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Old May 14th, 2016, 05:29 PM   #1
Howard Brown
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Default Non-Ripper Trial : Israel Lipski July 25, 1887

Part 1

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ISRAEL LIPSKI, Killing > murder, 25th July 1887.

Reference Number: t18870725-817
Offence: Killing > murder
Verdict: Guilty > no_subcategory
Punishment: Death > no_subcategory
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817. ISRAEL LIPSKI (22) was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's Inqusition with, the wilful murder of Miriam Angel.
GEORGE BITTEN (Police Serjeant H 23). I have had experience in making plans—I have made these three plans connected with the house the subject of this inquiry; the first shows the outside, it is a three-storied house, consisting of a ground-floor, first-floor, and second-floor; the ground-floor consists of two rooms, a bedroom and kitchen—there is a passage running through, so that you can get into the back yard without going into one or other of the rooms—a short staircase of nine or ten stairs leads to the first-floor, which consists of two rooms, one back and one front, and another short staircase leads to the top floor, which consists of only one room—the first-floor window is 12 feet from the sill to
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the pavement—I did not discover any marks on that window-sill—the second plan is a plan of the first-floor front bedroom, which was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Angel; it correctly shows the door by which you enter, and the position of the bed—it is 1 foot 2 inches from the floor to the bedstead—beneath the bed I saw an egg-box 9 inches high—there would be 5 1/2 inches between the top of that box and the bedstead—I went up the stairs from the first to the second-floor—there is a small window through which you can look from the staircase on to the bedstead, it commands a full view of the bed; there was a thin muslin blind inside at the time, it has since been taken down—you could see through the muslin and have a full view of the bed and of anyone lying on it—there were some nails on the wall on which some clothing was hanging at the foot of the bed—this third plan is a copy of the Ordnance sheet, made to a scale of 5 feet to the mile, showing Batty Street and the surrounding streets—No. 19, Batty Street is nearly opposite No. 16, you would be perfectly able to see from 19 to 16—the street is 26 feet 9 inches wide from wall to wall—one end of it runs to Commercial Road and the other to Fairclough Street; going down Fairclough Street you come to Back-church Lane, and at the corner is Mr. Lee's oil-shop, which is 229 yards from 16, Batty Street—Mr. Schmidt's shop is next to Lee's—Dr. Kay's surgery is at the corner of Batty Street.
Cross-examined. This original plan was made at different times, it was completed by the first hearing at the police-court—it was not at the inquest—the last plan was completed on the second hearing before the Magistrate—the partition in the bedroom is wood panelling about a quarter of an inch thick.
ISAAC ANGEL (Interpreted). I am a boot rivetter—I am a native of Poland—I had been ten months in England at the time of the occurrence—my wife, Miriam Angel, accompanied me to England; she was 22 years of age—towards the end of May this year we went to live at 16, Batty Street, we occupied the first-floor front, which we furnished—I was then working at George Street, Spitalfields—I left home in the morning sometimes at 6, sometimes at half-past 6, and sometimes 7—up to 28th June I did not know the prisoner, nor did my wife—on Monday night the 27th I returned home about 9 o'clock, my wife was waiting for me at the door—she wrote a letter that night and took it out to have it addressed about half-past 11, I went to bed at half-past 11—my wife brought in half-a-pint of 4d. ale, I drank it, the glass was left on the table—when we went to bed my wife was well—I got up at 6 o'clock next morning—I spoke to my wife while I was getting up—we had some conversation and I left at a quarter-past 6—my wife was awake when I left, she was in bed with her chemise or night-dress on—she was well—the table was at the window as usual, I said my prayers there; her face was as splendid and red as scarlet when I left her—there was a curtain and blind to the window, the blind was a little way down, the window was closed, the whole window was quite closed—the egg-box was always under the bed; I did not observe it that morning, but it always did stand there; it was open, we used it to keep old clothes and dirty linen in; all the coats hung on the wall, and her clothes were on the chair; there was no coat lying on the floor; my clothes and her clothes hung on the wall, and something covered the whole of them to keep them clean—the bedstead was parted from the wall about 12 inches—among the
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things hanging there was a coat and a pair of trousers—these are them (produced), they are almost new—the vest I have on matches the trousers—there were no stains on them when I left them that morning—I have since examined the coat and vest and found stains on them, there is a stain or a burn on the vest, in the back lining—on the coat there are two stains—I had no bottle, except a little one in which I used to fetch brandy on the Sabbath—I had no such bottle as this (produced)—I shut the room door when I left that morning, the same as usual—the key was stuck in the lock inside—I had locked the door that night when I went to bed, I had to unlock it in order to get out—I had lived there six weeks and eight days, after that they put the lock on, a new lock—it was a good lock, it locked well—it was my custom to come home to dinner at 2 o'clock—about a quarter to 12 that day Mrs. Levy, one of the lodgers, came to me where I work—in consequence of what she said I went home; I ran there as quick as I could, I cannot tell the time—when I got home I found my wife was dead—they would not let me into my room; I did not go in that day—my wife was six months gone in pregnancy.
