the worse occurred, he might be brought before the stipendiary on the following morning.

The prisoner has proved such a troublesome and expensive “guest” that the authorities seemed to entertain a strong desire to see him again in Pentonville or such other place of security as it may seem fit to assign him to.

The secret of the examination being held to-day was last night divulged to the press, but only on condition that they should keep it private till the prisoner had been actually brought up.

Of course it was kept yet more secret from the prisoner.

This helped him to sleep last night, and, though he showed himself much more querulous than has been his wont, he took in the morning a plentifully early breakfast.

The surgeon, having seen him, decided that he was fit to be brought up. Soon after ten o’clock the prisoner was accordingly helped out of his cell, but apparently had no idea of where he was being taken.

The warders presently placed him in a large armchair in the corridor, and into this he sank with a lengthened sigh, leaning his head on his hands, as if much exhausted.

Then suddenly, with an ugly expression in his eyes, he protruded the lower part of his face across the long table which had been set in the corridor, and exclaimed with clenched teeth, but in a low tone, “What are we here for? What is this?”

The scene might well arouse the criminal’s curiosity. Unwilling to cause excitement either to the prisoner or to the public, the authorities had improvised a court in the corridor of the prison, where the light was supplied by candles.

The stipendiary, with his clerks, sat ready to examine the prisoner.

The chief constable was present, also Inspector Bradbury and Police-constable Walsh, who was in charge of Mrs. Dyson. Mr. Pollard again appeared to prosecute, and Mr. W. E. Clegg conducted the defence.

The scene was dreary and depressing, especially as there was no audience for the principal actor to play up to, even had he been so disposed, the public having been excluded.

After several half-whining protests from the convict the stipendiary decided to go on, when, with a sudden change of voice, Peace exclaimed in his old sharp tones, “I wish to God there was something across my shoulders.”

He was then plentifully supplied with coverings through which his newly-bandaged head at times could hardly be seen. His high but narrow forehead slopes rapidly upwards, and, though much of his apparent weakness was evidently mere affectation, his wan and haggard aspect was pitiable as well as repugnant.

Towards Mrs. Dyson, who was placed at some distance along the table, he alternately glared, and scowled and leered, and more than once became very excited in his demands for justice when the stipendiary firmly refused liberty to press certain questions which he deemed irrelevant.

Mrs. Dyson was tastefully dressed entirely in black, and without her veil. She seemed in good health, and, though apparently suffering somewhat from suppressed excitement, gave her evidence clearly, calmly, and without a particle of flinching.

The whitewashed walls of the cold corridor did not look more stonily at Peace than did the face of the woman whom he tried to claim as his former paramour.

The absence of spectators was a relief to her, and she stood quietly and without apparent weariness during her long and trying cross-examination.

Mr. Clegg did the best he could for his client, but refused to take any notice of the low mutterings or loud protests of the prisoner.

The stipendiary refused to let the letters be read aloud, but the most exciting passages were given. These documents are a series of comparatively dull communications written on old envelopes and dirty scraps of paper.

Here is a specimen: “How well you never told that man I looked at you out of the window you left me to find out for myself and would not put me on my guard, as I do you. Hope you won’t do it again. Don’t talk to little Willie much, or give him any halfpennies. Don’t be a fool; it looks as if you want people to know the way and—”

A blank occurs here, and the remaining portion of the letter now legible says: “If you are not more careful we will have to say quits. I have told you not to say anything until—”

On the theory of the defence the Willie referred to is Mrs. Dyson’s son, aged seven and William Henry by name. (Mrs. Dyson’s reply to every question was a decided repudiation of the suggestion that the letters had been written by her.)

At these repudiations the convict affected to be savagely indignant. Also when Mrs. Dyson said the portrait had been stolen from her room he muttered between his clenched teeth—

“Stolen—​stolen—​stolen!”

He glared towards the witness with a tragic air, and then buried his head in his arms, which were stretched on the table.

At another time, when Mrs. Dyson was being questioned as to whether any struggle took place between her husband and the murderer, and replied in the negative, Peace, who had seemed comparatively quiet, shot his head up and made his lower jaw protrude in a loathsome manner, as he glared at the witness.

While Mrs. Dyson’s depositions before the coroner were being read the prisoner caused another scene. On being removed to his cell, at the end of the proceedings, his energy seemed quite to leave him; but when his counsel visited him in his cell shortly afterwards the prisoner seemed comparatively cheerful and careless, and gave his instructions and suggestions in quite a business-like fashion.

Only passages from the letters alleged to have been written by Mrs. Dyson were read aloud in court.

In spite of the policy of secrecy followed by the stipendiary and Chief Constable Jackson, a large crowd gathered at the Town Hall, and long before the usual time of opening the doors so great became the pressure against them as to burst them open, and the courts were rapidly filled.

The police were able, however, to clear them without any serious trouble.

People knew that the ordinary business of the Court would commence at eleven o’clock, and they settled down to wait as comfortably as possible for that time, knowing that they would then be able to gain admission.

When the doors were opened to the public, the two courts were soon filled again, and the people rested in expectation till authentic word came that the convict’s examination was well-nigh over.

Throughout the time there was greater excitement than at any period since the great Sheffield flood, but the police were able to preserve order.

Robinson, who captured Peace at Blackheath, after such a desperate struggle was in Sheffield, on a visit to some friends, and his frank and yet jovial bearing has impressed very favourably those who happened to meet him.

A suggestion was made that a public testimonial should be presented to him for his bravery, and, in spite of dulness of trade, was likely to be received with favour. Robinson had not seen Peace in Sheffield.

Up to half-past ten at night the prisoner was behaving with comparative composure, and had taken refreshments when he required them.

The following is a fuller account of the particulars of this examination:—

A few minutes after ten o’clock Peace was assisted out of his cell and placed in an armchair in the corridor where the inquiry was held. He seemed to be exhausted, and sinking into the chair he exclaimed, “Oh, oh!” and leaned his head on his hand. He then looked about with an air of surprise, and exclaimed, groaning deeply, “What are we here for? What is this?”

The Stipendiary (Mr. Welby): This is the preliminary inquiry which is being proceeded with after being adjourned the other day.

Prisoner (groaning again): I am not able to bear it. I ought not to be brought here.

The Stipendiary: Then you must do the best you can. This is only the preliminary inquiry. You are not absolutely obliged to be here—​so you must attend as well as you can. You are represented here, and the preliminary inquiry is to be finished to-day.

Prisoner: I wish to God there was something across my shoulders. I am very cold. Oh dear! oh dear! Then am I to be committed to-day?

The Stipendiary: The preliminary inquiry will be finished, and if the evidence is sufficient you will be committed.

Prisoner: I want to have my solicitor here. Oh dear! and I want to call my witnesses.

Mr. Clegg: You will have sufficient time for that; you will have plenty of time to call your witnesses.

Prisoner (groaning): I am not able to go on. Oh, I am so cold! (A thick rug was here thrown over him by one of the warders.) I am not able to go on; I am not. (Groaning again.) This is not justice; it is not justice.

The Stipendiary: You must take it for what it is.

The prisoner here uttered some words, which were taken to be “Oh, never mind that;” and afterwards asked that his counsel should come nearer. He seemed to suffer from the cold and the draught of air in the corridor.

Prisoner (apparently recovering himself, and looking more alert, and speaking with more energy): Then, I say, it is not justice; it is not justice. Why does not my solicitor prevent this, and ask for a remand. What is my solicitor doing not to prevent this? Tell my solicitor I want him.

Mr. Clegg: Well, what do you want?

Prisoner (sharply): Why don’t you ask for a remand?

The Stipendiary: It is no use asking for a remand at all, I tell you; the inquiry is going to be proceeded with.

Prisoner (piteously): It is not justice. I am not able to go on; you know how I am. Oh, dear, it is no matter if I’d killed myself. It would be no matter. You know how I am, and ought to have a remand. I feel I want it, and must have a remand.

The Stipendiary: Remand will not be granted; and you had better attend to what is said.

Mr. Clegg: If you want to say anything wait until I am cross-examining Mrs. Dyson, and it can be done then. You had better save your energies until then. The inquiry will be proceeded with to-day.

Mrs. Dyson was then called and sworn. She looked well, but spoke slowly, as if labouring under suppressed emotion.

Mr. Pollard: Catherine Dyson, there were some papers produced the other day in court. Bradbury, will you produce those papers?

Inspector Bradbury handed in the papers.

The Stipendiary: Those, I suppose, are the papers and the card.

Mr. Pollard: They are the papers produced by Bradbury. (To witness): Have you seen those papers before?—​Yes; at the coroner’s inquest in December, 1876.

You have Seen the first card—​the card numbered one. That, I think you say, is the handwriting of your husband on the back of it?—​Yes.

With reference to all the other papers, do you know the handwriting?—​No, I do not.

The Stipendiary: You had better look over them, every one of them, before you speak to them all.

Witness then looked over them, prisoner meanwhile languidly saying: They are not all there. I want to look at them.

Mr. Clegg: Be quiet.

Witness: I do not know whose handwriting it is.

The Stipendiary: You do not know whose handwriting it is on any of them?—​No.

The Stipendiary: You have looked at them?—​I know none of them except the post-card.

Prisoner (interrupting): I want the milkman called.

The Stipendiary: You had better be quiet. Your time for calling witnesses will come.

Mr. Pollard (to witness): Were any of those written by your authority? Do you know any of them?—​Not by my authority. I know nothing of them.

What distance should you say it is from the house that you lived in at Darnall to the house you removed to at Bannercross?—​About five or six miles, to the best of my knowledge.

Mr. Clegg: Before proceeding with the cross-examination I should like to recall Mr. Inspector Bradbury.

The Stipendiary: Why so?

Mr. Pollard: I have a question to put to the inspector that I omitted to ask the other day.

Mr. Bradbury was recalled, and was examined by Mr. Pollard.

Do you produce a bullet?—​Yes (producing it).

From whom did you receive it?—​From Dr. Harrison, onDec.8, 1876, the day of the inquest.

Cross-examined by Mr. Clegg: You remember on the last time, Mr. Bradbury, that I asked you if you had seen a photograph?—​Yes.

Have you got that photo now?—​Yes. (Produced a photo.) I got it from Mr. Jackson, the chief constable.

The photo was then handed to the stipendiary, and Peace, eyeing it, said in an aggrieved voice: “They have taken it out of the case.”

Mr. Clegg, addressing him, said: Will you be quiet?

Mr. Pollard: I want to ask one or two questions of Mrs. Dyson with reference to these photographs.

The Stipendiary: Certainly.

Mr. Clegg: Perhaps it will be better if you let me finish my cross-examination first.

Mr. Pollard: I prefer to do it now.

Mr. Pollard: Mrs. Dyson, have you any remembrance of being photographed? First of all, whose photograph is this? (Handing a photograph to the witness.)—​It is the prisoner’s and mine.

Where was that taken?—​It was taken in 1876.

The Stipendiary: What part of 1876?—​I cannot remember the date. It was summer.

When was it taken?—​At Sheffield Fair.

Was it at the summer or winter fair?

Peace: It was the winter fair.

Mrs. Dyson: I won’t say, because I am not sure.

How near was it toNov.29, 1876?—​It was some months before that date; at the Sheffield Fair.

The Stipendiary: There is a name at the back of the photo.

Mr. Pollard: Will you look at that (handing a small photo to Mrs. Dyson)?—​That is mine.

Had you in the years 1876 or 1875 a photo like that, in that position?—​Yes; I had one in a locket.

Was it in 1875 or 1876?—​I had it in 1875.

Can you say at all whether it was in 1875 or 1876?—​Yes; I had it in the early part of 1876.

You say you had it in a locket?—​Yes.

Have you that photograph is the locket now?—​No it was taken from me.

How do you mean?—​It was taken out of the house without my knowing how.

It was in the winter?—​Yes, 1875, as well as I can remember.

The Stipendiary: Before the larger one was taken?—​Yes it was.

Can you say it was the winter of 1875 or 1876?—​Well, it was about Christmas.

Do you say that the locket was stolen?—​No, the photograph was then out of the locket.

You were living at Darnall then, were you?—​Yes.

Where was the locket when you missed the photograph from it?—​It was in my bedroom.

Did you speak about the loss?—​Yes, I mentioned it to my husband.

Did you make any search for the photo?—​Yes; I also told an officer before I went to America.

You made a search for the photo?—​Yes.

Did you ever find the photo?—​No.

Mr. Pollard: Is that the locket, or a copy of the photograph that you so lost?—​That is not the original, because the one that I had was taken in Cleveland, Ohio.

Mr. Pollard: And this is a copy of it—​is it?—​Yes.

Mr. Pollard: I see that this has the name of F. Barber, photographer, Church-gates, Sheffield.—​Witness: This is not the original. The original was taken by Mr. Wragg, Cleveland, Ohio.

Mr. Pollard: Did you ever go to Mr. Barber’s to be photographed?—​No, no; I never had a photograph taken in this country except that one.

Mr. Pollard: Except the one that was taken at the fair.

Mr. Pollard (to the Stipendiary): That, you see, is done on glass. That was done at the back of the other.

The Stipendiary: Oh, I see.

The Clerk: There was only one photograph taken then?—​Witness: Only one.

The prisoner here put his legs on the table, and the Stipendiary, addressing him, said severely: You must not put your feet on the table.—​Prisoner (sharply): All right.

Mr. Pollard (to witness): Did you tell any other person at the time besides your husband of the loss of the photograph from your locket?—​I told one of the officers.

That you told us; but anybody else?—​No.

Mr. Clegg: Besides, if you did it would not be evidence.

Mr. Pollard: Unless the neighbour was—​I do not want to put it in her mouth.

Mr. Pollard (to witness): Was your husband with you that day in Sheffield Fair?—​Yes.

On the day you were photographed?—​Yes.

The Prisoner; Call Daird (meaning the policeman of Darnall)—​will you, please?

At Sheffield Fair the prisoner was a neighbour of yours?—​Yes. I believed him at that time to be a respectable man.

And a picture-frame maker, as you said?—​Yes.

You said you had this (referring to the photograph) with you then. Where was it kept?—​On the mantelpiece, in the kitchen.

When did you miss it?—​In a week or so after it was taken.

When did you next see this one (lifting another photograph)?—​I cannot exactly say the day. One day last week, in Mr. Jackson’s hands.

In the hands of the police?—​Yes.

Did you give it to any one?—​No; I did not give it to any one. It was taken away without my knowledge.