Cross-examined. The lock was not put on by a locksmith, but by the landlord of the house—I don't know that he is a tailor—my clothes that were hanging up were all covered over—I first discovered the mark on my waistcoat to-day, before I came here—the mark on the coat I discovered the same day this matter happened—the clothes have since been at my father's where I am living now; my sister and brother took the things.
PHILIP LIPSKI . I am a tailor—I live at 16, Batty Street, Whitechapel—I occupy the ground floor, a parlour in front and a kitchen behind—my wife and seven children live with me—the eldest child is 15—Mr. and Mrs. Angel lived in the first floor front, in the back room first floor Mrs. Levy and my mother Mrs. Rubenstein—the prisoner lived in the top room—he had lived with me for 18 months in Batty's Gardens before we came to Batty Street, and he came with us when we moved some time in May—he first of all paid 2s. for his room, it was furnished—when he wanted to use it as a workshop he paid 5s. a week—he is a stick maker by trade—he formerly went out to work, at this time he was establishing a workshop in the room upstairs—on the Monday night before this happened I went to bed as usual—I got up in the morning about half-past 6, and went to the yard—I saw the prisoner come down from upstairs to the yard—the closet was in the yard—he was in his trousers and shirt, no shoes or stockings—he did not speak to me, only I saw him looking on the table for a small piece of gaspipe—I asked him, "What are you looking for?"—he said, "For a piece of pipe"—I asked what he wanted it for—he said he wanted to use it for his sticks—he then went upstairs—about 10 minutes or a quarter of an hour afterwards I said my prayers and then went to work—my wife and children were then in bed—about half past 12 I heard what had happened, and came home—the prisoner had not said anything to me about any persons coming on Tuesday morning, and I did not know it.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had fatted up his room as a workshop, he put benches there, so that more than one person could work there—he had lodged with me altogether about two years—he was a well-behaved young man, steady and honest, so long as he was in my place—he is no relation of mine—I know that he was engaged to be married to a young
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woman, and had been for some time, I can't tell how long—the lock on the prisoner's door was put on by Mr. Peters, my landlord—he told me he was a tailor.
SIMON ROSENBLOOM (Interpreted). I live at 37, Philpot Street, Commercial Road—I am a native of Poland—I have not been in England 12 months—I am a stick maker, and at one time I worked for a Mr. Macartz, of Watney Passage, Commercial Road—during the time I worked there the prisoner was working in the same employment, and continued to be there up to 20th June or thereabouts, till the Jubilee week—the boy Pitman was also employed at Mr. Macartz's—on the Saturday of Jubilee week, 25th June, I met the prisoner, and he said that he had made for himself a workshop, and said, "You come to me to work," that he didn't earn much at Mr. Macartz's, and he said he would give me regular wages, and I went to work at his place on Tuesday morning at 7 o'clock—I went there on the Sunday before the Tuesday, and they were making samples, and it was then arranged I should come on the following Tuesday to begin work at 7 o'clock—on Tuesday morning, the 28th, at 7 o'clock, I went to the front door of 16, Batty Street and knocked, and the prisoner came down and opened the door—he was dressed in trousers and shirt, and was barefooted as we go to work—I went into the house, and went with him up on to the top floor—there was only the prisoner and myself there then—he then gave me some points to bend, which were to be put on the tops of sticks; they had to be filed, and I filed them—the prisoner also commenced to do some work, but only worked for a few minutes—at that time there was only one vice in the room, and he said, "There will come another man, a filer, and he will require another vice, and I will go and buy another one and a sponge for the boy to varnish with"—he did not say anything else as to the filer, as to who had recommended him, he only said that he would come to work—before the prisoner went out he put on his boots, and a short coat, and a hat—it was such a coat and hat as these (produced), only there were no stains on the coat then—I did not hear him shut the street door as he went out—after a short time he came back, and said, "The shop is still closed"—he meant by that Macartz's shop where he went to buy the vice—I cannot tell how long he was out, because there was no clock—he did no work after he came back, but went up and down the stairs till the boy came to work about 8 o'clock—he came up directly after the boy came in the room, and said, "I am going to buy a sponge for the boy to varnish"—I don't know the boy's name. (The witness Pitman was here called in.) That is the boy—the prisoner then went out to buy a sponge—he was then dressed in the same way as he was when he went out on the last occasion—after he had gone out a man came up into the room. (The witness Schmuss here came in.) That is the man—he did not speak much, as he did not stay long, he spoke in his own language, Yueddish—he remained there a little time, I cannot say about how long, 15 minutes or it might have been longer—the prisoner did not return again, and Schmuss left and went away—the boy was then with me in the room—I cannot say whether it was an hour or an hour and a half after the man left that the boy left; I cannot say how long it was—he went away for his breakfast—I did not leave that upstairs room from 7 o'clock till I heard the disturbance—I did not see the prisoner any more after he went out a second time—it was about 11 o'clock I heard the disturbance,
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and the mother-in-law said, "Come downstairs"—I heard clapping, and knocking, and screaming, and the boy ran downstairs—I cannot say when the boy returned, but he did come back into the room at the top of the house, and stayed with me until I heard the disturbance downstairs, and then he and I went downstairs into the front room on the first floor, and saw Mrs. Angel lying dead on the bed, and the women inside the room.
Cross-examined. I was not half an hour in Lipski's room on the Sunday—I cannot tell how long I was there on the Tuesday before the boy came; there was no clock—these (produced) were the sort of things I was working upon; they would require fine filing with fine files—when you are doing that you can hear a little, but not much—the boy did nothing at all while he was there—I don't know whether on this morning I did a dozen or a whole two dozen or not—I cannot say how long it takes to file one of these things, because I am not a filer; I can only file a little—I spoke to the man (Schmuss) in my own language, Yueddish, not in English—I cannot speak English—I did not know him before; it was the first time I had seem him when he came up—I never told the boy that I had known him before, because I cannot speak English—I can swear that I did not speak a word to the boy in English—I never told the boy that Lipski had gone for a vice, nor did I tell him that I had been in this man's company before—I did not hear any knock when this strange man came, and I did not hear any knock when the boy came—the window of the room in which I was was a little open, and the door was also a little open—I had breakfast in Lipski's room, bread and butter; the boy saw me—shellac and varnish is used in the business of a stick maker; the shellac is put into the varnish—they call it varnish when the shellac is dissolved in spirits—I don't know how they make the varnish—I have been engaged in the stickmaking business since I have been here, about eight months—Lipski did not ask me to get him some brandy—I don't know whether he used the brandy with his coffee in the morning—he did not give me a farthing to get any brandy with for him; I can swear it—he never said anything to me about wanting change—he never sent me for brandy—I went upstairs and went to work—I did not know that Lipski had a watch and chain; he had a sort of pin in his necktie—I was not standing with the strange man outside the door of Mrs. Angel's room when Lipski came back—I did not know who lived down there; the door of Mrs. Angel's room was not partly open at that time—I will swear in the Temple I was not there when the door was partly open—I did not at any time before the alarm took place on that morning stand before Mrs. Angel's door—I was not standing just outside the door and the strange man just inside the door of Mrs. Angel's room—I did not have any parcel in my hand when Lipski came up the stairs the last time; I can swear that, and I did not throw the parcel down and say to the strange man "He is here, come on"; that is all lies; I did not say it—the strange man did not catch hold of Lipski, nor did I catch hold of him; it is all lies—I did not force open Lipski's mouth; I am not such a strong man as that—I did not force open his mouth while the other man held him; the other one was not there; it is all lies—I come from Plotz, 17 or 18 Polish miles from Warsaw.
RICHARD PITMAN . I am 16 years old—I live with my parents at No. 2, White's Gardens, Star Street, Commercial Road—I have known the
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prisoner about a month before 21st June—I was with him, working at Mr. Macartz's, where he was employed—I saw him on Wednesday night, 22nd June—he spoke to me in English—he said "Dick, come along with me, I have got some work for you"—I said "What, to work for Mr. Macartz?"—he said "No, for myself, because I am going into business for myself"—I agreed to go and work for him, and went with him that night to 16, Batty Street, and he showed me where to work when I came—I went there on the next Thursday, the 23rd—I went home to my mother that night, and came again on the Friday—Saturday was the Jewish Sabbath, and on Monday I came again—before Tuesday, the 28th, I went to Mr. Lee's shop to make purchases for the prisoner, things for the workshop—I went about nine times to both places—the prisoner told me to go there, and I went along with him—I always went with him, and he would make the purchases in my presence—on the morning of the 28th I went to 16, Batty Street at 8 o'clock; that was my regular hour for coming—I went upstairs to the room on the top floor—the prisoner was not there when I got there, only Simon Rosenbloom—I had not seen him before—I stayed there about an hour, till about 9—during that time the prisoner came into the room—he said "I have been to buy a vice, and the shop is shut up"—a little while after he went out and said "I am going to have another try and see if I can buy the vice"—he then went out—he had on an old hat and an old coat—this is the coat (the one produced); it looks something like it; it had a little white on it when he went out, and this is such a hat as that he wore—it was about five minutes past 9 when he went out—after he had gone a strange man came into the room. (The witness Schmuss was called in.) That is the man—he spoke to Rosenbloom—they had some conversation together, not in a language that I understood—Schmuss remained about five minutes, no longer—he then went out—I went out before him—I was not there when he left; I left him behind—I went downstairs, leaving Rosenbloom and Schmuss upstairs—I went home to breakfast—White's Gardens is about a quarter of a mile from 16, Batty Street—I walked home—I can't tell at what time I got home—I saw my mother when I got home—I had breakfast, and came back to Batty Street—I did not come straight back—I had a little game in the street for about a quarter of an hour, and then went back—I went up to the workshop—Rosenbloom was there, no one else—I stayed there with him about an hour—about half an hour after I got there the prisoner came in—Rosenbloom was still there—the prisoner did not say anything; he did nothing; he stood still in the room for about five minutes, and then went out again, as though to go downstairs—he was dressed the same as I had seen him before—I did not notice anything peculiar about him—I did not see him again up to hearing the disturbance—I remained in the room with Rosenbloom—I first heard the disturbance about 11 o'clock, and I wentdown with Rosenbloom—the people were saying that there was a woman dead—I did not hear any knocking—Rosenbloom went into the room on the first floor—I went downstairs—I did not go into the room.