Then with reference to the photograph which was taken from your locket—​what about it?—​It was taken away without my knowledge.

When was that?

Mr. Robinson: I have got all that down as in the winter of 1875.

Mr. Clegg: I might as well take this photograph at once (showing the double one to the witness). Was not that photograph taken in the fair of 1876?—​In 1876—​I think so, as well as I can remember.

The photograph I am now holding?—​Yes, I see.

Was this photograph taken in the fair of 1876?—​I said I could not remember the date.

Was it during the time that you were residing at Darnall?—​Yes.

When did you leave Darnall, was it onOct.29?—​OnOct.25, 1876.

Was it at the fair preceding the time that you left Darnall?—​It was at the fair before I left Darnall.

I want now to know, for certain. Are you certain this was taken in the preceding fair before you left Darnall?—​I did not say the preceding fair.

Well, I ask you now?—​I cannot say. I am not quite certain, but I should be able to find out, if necessary.

But I want to know now?—​I cannot say.

You have already said you thought it was the Summer Fair of 1876?—​I think so, but I am not quite certain; but it was taken at Sheffield Fair.

I will try and assist your memory. Did you not say before the coroner that you had known the prisoner for about ten months?—​I don’t recollect exactly.

At the time you gave evidence before the coroner in December, 1876, how long had you known the prisoner?—​Perhaps near a year.

Had you been with him to more than one fair?—​No.

Had you been with him to what is called a Winter Fair?—​No.

Then the fair at which you had been with him was the Summer Fair?—​Yes.

You say you had only known him a year, and you had not been with him to a winter fair. Now, then, cannot you now say that it was the summer fair of 1876?—​Oh, no; I cannot say, because I am not quite sure.

I will try and assist you a little further. How many months was it before you took out the summons against him for threatening your life that you had been with him to the fair? I cannot tell you how many months. I cannot tell you exactly. It might be two or three months, perhaps. I cannot be quite sure.

When were you married to Mr. Dyson?—​I do not remember the date.

Don’t remember the date? What year was it?—​I can’t tell you that.

Do you mean to swear that you can’t tell the year when you were married?—​No, I can’t say what year.

Not what year?—​No; but I can find out.

Dou you mean to say you don’t know what year you were married in?—​I don’t.

Where were you married?—​In Cleveland, Ohio; Trinity Church.

Mr. Clegg: Were there any witnesses present at your marriage?—​Certainly; my sister, Mrs. Thomas Mooney.

Mr. Pollard: I object to this. I can’t see the relevancy of it.

The Stipendiary: She says she can’t remember when she was married.

Mr. Clegg: I don’t wish to waste time; but I believe all the questions I ask will have a relevancy to the case.

The Stipendiary: I must trust you to a great extent. I do not myself see the relevancy.

Mr. Pollard: It will do no good to go into the whole history of a person’s life from their first years.

Mr. Clegg: I am only starting the question of whether she was married, and I have every reason for asking for full particulars of the facts.

The Stipendiary: If she could remember the year of her marriage I should say the rest was not necessary.

Mr. Pollard (to Mr. Clegg): Ask when it was about.

Mr. Clegg: If she had told me the year I should have been satisfied. (To witness): Your sister was one of the witnesses. Who was another?—​Dr. Sargent.

Did you get a certificate of your marriage? Certainly; it is with my agent in America.

What is your agent’s name?—​Booth, Barratt, andCo.,St.Louis, Missouri, United States.

Had you any object in leaving your certificate there?—​I have left other papers there. They are more safe then carrying them about.

The Stipendiary here interposed with reference to the manner in which Mr. Clegg was cross-examining.

Mr. Clegg: In this case it is a question of credibility as to what actually happened, and as this witness is the only person who actually saw what happened I think I have a right to test her credibility in every possible way. I have an object in asking these questions as to her marriage, in consequence of what I am instructed she has told somebody about it. I wish to inquire into it, whether it is true or not.

Mr. Clegg: Was your husband friendly with the prisoner?—​Yes.

Did he frame any pictures for you?—​Yes.

(Prisoner muttered something which was not distinctly heard.)

Did he tell you what they were?—​Yes. One was a portrait of my sister, one of Mr. Dyson, and my brother, and my little boy.

Was your husband’s mother not amongst them?—​I think not.

Will you swear he did not frame that?—​No, he did not.

Had your husband a portrait or picture of his mother?—​I had one.

The Stipendiary: What about your objection, Mr. Pollard?

Mr. Pollard: Of course I make my objection. I was leaving it in your hands.

Mr. Clegg: Will you swear he did not frame a portrait of your husband’s mother?—​No, he did not. There was one in a pot frame.

The Stipendiary said something to Mr. Clegg, who replied, “I will show the portrait to you, sir. I do not want to prove anything that is not material.”

Mr. Clegg: This is a material object; a most material object.

The Stipendiary: It is not, in my idea, of sufficient importance to be gone on with.

Mr. Clegg: I think you will see, when I bring out what I want to know about this portrait, that it is a very material object.

The Stipendiary: Very well, I will say no more; but if it is merely a question of general credibility, it is unnecessary.

Mr. Clegg: Did you ever ask him to frame this portrait—​this picture of your mother?—​Yes. I was to get a large one of my mother. I mentioned it to him about framing them, but I never got the photographs.

Did you ask him to frame your mother’s portrait?—​Yes; but he never did it.

Mr. Clegg: Did you write him any letter?

Mr. Pollard: She gives a reason why she did not ask him.

Mr. Clegg: It is not an answer to my question. I do not care about her reasons.—​(To witness): Did you send him a letter about it?—​No.

Mr. Clegg (holding a bundle of letters in his hand, and calling the attention of the witness to one markedNo.6): Look at this letter. Is it in your handwriting?—​No.

Is it in your husband’s writing?—​No.

Do you know whose writing it is?—​No, I don’t.

Did any person know of your wish that he should frame the picture of your husband’s mother but your husband and yourself?—​Not that I am aware of.

Except your husband and yourself?—​Not that I am aware of.

Have you ever seen the prisoner write?—​No.

You will swear that you never saw him write?—​No, I never saw him write. My husband used to write for him. I have seen him sitting at a table with writing materials in front of him.

Can you tell his writing if you see it again?—​I have not see him write.

(Peace here leaned against the table, and looked with great interest at the witness.)

Have you never seen letters purporting to come from him?—​No, I never have, for I did not know he could write, because he used to get my husband to write for him.

As far as you are concerned in reference to this wish, that you wanted the prisoner to frame your photo—

Mrs. Dyson: I did not ask him to frame mine.

I did not ask you that. I said your husband’s mother’s photo. You did not tell anyone of that?—​I do not remember that I did.

Now, just listen to this letter; will you take it into your hands and follow it while I read a copy? Now listen: “Saturday afternoon—​I write you these few lines to thank you for all your kindness, which I shall never forget, from you and your wife. She is a good one. Does she know that you are to give me the things or not? How can you keep them concealed? One thing I wish you to do is to frame his mother’s photograph and send it in with my music-book; if you please do it when he is in. Many thanks for your kind advice. I hope I shall benefit by it. I shall try to do right to every body as far as I can, for I can always look upon you as a friend. Good-bye. I have not much time. Burn this when you have read it.”

Madame, will you still venture to swear that that paper is not in your writing?—​No, it is not.

Peace: I will prove it, though.

You remember you are upon your oath?—​Yes, I do.

Peace: I want these witnesses of mine called.

You were very intimate with Peace, were you not?—​Yes, I used to go into his house with his wife and daughter.

Have you been together with him, and have you not been to places of amusement together?—​I have been with him, his wife, and daughter.

I did not ask you that. Have you not been alone to places of amusement with him?—​Not to places of amusement. I have been to one place in Sheffield alone with him.

Where?—​I don’t know where. Peace said there was a man there who was his brother.

What sort of place was it?—​A public-house.

Mr. Robinson: Did you see that man there?—​Yes, we saw him.

Do you know the name of the street?

Prisoner (raising himself up, and addressing his solicitor, extending his arm towards Mrs. Dyson): Ask her about going to the theatre with me.

Mr. Clegg: Have you been to the theatre with him?—​I was with him and his daughter and wife.

Was your husband there?—​No; but I had other friends along with me.

Have you been with him alone to the Albert Hall?—​To the Albert Hall?

Yes, to the Albert Hall?—​No, I never was with him alone; his daughter was with me.

The prisoner again raised himself up, and exclaimed, “Send for Mr. Cowen;” and then, as no attention was paid to his request, he leaned back again on his rugs.

Have you been to any public-houses together?—​I have already told you I have been to one.

More than one?—​No, not along with him; but he has followed me into public-houses when I was with my husband. He followed me into one or two at Darnall. I cannot tell you the names of them.

Was one the Duke of York?—​I believe so.

Didn’t you use to go there alone?—​I used to go there.

Stop a bit. Did you not sometimes go to that house to get something to drink, and tell the landlord to put it down to Peace, the prisoner?—​No. (Peace muttered something about it being false.) There was no landlord, only a landlady, in the house then.

Oh, you do remember that? The name is Mrs. Liversidge—​is it not? I ask you now, have you been to the Halfway House?—​Yes.

Have you told the persons belonging to that house to put down the drink you had to Peace?—​Not to my knowledge.

Not to your knowledge?—​No.

Will you swear you have not?—​I cannot swear it but I say I never have to my knowledge.

Did you frequent that house?—​I called there two or three times, I believe.

Did you know a person of the name of Goodlad?—​Goodlad?

Yes. Did you know the pianist at the Star Music Hall, in Spring-street?—​No.

Mr. Goodlad was here called up.

Mr. Clegg: See, that is the man.

The Stipendiary: Do you know that man by sight or name?—​Which one?

The Stipendiary: Come forward. See, that is him. (Mr. Goodlad advanced.) Look at him, Mrs. Dyson.

Witness: I never remember seeing him before.

Prisoner (groaning): Call his master; call his master.

Mr. Clegg: Have you and the prisoner been to the Star Music Hall together?—​I don’t know it by that name.

Then I will ask you this question—​have you been to a music hall together, and to a public-house?—​He called it a picture gallery. I didn’t hear any music there. There was no music there.

The Stipendiary: You had been to a place he called a picture gallery?—​Yes.

Mr. Clegg: Where was it?—​It was in Sheffield.

Can you tell me whereabouts it was?—​I could not tell you the street. I could not find it now.

Have you been to a public-house with him, where there was music and singing?—​We were at his brother’s public-house; and he said his brother was in some music society. I believe so, I am not quite sure.

Have you been to music-hall held at a public-house where there was some music and singing?—​Not to my knowledge.

What?—​It looked as if there was some music because there was a small stage, but there was no music in our time. It was early in the afternoon.

Have you not been at night, when there has been music and singing, and that man who was called has been playing there?—​No, I do not remember to have seen his face.

The Clerk: You say you have not been there at night?—​Witness: No, it was in the afternoon.

Mr. Clegg: Do you know a public-house in Russell-street, Sheffield, called the “Marquis of Waterford?”—​No.

Mr. Clegg (to witness): The public-house that I am talking about now is in the street where the prisoner’s brother lived?—​I do not know it by name.

But do you know it now I have given you the place? Do you know where the prisoner’s brother lived?—​I do not know where he lived. He was in that public-house.

Mr. Clegg: Will you call a man of the name of Cragg? (Cragg was brought before the Court.)

Mr. Clegg: Do you know that man?—​No, I never remember seeing him before.

That man is the landlord of the public-house that I have been talking about?—​I never remember seeing him, but he may have been there and me not see him.

Have you been to several public-houses with him (the prisoner), and had something to drink with him at those public-houses?—​No, I had soda water.

Mr. Clegg: Well, that is something to drink.

The Stipendiary: You do not deny that you have been at these public-houses?—​I have been there.

But you have not seen these men that have been produced, to your knowledge?—​Not to my knowledge.

Mr. Clegg: You have had some drink there?—​I have had a bottle of soda water or pop.

Have you had something stronger than either of those two?—​No.

How many times have you been with him to these various houses?—​Only once.

Where?—​The house where you speak of.

But I think you do not know it?—​I have been to the house where his brother was.

But I am not talking about the place you call the picture-gallery. I am talking about another public-house altogether.—​Oh, I did not understand.

Have you been to more than one public-house with him?—​I have been to the picture-gallery and another place with him.

Those are two, and have you been with him to the “Halfway House?”—​Not with him.

Or to the “Duke of York?”—​Not with him.

Have you and he been out of the town together?—​Yes; he followed me one day to Mansfield.

Was any one with you?—​Mrs. Padmore and her three children.

When was that?—​The summer before we returned.

Was that about the time you had your photograph taken with him?—​No; not about the time.

Was it before the fair or after the fair?—​I cannot tell you exactly.

Don’t take refuge behind “Cannot tell exactly.”—​I cannot remember the date, and you don’t want me to tell a lie.

I don’t want you to tell me a lie.—​It was in the summer some time.

Before or after the photograph was taken?—​I cannot tell you exactly.

Was it immediately preceding or subsequently?—​I can’t tell you exactly.

Can you tell me whether it was before the fair or after the fair?—​Don’t remember.

Oh, please do try and remember?—​Well, I can’t; but I will find out for you.

Was it before or after you had taken out the warrant?—​Why, long before.

The Stipendiary: Was it a warrant or summons?

Mr. Clegg: Well, both.

Mr. Pollard: The summons was taken first, and then the warrant.

Mr. Clegg (to witness): It was long before that, you say?—​Yes.

Then at the time you went to Mansfield with Mrs. Padmore had you had any quarrel with the prisoner?—​Yes; I didn’t want him to annoy me.

Had you had any quarrel?—​Yes, because he was a nuisance to me.

That was before you had your portrait taken with him when you went to Mansfield?—​I don’t remember.

At this point the prisoner groaned loudly several times, and finally caused his head to fall forward on the table, placing his hands underneath. In this position he remained.

Examination continued: Do you say it was two or three months before?—​I didn’t say two or three months. I said a while before.

What do you call a while?—​A month or so—​two or three weeks. It might be longer. I am not quite sure.

Before you took out this summons against him, had you any quarrel at all?—​Had I any quarrel?

Mr. Robinson: You summoned him for a certain thing. Had you any quarrel before that certain thing?—​Not a quarrel, only that he was such a nuisance about the house, calling me a brute, and listening on the doorstep to our conversation.

The prisoner here again groaned, and asked for the surgeon.

Mr. Hallam, the police surgeon, felt his pulse. He then suggested that his feet should be raised by being placed on a chair. This was done, and then the prisoner lay back in his arm-chair with his feet curled before him.