Cross-examined. Rosenbloom and I were in the prisoner's room for some time; we spoke together—he did not speak to me in English; he kept on saying "Get on with your work; don't be knocking about like this"—he said that in English—I was knocking with a hammer at the place where the tools were, playing with it—Rosenbloom was talking
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to the strange man, who came in while he was there—I did not ask him whether he knew the man—he said he knew him—I could not understand if he knew him—the reason why I thought he knew him was speaking in his own language—he did not tell me that he knew him—he said "I know that man; I have been in his company before"—he did say that.
The COURT: Just now you said he did not tell you; now you say he did tell you. Witness: I forgot my words; I now remember that Rosenbloom did say so.
By MR. MCINTYRE. He said it in English—he also told me a second time that he knew the man a little time; he told me that twice—Rosenbloom told me that the prisoner had gone for a vice—he said those words in English, "Lipski has gone for a vice"—it was about 9 when I went to breakfast—I left the room door open when I left—there was a bed there, a sofa that kept the door open—the filing made much noise—I could sometimes hear the people in the street speaking—fine-filing does not make much noise—Rosenbloom was doing fine-filing that morning, that did not make much noise—the hammering I did made more noise than the filing.
Re-examined. The prisoner told me he was going to buy the vice—Rosenbloom also told me afterwards, when I first came in at 8 to work—he told me that he had gone to buy a vice and a sponge—he spoke to me in English, half his own language and half our language—I just understood him—I could not always understand him—I have said that I thought Rosenbloom knew the man that came in, because they spoke the same language; that is right—he afterwards said "I know that man, because I have been in his company before, where he used to work"—he said that half in English and half in his own language—he said as much English as his own language—he said in English that he had been in his company before; he said it in half English—he did not know much English; he just told me what I could understand—I could make out what he meant—I could make out all that he meant—the part that was in English I could understand; the part in the foreign language I could not understand—I am quite clear that they did speak together in a foreign language, and I thought they knew each other before I was told anything—the prisoner spoke English—when he came in he stood thinking to himself about something—I did not speak to him, nor did Rosenbloom, not a word; none of the three said a word—the first disturbance I heard was people screaming downstairs—before the Magistrate that gentleman (Mr. Geohegan) asked me a number of questions—it was about 10 o'clock when the prisoner came in, said nothing, and went out again—I don't know the time exactly; I thought it was about 10 o'clock—I can't say to a little one way or the other.
By MR. MCINTYRE. When I came at 8 o'clock the house door was ajar—it was not bolted; I just pushed it and it came open.
ANNIE PITMAN . I am the wife of Richard Pitman, of 2, White's Gardens, Star Street—the last witness is my son; he is 14 years old—I knew that he was working for the prisoner—he used to come home to breakfast—on Tuesday morning, 28th June, he came home to breakfast about a quarter past 9—he did not remain another quarter of an hour, or 20 minutes at the outside; he then left to return to his work—I have no means of fixing the exact time.
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MARK SCHMIDT . I keep a general shop at 94, Backchurch Lane—I am Russian Pole—I have kept that shop eight years—I know some foreign Jews who have come to this country for work; I can't say I know a great many—they come to my shop sometimes, not very much—on Monday, 27th June I was at my shop—I saw the prisoner that afternoon—I had known him for about a year—there were a couple of workmen in the shop when he came in—one of them was a man named Schmuss—the prisoner asked me if I could send him a man to work at filing—I knew that he was a stickmaker—I said "There are four men here; you can have which you like"—Schmuss was one; I can't tell you the names of the other three—I have seen them outside. (Schmuss, Rosenbloom, and Barsuch were called in.) Those are the three men—the prisoner went outside with the four men and talked with them—I did not hear what they talked—the prisoner came into the shop again, and I saw no more of him—the four men came next day and they were there all Monday afternoon—next morning, Tuesday, the prisoner came about 8 o'clock and asked for a vice—I showed him a few; the last was 3s. 6d. he offered 3s. 3d.—I did not want to take it—I left him outside the shop—my shop is next door to Mr. Lee's, the oil shop—before the prisoner left me he asked me when did the oil shop open—I told him half past 8, and left him outside—about 12 o'clock that day Schmuss came—at that time I had heard the report that Mrs. Angel was killed—I had some talk with Schmuss about it—I saw him every day afterwards for five or six days—he came every day to ask for a job—he told me he should go to Birmingham, and said goodbye to me—I have been a stickmaker 17 years—some use aqua-fortis, or vitriol, for sticks.
Cross-examined. It is used for staining or burning out sometimes—I was examined before the Coroner, and before the Magistrate—I did not on those occasions tell what I have been asked about Schmuss—nothing was said about sponge when I saw the prisoner on the morning of the 28th; only about the vice-these four men are lockmakers; they make locks and do general jobs—all of them are locksmiths; they told me that—I don't know.
Re-examined. I did not know Schmuss by name.
ISAAC SCHMUSS (interpreted). I come from Elizabethan Graff, near Odessa, in Russia—up to recently I was lodging at 42, Gough Street, Birmingham, and worked in Ince Street, Birmingham—I am a locksmith by trade—I have been recently employed as a slipper maker—I came to England about seven or eight months ago—among other places I went to Mr. Schmidt's in Backchurch Lane in the hope of finding employment, and also to work at jobs—I there met with other Russian Jews, Tottakoski, Barsuch, and Robenski—I was at Mr. Schmidt's shop on a Monday afternoon with Tottakoski and others-whilst there the prisoner came in—he spoke to us—he asked where they came from, and what trade they were, and whether we wanted work—I said I was a locksmith—the prisoner said "Do you think you can file sticks?—I said "I will see; I never filed them; I will try"—he said "Come with me and I will show you the door, and to-morrow you will come to me, and I will engage you"—upon that I went with him to the door of No. 16, and he told me to come next morning about 8 o'clock—I can't say for certain whether I went back to Schmidt's after I left the prisoner; it appears to me I did go back—I went there next morning, Tuesday the 28th, about 8
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o'clock—Tottakoski was not there; he had not come—I waited there 15 minutes, and then went to No. 16—it must have been about a quarter past 8 o'clock when I got there—the door was open—as I came to the door the prisoner came to me—he said "You shall go upstairs; wait a minute and I will come upstairs, and then I will give you something to do"—I do not know where he went or how he was dressed—I went upstairs to the top of the house, and in the room there I found a man and a boy, those are the two (Rosenbloom and Pitman)—I did not speak much to Rosenbloom—I spoke to him in Yueddish—I remained there 10 or 15 minutes—the prisoner did not come into the room while I was there; the boy left the room first—I stayed about a minute's time after he left; not more, and I went to eat my breakfast—I returned to Mr. Schmidt's that same day, about 12 o'clock mid-day—while I was there Tottakoski came in—I did not return to No. 16—Mr. Schmidt first told me that the woman was dead, when I went there about 12 o'clock—at that time I was lodging at 60, Oxford Street, Stepney; I remained at that address for the next eight or ten days—during that time I went every day to Mr. Schmidt's; at the end of that time I went to Birmingham in order to get some work there—Robenski came to see me off by the train to Birmingham—at Birmingham I went to lodge at 42, Gough Street, and worked at Ince Street as a slipper maker—from there I wrote this letter to Mr. Rabonovitz, of 60, Oxford Street, my landlord and my countryman—an inspector of police, afterwards came to Birmingham and brought me to London.
Cross-examined. I only worked at slipper making since I went to Birmingham—I do not speak English at all; I can't say not a word—I did not see the prisoner at all after I left the shop on the morning of the 28th—I did not go into the room belonging to Mrs. Angel; I went in nowhere—I was not standing in the doorway of her room when the prisoner came up the stairs I was not there—I was not there with Rosenbloom—I saw Rosenbloom once; I saw him for the first time in the prisoner's room—I have been brought up as a locksmith; I learnt it at home—before I went to Birmingham I heard that the prisoner was taken up by the police—I heard it the very day I went to the prisoner's place—I heard by the newspapers of the inquiry before the Magistrate—I cannot read—Mr. Schmidt told me that they had locked him up—I went to Birmingham on Sunday night eight or ten days after I had been to the prisoner's—up to that time I was seeing Mr. Schmidt every day—I did not go back to the prisoner's after I had had my breakfast—I saw that I should not have a great chance of work there, so I did not go back.
STEVA TOTTAKOSKI (Interpreted). I come from Odessa—I came to England in search of work—among other places I went to Mr. Schmidt's in Backchurch Lane; I there met Isaac Schmuss—I was at Mr. Schmidt's on a Monday evening when the prisoner came in—he said he could give work for two people—I heard him say to Schmuss he would show him where he lived—I had an appointment with Schmuss that night to meet him at Schmidt's next morning, and I went thereat 9 or 10 o'clock next morning—Schmuss was not there—I waited about an hour or more—he afterwards came, and we stayed there till 5 o'clock in the evening—after that I saw Schmuss about four times during the time he was in London.