Had you any unpleasantness before you went to Mansfield?—​He was a constant source of annoyance by his disagreeableness. He used to listen at the door, and jump over the wall, and be very disagreeable indeed. He was a constant annoyance.

What train did you go by when you went to Mansfield?—​The afternoon train.

Where did you go after you got there? Was he with you?—​He followed us, and came into the house just as we were sitting down to tea.

Do you know a person of the name of Kirkham?—​Kirkham?

Mr. Clegg: Call Kirkham. (Kirkham a person about twenty years of age, was brought into the corridor.)

The Stipendiary: Do you know him?—​Yes; I remember his face.

Mr. Clegg: You know him now; there can’t be any doubt about it?—​I remember his face.

Mr. Pollard: Do you know him by name, or only know his face?—​I only know his face.

Mr. Clegg: He delivered the milk?—​He and his father.

Have you never give him notes, with instructions to deliver them to Peace?—​I gave him two receipts.

Two receipts? What were they for?—​For pictures, framing.

What were they written on?—​On paper. I don’t know whether there was an envelope. I think only a piece of paper.

Have you not given him notes or receipts?—​I have given him two receipts.

I ask you have you not given him notes?—​No, no notes.

Little scraps of paper?—​No, I have given him two receipts.

Where did your husband keep his address cards?—​In his writing-desk.

Locked up?—​No.

Where was the writing-desk?—​In the sitting-room.

Had you no address cards?—​I, myself? No.

Did you ever see your husband’s?—​No.

The prisoner had a daughter named Jane—​had he not?—​Jane Ann they called her.

Now, then, look at that (showing her a card).—​It is in the same writing as the other.

Mr. Pollard: It is an address card. What is its number?

Mr. Clegg: It is “No.2.” (To witness): Read out what it says (handing witness the card).—​Witness: I cannot read it, and it is not written very plain.

Then I will try and assist you. You can read?—​Yes.

And you can write?—​Yes.

This is what it says then: “After he is going out I won’t go if I can help it—​so see me. Love to Janey.”—​I did not write it.

Has that card been altered from “Mr.” to “Mrs.” Look?

Mr. Vickers: Is there some alteration there?—​Yes; there is an “s” there.

Will you venture to say you did not use that address card and alter that from “Mr.” to “Mrs.?”—​I did not alter it.

It is on your husband’s address card?—​I am aware of that.

Now, do you know a little girl named Hutton?—​I don’t remember the name.

Do you know a Mrs. Hutton living in Britannia-road?—​No, I don’t remember the name; but I might know her if I saw her. I can’t tell her by name.

Did you not go and meet him there?—​No, I never did.

Were you never together in Mrs. Hutton’s?—​We called together one day, when I was looking after a little girl to go errands for me.

Was it Mrs. Hutton’s little girl?—​Yes, I believe that was the name.

Will you swear that you never gave notes to her little girl to give to the prisoner?—​I will.

Will you give her a pen? I should like to see her write what I shall dictate to her. What do you write with generally—​a steel pen or a quill pen?—​It does not make much difference, though I usually write with a quill.

Well, write with a steel pen, “I will write a note when I can, perhaps to-morrow.” Yes, that will do. Go on and write, “You can give me something as a keepsake if you like, but I don’t like to be covetous, and to take them from your wife and daughter. Love to all.” You have not written this half as well as the first part.—​It is the best I can do.

Now, look at this first line, “I will write to you a note,” and look at this card. Now, madame, will you swear that this is not your writing?—​That is not my writing.

Now, I will go over these letters. Did the prisoner ever give you a ring?—​Yes.

Peace: Did I give her what?

Mr. Clegg: Do you be quiet.

Did you write to acknowledge the receipt of that ring?—​Not to my knowledge.

Had you any envelopes in your possession like this?—​I cannot say.

Look it well over. It is important.—​I cannot say.

Was the prisoner living next door to you when he gave you the ring?—​Yes.

The attendant surgeon, Mr. Hallam, here went to feel Peace’s pulse, whereupon the prisoner groaned a good deal, and seemed to be very ill. He, however, found his invalid all right, and left him for a time.

Now, then, just look at that letter—​that envelope with the writing upon it. Is that your handwriting?—​No; it is not my writing.

Did anybody besides you and the prisoner know he had given you a ring?—​I don’t know. I guess his daughter knew; at least he said so.

Did you know whether the daughter could write or not?—​I don’t know. I guess she could.

Do you know about when that writing was given to you?—​No; I can’t remember.

Very well. Now then, listen to me. I am going to read a letter, and you follow me. “I don’t know what train we shall go by. I have a good deal to do this morning. Will see you as soon as I possibly can. I think it would be easier after you move; he won’t watch so. The r—​g (meaning the ring) fits the little finger. Many thanks, and love to Jennie. I will tell you what I thought of when I see you about arranging matters. Excuse this scribbling.”

Mr. Clegg: What is the next word—​is it “hello?”—​I don’t know, I cannot tell.

Now, you admit you have received a ring from him?—​Yes; he gave me a ring.

Will you swear that is not a letter from you to him?—​It is not from me.

Not about putting the ring on, and trying it on and telling him the ring fits?—​The letter is not from me.

You will not swear the letter is not from you?—​It is not from me.

Did the ring fit?—​No.

Did you tell him not?—​I did not keep it very long. It did not fit my little finger.

Mr. Clegg: Did you try it on?—​Yes, I tried it; but I could not put it on.

What sort of a ring was it?—​I could not tell you exactly. It was not worth much.

Do you remember the prisoner’s foot being damaged?—​No; I do not remember anything about it.

(The prisoner groaned, and his solicitor had a consultation with him.)

Will you swear that you did not write this note to him (producing a letter markedNo.5)? Is that in your handwriting?—​No.

Mr. Clegg: I will read it to you.

Mr. Pollard: The witness keeps on saying she did not write the letter to him, or the note. I object that, unless it is proved the thing is connected with the case it cannot be used. She denies that she wrote it.

Mr. Clegg: I submit, then, sir, that you have a most curious coincidence. She admits that the ring is given to her by the prisoner, and yet she denies writing the letter in which the ring is mentioned to her.

The Sipendiary: What does it all lead to?

Mr. Clegg: It leads to this. This woman has sworn now, as she did previously, that she did not write any of the letters, and I am in a position to prove that she did.

The Stipendiary: She distinctly denies it. You have evidence quite enough to damage her credit.

Prisoner (moaning): I demand that justice be done.

The Stipendiary (to prisoner): Don’t you interrupt.

Mr. Pollard: I will take your opinion on the subject.

No.89.

Illustration: EXAMINATION OF MRS. DYSON.EXAMINATION OF MRS. DYSON.

EXAMINATION OF MRS. DYSON.

The Stipendiary: I think enough has been gone into for the purposes of the preliminary examination. You can reserve the rest for the trial. I consider that enough has been gone into for the purpose of the preliminary examination.

Mr. Clegg: Supposing that at the trial this man is not defended—​a state of things which is not at all unlikely.

The Stipendiary: You know very well that in that case the judge would order some learned counsel to defend the prisoner. I am not going to deal with a state of circumstances that may arise at the trial. It would be presumption in me to provide for want of justice before the judges.

Mr. Clegg: This is a preliminary inquiry, and I can put in whatever I think is for the benefit of the prisoner. Though it is only a preliminary inquiry I am bound to do it.

The Stipendiary: I rule that sufficient has been asked about those lettters.

Mr. Clegg: I shall persist in asking these questions until I am stopped.

The Stipendiary: Then I stop them now. You have quite enough for your purpose.

Mr. Clegg: I don’t think I have.

The Stipendiary: You have quite enough. You can prosecute her for perjury if she has spoken falsely as to what has been asked of her. There are two very particular points, on which she has decisively spoken in reference to these letters.

Prisoner: She has done more than that.

The Stipendiary: You may if you have cause, indict her for perjury; it can lead to nothing else.

Mr. Clegg: Then at present I don’t think I have got sufficient, in my opinion, to test this witness’s credibility.

The Stipendiary: In my opinion, you have. If what you have asserted is shown to be true, you have more than sufficient to damage her credibility, and more than sufficient to have a cause for indicting her for perjury. Beyond that it is not necessary for you to go, and I rule you shall not go.

Mr. Clegg: How can I indict the woman for perjury unless I put the letters in her hands?

The Stipendiary: She has looked at them, because I told her to look at them myself. I said to her, “Look at each one, and see if it is not in your handwriting.” That is in itself sufficient.

Mr. Clegg: Those letters have been already produced by the prosecution. I have the right to call for those to be read, and if you will not now let me cross-examine her in reference to them in detail, then I ask that the letters be read; then I can cross-examine upon them, and that comes to the same thing.

The Stipendiary: You should have done that before. It is too late now. I cannot have them read now.

Mr. Clegg: Put that decision on the depositions. I ask that those letters put in by the prosecution be read by the clerk of the court.

The Stipendiary: You have seen them.

Mr. Clegg: I have not seen them. I have not had the opportunity of reading these original letters. By mere favour I have had copies of them sent to me.

Prisoner: It is nothing but injustice.

The Stipendiary: You will take the ruling of the Court, Mr. Clegg, if you please, and have done with it.

Mr. Clegg: I put it to you as a matter of law.

The Stipendiary: I have given my decision.

Mr. Clegg: I object to proceed until these letters are read.

Prisoner: Hear, hear.

The Stipendiary: You can proceed with your cross-examination.

Mr. Clegg: I have a right to have the letters read if I please.

The Stipendiary: You can read them over yourself if you like.

Mr. Clegg: If they are put into my hands I shall read them to witness.

The Stipendiary: Then you may read them.

Mr. Clegg: Very well, then; that is all I want. The witness has denied that she has had anything to do with them. (To witness): Have you read them?—​Some of them.

Have you read them all?—​Not all of them.

Then I will read them to you.

Mr. Pollard: There will be no necessity for their being read aloud. Let the witness read them for herself.

Mr. Clegg: I will read this one to you now, if you please. (Reading): “If you have a note for me send now whilst he is out, but you must not venture, for he is watching, and you cannot be too careful. Hope your foot is better. I went to Sheffield yesterday, but I could not see you anywhere. Were you out? Love to Jane.” Did you write that letter?—​No.

Mr. Clegg: Now I put that letter in. Have you had an envelope in your possession like that (handing an envelope to the witness)?—​I don’t know; perhaps I might have. As regards the envelope, the prisoner used to come for paper and writing materials to my house.

Prisoner: No, I did not; oh, no.

Mr. Clegg (holding a yellow envelope in his hand): Have you read the contents of this?—​Yes, excepting something I could not make out.

Will you swear that is not your handwriting?—​I swear there are none of them in my writing.

Mr. Pollard: I think you need hardly put it to her now, because she has sworn over and over again that there are none of them in her writing.

Mr. Clegg (to witness): Did you ever give the prisoner an American cent?—​No.

Did you ever borrow any money from him?—​No.

Not at all?—​I never did.

Mr. Clegg, reading: “Things are looking very bad, for people told him everything. (Then there is something missing.) Pick out F. D.” Do you know what that means?—​No.

Mr. Clegg (again reading): “Do keep quiet, and don’t let any one see you.” You did not write that? No; I did not write that.

The Stipendiary: She says she didn’t write these letters.

Mr. Clegg: Well, I wish to question her on the point.

The Stipendiary: I will not have it, and I will have my ruling attended to. It shall not go down on the depositions.

Cross-examination continued: You had a son named Willie?—​William Henry.

How old is he?—​Seven years old last December.

Did the prisoner ever give your son any halfpennies or coppers that you know of?—​No, not that I am aware of.

You have seen that letter as well (handing a letter to witness)?—​Yes, I have seen them all.

Do you know a woman named Norton?—​Norton! I seem to remember the name. I think I remember the name.

Did you ever write this to the prisoner, “Mrs. Norton is raising h—— about what I——(then follows a blank)——. Can you settle it, and send me the prints?”

Mr. Pollard: Witness denied that she ever wrote the letter, and the magistrate has given a ruling.

Mr. Clegg (to witness): When you were before the magistrates last week you said that you left Darnall in consequence of the prisoner annoying you?—​Yes, on account of his annoyance.

Had you seen him from July, 1876 up to the time when you left in October?—​No.

Did you know where he was?—​No, I did not. He made himself scarce on account of the warrant I had taken out against him.

Did his family leave the neighbourhood before you left?—​I don’t know.

What do you now say was the reason for your leaving Darnall? Because we were afraid of him. That was the reason. We thought he might come in in the night. We thought we had better go where he would not know where to find us.

It was because you were afraid of him?—​Yes; he had threatened both my life and that of my husband.

Was the sole reason you left because you were afraid of him?—​Yes; and we were told that he visited Darnall in female attire.

Did you say that the prisoner had threatened to blow your brains out, and those of your husband?—​Yes; I said that.

Will you say that he threatened to blow your husband’s brains out?—​Yes; I will swear that threatened to blow out both my brains and my husband’s.

Did you state that before the coroner?—​The case was not brought before the coroner.

Were you not examined before the coroner?—​Yes; on the case of murder, nothing more.

Were you examined as to the death of your husband?—​Yes.

Did you say then that the prisoner had threatened your life at all?—​Not that I remember.

The depositions of the witness were then put in by Mr. Pollard, from which it appeared that before the coroner witness had said that Peace had threatened to blow out both her brains and her husband’s.

Had there been any quarrel between prisoner and your husband?—​I say he had been very annoying.

Was there any quarrel?—​I can’t say there was any quarrel, because my husband would not speak to him.

Have you ever received a letter from the prisoner at all?—​No sir. Oh! yes. I have received threatening letters.

Have you got them?—​Mr. Chambers has them, I think.

I am now talking about the night of the murder. Previous to your going into the closet had your son been taken to bed, do you know?—​Yes.

Did you see the prisoner when you were in the bedroom?—​No.

When you were coming out of the closet did you see the prisoner?—​Yes, I did.

Did you say to him, “You old devil, what are you doing here now?”—​I don’t remember saying anything to him, but he said, “Speak or I’ll fire.”

Will you swear that you did not say, “You old devil, what are you doing here to-night? I should have thought that you had brought enough disgrace upon me?—​I don’ remember speaking at all. I was too astonished.

Did he say to you, “I will let you have the notes back again if you will get him to stay proceedings?”—​No.

Did you say, “You know very well he won’t do it, as he has placed it in the hands of the lawyers?”—​No; I did not speak to him.