LEAH LIPSKI . I am the wife of Philip Lipski and live with him at 16,
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Batty Street—we live at the bottom; I let out the first and second floors—the prisoner lived on the top floor—Mr. and Mrs. Angel lived in the first-floor front—the prisoner did not know Mrs. Angel—on the Tuesday morning my husband went out to work about half-past 6 o'clock—I got up about half-past 8 o'clock—I went into the kitchen; there was no one there—directly after I got there the prisoner came in; he was fully dressed—he had his coat and hat on—he asked me to go and get his coffee for him—I had been in the habit of doing that every day—I went and got some hot water taking the coffee pot with me and buying the hot water and bringing the coffee back ready to drink—he said nothing more to me at that time—he asked me for 5s.—I said "I have not got it; go to your young girl's mother; she lends you so much; she will lend you 5s. too"—he said "I am ashamed to go to her; she only gave me last night 25s. "—Mrs. Lyons is the mother of Kate Lyons the young woman I spoke of—the prisoner spoke to me in Hebrew—it was after that that I went to get the hot water for the coffee—he said "Go for the coffee; I shall be here when you come back with it"—I went out to Backchurch Lane and there got the hot water—I left the house just about half-past 8 o'clock—the door was open when I went out—I paid for the water—I got back in about 20 minutes—that would be somewhere about 10 minutes to 9 o'clock—the door was still open—I went into the kitchen; there was no one there; the prisoner was not there—Mrs. Levy met me in the passage—I put the coffee pot on the table, and went and called out to the prisoner "Come down and have your coffee;" there was no answer—I called a second time, and the boy answered "He aint here"—I then had my breakfast and sent the children to school—about half-past 9 o'clock my mother, Mrs. Ruben—stein, came down—she lodged in the same room with Mrs. Levy—the coffee was still on the table—about 10 o'clock I went out with Mrs. Levy to shop in Petticoat Lane—I had not seen the prisoner again up to that time—the coffee was in the same place—I could not say whether anybody came in and left the house during that time, I was busy with my children for school; I did not see anybody—when I left I left my mother in charge of the house, and gave her certain directions about the coffee—I was away just an hour in Petticoat Lane—I came back with Mrs. Levy somewhere about 11 o'clock—when I came back I saw my mother sitting on a chair in the passage outside in the street, and Mrs. Dinah Angel, the deceased's mother-in-law, met me in the passage; she spoke to me and then went into the house and went upstairs—I did not hear her try the door—she called down to me; upon that I told Mrs. Levy to go upstairs—she went up and then called out something to me, in consequence of which I threw everything down and ran upstairs—I did not try the door of Mrs. Angel's room, T went up beyond the first floor and looked through the little window; I could see through from the staircase—there was a muslin curtain over it—I saw Mrs. Angel on the bed; she looked to me a little like fainting—I then came down to the first-floor landing and burst open the door—I did not try the door much, because Mrs. Levy and Mrs. Dinah Angel said it was locked—the three of us together burst the door open—I pushed with my leg and knee—I cannot tell whether all the three pushed with the knees—I did not fix myself against anything so as to be able to push harder, I just pushed my knee against the door—my back was not against anything—we were only a second before we got it open;
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we had no difficulty in getting it open, I pushed with my knee, and it opened—we all three went into the room together—I went round to the bed on which the woman was lying—I was the first to get round there—I took her by one arm arm and shook her, and called to her; she did not answer me—her face was sideways, I could not tell you in what direction; see if any portion of her body was exposed; she was half covered, the other half was uncovered—she was wearing a chemise, no night-dress—I noticed like burnt in front of the chemise—I did not notice how her hair was—there was some furniture in the room—I did not notice any sign of disturbance of the furniture—when I found this I began to run down and scream in the street, leaving the door open—I went for Dr. Kaye, he was out—I returned to the room, and then went a second time for Dr. Kaye—I saw an assistant, and then returned to the house, and as I was returning I saw the doctor in his carriage—he came to the house directly and went up to the room where the deceased was.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had been lodging with us for nearly two years; he was a steady, respectable young man, and always bore a good character with every one—he wanted the 5s. for his work—he told me he had borrowed 25s. from his intended mother-in-law the last night; that was true—he was then fitting up his room for the purpose of making it a workshop, and he was purchasing materials to some considerable amount, some pounds; his rent was increased from 2s. to 5s. a week—Mrs. Angel had borrowed 5s. from Mrs. Levy the day before, to pay her rent—the lock of Mrs. Angel's door fitted properly; one portion was not too high, it just fitted—after the 28th, Mr. Angel left the house, and we let the room to other people—the lock remained on the door while the other people were using the room—it remained on the door three weeks before the policeman came and had it cut off—the box of the lock was not higher than the lock itself, it would just fit—Q. Is this correct?"Where the old lock had been a hole was left large enough for three fingers, and the box of the lock was higher than the lock itself"—A. Yes; this is also correct, "With the key inside I could catch the key from the outside, through the hole left from the old lock;" you could just touch it, you could not lock it from the outside.
By the COURT. All I mean is that when you were outside the door you could put your hand through and touch the key, but not enough to lock it by the fingers.
By MR. MCINTYRE. The lock was taken off just exactly two weeks after; it was sawn off—Mrs. Levy went out shopping with me on the 28th—my mother was the only person left in charge of the house—she can see a little, but very little; she is obliged to feel as she goes about—the street door is sometimes left, so that any one pushing against it can come in; that is the ordinary way—I had a pawn-ticket belonging to the prisoner for a gold chain—he had a silver watch until just at this time.
Re-examined. I do not know whether he had it on this Tuesday morning—I know he had a watch; I saw him with it one Saturday, I cannot recollect when—I do not know that he pawned it, he did not tell me—I did not see him with it for some time, I cannot think when—nothing had been done to the lock of the door before it was sawn off;
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I had not had a locksmith to do anything to it—it was used to lock the room up—the police came with a man and cut off the piece.
By MR. MCINTYRE. Before it was cut off I had been shown the lock, which was partly burst off.
By the COURT. The lock was good on this Tuesday—nothing happened to it till a man belonging to the police broke open the door—I was out at the time; when I came back I saw the door open—I saw the lock; it was then broken, hanging down—that was a fortnight after the woman's death—I saw the man who did it, it was a detective, it was Bitten—I said "What have you done this for?" and he said he would send a carpenter to put it on again—the carpenter did not come—a week after the detective came with two men to saw off the lock altogether—daring the fortnight before Bitten came the lock was as it used to be; the woman used to lock it.
GEORGE BITTEN (Re-examined). When I went into the room for this purpose I merely opened the door, just turned the handle—I never found the door locked so that I could not get in; I did not force it in any way or damage the lock—Mr. Angel had left the room then; somebody was occupying it; I do not know the name, they were foreigners—I went there on 13 or 14 occasions—I never forced the lock—the lock produced is exactly in the same condition as it was on the night of the occurrence—there might be some little difficulty to explain about the locking of this particular lock (Taking up the lock)—this is the inside of the door, and this is the hole that has been spoken of—the landlord is here who put it on, and he can explain it—on the day of the occurrence these screws had been forced out so as to get the door open—this is an actual piece of the door and doorpost.
Cross-examined. Sometimes when I went there there were no persons in the room; sometimes Mrs. Lipski would come up with me; the occupier of the room opened the door to me on one or two occasions, but it takes a time to make it plain—a week before she went there, when the room was unoccupied I used to open the door in the usual way—if you locked the door it would not answer, only just to keep the wind off; if you just touched the door it came open.
DINAH ANGEL . My son lived with his wife at 16, Batty Street—I saw her on the Monday evening before this happened—she used to come to me to breakfast; her time would be sometimes half-past 8, sometimes 9 o'clock—on this Tuesday she did not come to breakfast, and about 11 o'clock I went round to her house—there was no one at the door when I got there, I saw no one—I afterwards saw Mrs. Rubenstein—I then went up to my son's room—I had seen Mrs. Levy but not Mrs. Lipski before that—I went to the door of my son's room and tried it, and it was closed—I saw Mrs. Levy try the handle, and she said "The key is inside," and then she went up the stairs and looked through this place in the partition—I knocked at the door, but could get no answer—Mrs. Levy was there when the door was forced open; we got it open by forcing it with the hand; Mrs. Lipski was not there then—I and Mrs. Levy both went into the room together, ran to the bed, and I thought my daughter-in-law was fainting; she laid with her hands so, and her head aside, and Mrs. Levy put her hands aside and moved her head, thinking she was fainting—she then saw she was dead, and went out and created an alarm—she was lying on the bed with her head aside
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and her hands behind, and the whole of her was uncovered, and her night-dress or chemise was up—I did not see where the covering to the bed was; I rushed out of the room at once—I did not look at the furniture in the room, but the window-blind was pulled down and the window was closed—I did not see the doctor come; I was in a fainting condition, and they took me out, and they would not let me in again.
Cross-examined. I did not try to see if the window had any fastening.
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Howard Brown
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Location: Eagleville, Pa.
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Part Two

LEAH LEVY . I am the wife of Abraham Levy, but I am living apart from him and have been lodging at 16, Batty Street—on the morning of 28th June I came down about a quarter to nine, and shortly after I looked out into the street and saw Mrs. Lipski in the street coming to the house with a coffee pot in her hand—I called up to the prisoner, telling him that his coffee was ready, and the boy answered from upstairs—I went out with Mrs. Lipski at 10 o'clock that morning and returned at 11—Mrs. Angel, senior, was coming in at the time—she went upstairs and knocked at the door of her daughter's bedroom—I then went up and looked into the bedroom through the little window and saw young Mrs. Angel lying on the bed—she looked very bad—Mrs. Lipski also came up and looked into the window—I said "She looks bad"—the mother-in-law then said "Perhaps she is fainting"—the three of us then came down from the landing to the bedroom door and the mistress said would she open the door—then the whole three of us pushed the door open—before that was done I looked through the keyhole and saw the key inside in the lock—when we pushed open the door we went into the room and saw the woman as she lay in bed.