Your husband then came up?—​Yes.

How far was he from you and the prisoner before you first saw him?—​About two or three feet.

How far is the passage from where you were to the closet? Close by.

Well, how many yards?—​I can’t say.

How far were you from the closet door when you saw your husband?—​Only three or four feet; I was just at the end.

Whereabouts was the prisoner when he came up?—​The prisoner was going down the passage.

Was he walking or running away?—​He was going at a rather quick pace.

Was he walking pretty quickly away from your husband?—​He was going down the passage.

Away from your husband?—​Away from him.

When your husband was going towards the prisoner did you hear him say, “If you don’t stop I’ll fire?”—​No.

Did you see the prisoner on the ground?—​How do you mean?

With your husband. Was there any struggling between your husband and the prisoner?—​No, no.

How far were you away from them when your husband was shot, did you say?—​A few feet off.

Did you hear the prisoner speak to your husband before he fired?—​No, I did not. There was no speaking at all.

Not from the time that he came out right up to the time he was shot?—​No.

Will you swear that your husband and the prisoner were not struggling together on the ground?—​No, they were not struggling. They were not close enough together.

Mr. Clegg: What became of the lantern that you had?—​What became of my lantern?

Yes, had you it in your hand?—​I threw it down.

Before you saw your husband come out had you the lantern still in your hand?—​Yes.

This concluded the cross-examination of Mrs. Dyson.

Mr. Pollard (re-examining): Are there some steps coming from the passage into the roadway?—​There are one or two steps.

When your husband fell in what direction did his head fall?—​From the side of the passage.

Did he take any step forward after the bullet struck him?—​No, he dropped instantly.

At the time the bullet was fired did you see whether Peace was down on the pathway of the causeway?—​Yes.

Therefore he would be some few feet below your husband?—​Yes. He was down off the steps on the causeway when he fired the second shot.

And you say he would therefore be some two or three feet below your husband’s head at the time he fired?—​Yes.

You were saying something about threatening letters. Between July and October, 1876, did you see any threatening letters?—​Yes.

How many?—​I know of two, and there were perhaps more.

Have you those letters?—​Mr. Chambers, solicitor, has them. Mr. Dyson gave them to Mr. Chambers.

You gave them to Mr. Dyson, your husband, and he gave them to Mr. Chambere?—​Yes.

You don’t know whose writing they were?—​They were signed as if from prisoner, and seemed to come from Germany.

(Prisoner: I wish to call witnesses.)

The Stipendiary: It’s not time to call witnesses.

Prisoner: Am I going to be committed to-day? I want my witnesses called before.

The Stipendiary: It’s not the time.

This concluded Mrs. Dyson’s evidence, who then retired.

Police-constable 235, John Pearson, was next called and examined by Mr. Pollard. Do you know the prisoner?—​I do, three or four years.

Prisoner: Let that person come up here, will you? I don’t know him.

Mr. Pollard (to witness): Three or four years from now?—​Yes, I knew him about two years before the murder.

You remember the date of the murder of Mr. Dyson in November, 1876?—​Yes.

Did you receive some instructions from your superior officer to go in search of the prisoner?—​I did. I received instructions the same morning at half past two o’clock.

That wasNov.30?—​Yes.

Did you go to any place in Hull which you had any reason to know?—​Yes, I went to 37, Collier-street.

Who was living there?—​Peace’s wife, I believe. The same person who had been locked up here in the name of Hannah Peace. She was keeping a shop.

You failed to find him there?—​Yes.

Mr. Pollard: I propose now to take the escape and recapture of the prisoner on the last occasion.

Stipendiary: You have gone after the time.

Mr. Pollard: I put it on the ground of what it is worth, as an element for a jury to consider, whether an innocent person after having been examined, and hearing evidence such as was given on the last occasion, would have attempted to escape as he did.

The Stipendiary: He was a convict, you know, suffering under sentence of penal servitude for life.

Mr. Pollard: Well, I will not press it.

Mr. Pollard then said that was his case.

Prisoner here exclaimed: “I want my witnesses called. Why don’t you call my witnesses?” and then fell down.

The depositions were now read over, Mrs. Dyson’s being taken first.

Whilst her depositions were being read the prisoner conducted himself in an excited and somewhat insolent manner. Making a faint of jumping from his chair, he fell back suddenly, calling to be taken to his cell. The warders stepped forward, and he then refused to be removed, and called for his counsel, to whom he began to give instructions in an excited fashion. Mr. Clegg took little notice, and soon after Peace put his arms on the table, laid his head between them, and moaned loudly. He next drew the rug over his head, and made such interruptions that the rug was drawn back, and he was asked to be still. He paid little attention to this request, but kept moaning and muttering till the deposition were read over.

Stipendiary (to Peace): Do you hear what is said?

Prisoner (whining): Oh yes, I hear.

The depositions were afterwards read over of Sarah Ann Colgrave, Mary Ann Gregory, George Brassington, Thomas Wilson, Police-constable Ward, Inspector Bradbury, and Police-constable Pearson.

Prisoner: Cannot you call my witnesses? What is the use of my having witnesses if they are not called?

The Stipendiary: Listen to me.

Prisoner: I cannot have them called.

The Stipendiary: Oh, yes, you can, Listen to me. You first of all have to make a statement, and then if there are any witnesses to be called they can be called. Now listen to me. The charge against you is that you wilfully and of malice aforethought did kill and murder one Arthur Dyson, onOct.29, 1876. Having heard the evidence, do you wish to say anything in answer to the charge?

Prisoner: Yes; I wish to say that——

Stipendiary: You are not obliged to say anything in answer to the charge. What you do say will be taken down, and may be given in evidence against you.

Mr. Clegg: If you take my advice you will simply say not guilty.

The Prisoner: I say I am not guilty, and that justice has not been done to me so that I can prove I am not guilty. That is what I want. I want that. I want justice done me. Why don’t they let me call my witnesses, because you are asking me shall my witnesses be called? Why should they not be called here? Why? because I have not the money to pay the expenses.

The Stipendiary: What is it you complain of?

The Prisoner: I want my witnesses called to prove that I have really not done this.

The Stipendiary: Are there any witnesses to be called?

Prisoner: Yes, sir.

The Stipendiary: Are they here?

Prisoner: Yes, sir.

The Stipendiary: Then you must ask your solicitor.

Mr. Robinson (reading): You say, “I say I am not guilty, and I want my witnesses called to prove I am not guilty.”

Prisoner: That is what I said. I have lots of witnessses who can prove that that base, bad, woman has threatened my life, and has threatened her husband’s life; but I can’t talk to you, I am so bad. I feel very bad. But she has threatened to take my life often.

The Stipendiary: Is this what you say?

Prisoner: I say I am not guilty, and I say I have not justice done me to prove I am not guilty, and that I want my witnesses called. (Loudly.) I say I can prove that I have not threatened her life. She has threatened her husband’s, and she has pointed pistols and things at me.

The Stipendiary: Have you any witnesses to-day? You are not taking your trial to-day. This is only a preliminary examination.

Prisoner: I cannot have those witnesses without I pay for them.

Mr. Clegg: I say I don’t intend calling any witnesses to-day.

The Stipendiary: Do you care to sign your statement? Would you like to put your name to the statement?

Prisoner: I will try.

Prisoner (to his warder, in a very rough tone of voice): Let me be. Then, taking up the pen, he said, I cannot see.

Mr. Clegg: Just sign it there.

Prisoner then rested his head on one arm and signed his name very deliberately, the capital “C” and “P” being particularly well flourished.

The Stipendiary: You are committed to take your trial on this charge at the assizes at Leeds.

The Prisoner (with eagerness): When are they?

The Stipendary: They are next week.

Inspector Bradbury was then bound over to prosecute, and the witnesses to appear at the trial.

The Prisoner: Will you let me sit before the fire a bit before I go? I am really very bad.

Mr. Clegg: He complains of being cold.

Prisoner: You can put me in irons if you like, but put me near a fire.

The Chief Constable: The cells are warm enough. It is only in this corridor that there is so much air.

Mr. Clegg: You will be warm enough in the cell.

Prisoner: I want to see you.

Mr. Clegg: Yes, I will see you.

Prisoner was then removed to the cell, groaning and whining, apparently overcome by the result of the day’s proceedings.

Mrs. Dyson laboured under suppressed emotion, but bore the ordeal well. The utmost precautions were taken to keep down excitement in the town, but popular feeling ran very high.

We have during the progress of this work had occasion to refer in more than instance to the latitude allowed to counsel on police examinations. A striking instance of this was made manifest on the several examinations of the prisoner Webster for the Richmond murder, and before then, in a lesser degree, perhaps, a similar instance occurred in the examination of the witnesses brought forward to give their testimony upon the Bannercross murder.

Peace was a daring and reckless burglar. An adept at disguising himself in a style that eluded the scrutiny of the police, he set small value on the vigilance of professional detectives.

The comparative immunity with which he had escaped the consequences of his iniquity induced him to wax bold in transgression.

Even to the last there seemed an idea that he might still be able to baffle justice. Everything a wicked ingenuity could do was done to discredit the testimony on which he was convicted; but the utmost license of counsel was unavailing.

We are not disposed to say anything severe about a barrister struggling with the difficulties Mr. Lockwood was called to combat. In such circumstances the old adage of “No case—​abuse the plaintiff’s attorney,” is a sufficient explanation of what might otherwise appear unseemly.

On the present occasion, however, it was not the attorney, but the press that got abused. In the recent trial of the directors of the City of Glasgow Bank, a similar policy was pursued by a prominent and really able advocate.

But the barrister to whom the defence of Charles Peace was committed passed beyond the duty of counsel in the denunciation of newspapers.

It was thus that Mr. Lockwood delivered himself:

“Never in the course of my experience has there been such a cry raised on the part of those who ought to be most careful of all others in preserving the liberties of their fellow-men and the independence of the tribunals of justice. I say that in this respect these parties have proved false to the great duties entrusted to them, and have not hesitated to raise a merciless cry for blood for the sake of the paltry pennies which they have been able to extract from the public, whom they have tried to gull.”

This charge against the press is false. There had really been no attempt to stimulate public antipathy against the Bannercross culprit. In point of fact, a judicious critic might with some show of reason insinuate that the details of the life of Peace had been placed before the public in aspects more attractive than just.

The convict was not at all averse to the notoriety which he had recently achieved. But when his life is carefully scanned from the day that he first enlisted in the “Devil’s Regiment of the Line” until sentence of death was passed upon him, it is abundantly evident that the way of the transgressor was hard.

Charles Peace commenced his criminal career before he was fourteen. He was not yet fifty, but already there was unambiguous evidence that premature old age was stealing over him.

Though devoted to crime, Peace never consorted with criminals. This peculiarity in his career constituted his safety. It is mainly because the haunts and habits of criminals are known that they are detected.

The impunity with which, for a very considerable period, Peace was enabled to commit the Blackheath burglaries arose from the air of mystery with which he was surrounded.

It must not, however, be assumed that there was anything heroic in the kind of housebreaking with which he was identified.

Houses in the district that formed the scene of his depredations afford every facility to the “cracksman.” But the good fortune which had so often favoured Peace in this region at length deserted him.

A constable whom a revolver could not scare mastered the burglar.

When he was condemned to penal servitude, it was discovered that the culprit had been guilty of a more serious crime. “Information received” enabled the authorities to connect the Blackheath burglar with the Bannercross murder.

That crime was fast fading from the memory of even those amongst whom it had been committed, and every hope of arresting the murderer had been abandoned.

Mr. Dyson’s widow was in America, and Peace, who knew this, thought himself safe.

But, if “justice steals along with woollen feet, it strikes with iron hands.”

Mrs. Dyson was brought back from the United States to avenge in the witness-box the brutality of her tormentor.

Her evidence as to all that transpired on the eventful night that her husband fell was too minute and circumstantial to be shaken by even the severest cross-examination.

The line of evidence which counsel was instructed to take only deepened the infamy of the accused.

Even had it been possible to prove an improper intimacy between Peace and Mrs. Dyson, that would have done nothing to mitigate the atrocity of Mr. Dyson’s murder.

A most persistent effort was made by Mr. Lockwood to show that, previous to the firing of the shot from which Mr. Dyson fell, there had been a struggle between the murderer and his victim.

On this point, however, the widow’s evidence was decisive. There was indeed no necessity that Mr. Dyson should close with the culprit.

Moreover, inoffensive people are not usually anxious to fight ruffians who are armed with “six-shooters.”

When Peace was in a difficulty or in a passion, recourse to firearms seemed perfectly natural. Society was his legitimate prey, and in presence of unarmed antagonists the burglar waxed valorous. Rarely has a more wanton murder been perpetrated than that of Mr. Dyson.

The only offence of which that unfortunate man appeared guilty was his abhorrence of the attentions of Peace. To escape them, he removed from the neighbourhood in which the convict dwelt.

The scamp, however, followed the Dysons with a fiendish malignity. When threatening to blow out Mrs. Dyson’s brains, Peace had the effrontery to ask a bystander to “bear him witness that she had struck him with a life-preserver.” This idea was a pure myth.

The preserver existed only in the foul imagination of the criminal, and the struggle with Mr. Dyson on the 29th November, 1876, a still bolder fiction. It is possible that the crime was unpremeditated, and that annoyance rather than murder was intended. But a man who makes a revolver the instrument of annoyance cannot guard against the most dreaded contingencies.

Mr. Campbell Foster was justly enough precluded from making any reference to Peace’s attempted escape from the railway train. But it is not difficult to understand the motives under which the desperate leap was taken.

If Peace had possessed any confidence in his ability to support the plea set up in his behalf, there would have been no attempt to escape. But he was awnre of what awaited him.

He knew enough of Mrs. Dyson to fear that her testimony was not likely to be shaken. Every incidence in her career, so far as it was known to counsel, was reproduced for the purpose of disconcerting and discrediting her. Nevertheless, she left the witness-box with her evidence unshaken.

Thus has Charles Peace been condemned. Hunted down while not yet fifty, there is in every feature of his forbidding face evidence that such a career is as unprofitable as it is criminal.

It is difficult to conceive what this malefactor might have been under other and brighter auspices. But, dedicated to crime from his youth upward, as years passed away, conscience, which in his case was never tender, became “seared as with a hot iron.”

When the final stage in his trial was reached, and Peace was asked if he had anything to say, he whimpered out, “Is there any use of saying anything now?”

But in his cell the convict collapses, and his courage proves melodramatic.

Back to IndexNext