Cross-examined. I lent Mrs. Angel 5s. the day before this to pay her rent—about a fortnight afterwards I recollect police-sergeant Bitten coming to the house—he was alone then—he wanted to go upstairs—I said it was locked—he said "I must go in very particularly"—I said "It is locked"—he said he would open it—he then pushed in the door and went in—at that time Mrs. Jacobs was the tenant of the room—she was not at home at the time.
RACHEL RUBENSTEIN . I live at J 6, Batty Street—I occupy the back room first floor with Mrs. Levy—I slept there with her on that Monday night—on the Tuesday morning I went downstairs either at half-past nine or 10—Mrs. Lipski and Mrs. Levy afterwards went out shopping—I saw that the prisoner's coffee had been prepared for him and heard him called—while they were out I was downstairs in charge of the premises, and also took care of the children—I was in the back room—I was at the street door at one time—I took a chair out from the room and sat myself there, because I cannot see well—during the time they were out no one entered the house direct—I first went into the yard—I was minding the children in the yard and came back and took a chair there, so that the children should not go to the water—somebody came while I was sitting there and wanted to go upstairs—I said "Where are you going?"—he said he was going upstairs—I said "Why?" and I would not let him go there—I don't know that man—he wanted to go up to Angel's room and I would not let him—he asked if the boots were done.
Cross-examined. One of the children ran away to the back and went into the yard—I had some trouble in catching the child, I was afraid he had run away—I was in the back yard some time trying to catch it, only a few minutes—I did not take particular notice of the time—I don't know how
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long it was—when I came from the back yard to the front I sat out in the street on the pavement on a chair; that is a little to the left hand of the door—I put the chair there for myself.
SAMUEL SPIERS . I am also called Lamed the teacher—I live at 24, Brunswick Street, St. George's-in-the-East—I am a Hebrew teacher—the deceased woman, Mrs. Angel came to my house on Sunday, the 26th June, and took away with her two pairs of boots to be repaired—on Tuesday morning, the 28th, I went to Batty Street, getting there at half-post 9 or 10 o'clock—Mrs. Rubenstein was seated outside the door—I said to her that I wanted to go in—I stood outside the house for a quarter of an hour with a man and spoke about my own affairs—I went there to get my boots—during the time I was outside the blind to the window of the first-floor was down.
HARRIS DYWEEN . I am a general dealer, living at 52, Fairclough Street, Commercial Road—I know Mr. Angel and I knew his wife; I last saw her alive on Monday night, 27th June, past 12 o'clock—she came to ask me the address of a post-card—when she left she seemed cheerful in spirits and well in health—I did not know the prisoner at all up to 28th June—on the morning of 28th June I was outside my shop—about 11 or a quarter-past I heard a noise and ran into Batty Street to see what was the matter—I went into No. 16 and up to the first-floor front room—I met Dinah Angel on the stairs, she spoke to me—on going into the room I saw the deceased lying on the bed on her back, her face was towards the wall, one hand was just on her chest and one hand behind her back—her hair was disarranged, all over the bed—there were several marks on the right side of her face, I could not tell whether scratches or what—her chemise or night-dress was right up to the breast—her person was exposed—I did not notice if a pillow was on the ground—I could not see any signs of a struggle in the room—I covered her up in some way—after I had done that Mr. Piper, Dr. Kay's assistant, came—he said something to all who were there, in consequence of which they all went out of the room—I could not say who was there at the time—there were several people in the room, I never counted them—before I left the room Mr. Piper wanted the door-key; he said we had all got to clear out of the room and he would lock the door, so Mr. Piper took the key out from inside the door and he could not lock the door until he had unlocked the lock, and he could not take the key out and could not lock the door from the outside because the join was out—I saw him turn the bolt back and take the key out—then I left the room and Mr. Piper left the room, locking the door and taking the key with him—about 10 minutes after that Dr. Kay came and he and Mr. Piper and some others went back into the room, Mr. Piper unlocking the door—when we got back Dr. Kay said something about a bottle, in consequence of which we looked for a bottle, and Mr. Piper and Dr. Kay said we should take everything from underneath the bed—I took from underneath the bed an old coat and then pulled away an old egg-box, several old clothes were in that; Mr. Piper and Dr. Kay said "Is there anything else underneath the bed?"—I looked underneath the bed and said "There is something underneath the bedstead"—Mr. Piper and Dr. Kay said "Go and see what it is"—I laid down and felt like a hand—while I was coming back Dr. Kay jumped on the bed and took away the pillow, which was towards the wall, and said "Why, it is a man," so he told me I should call for the
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police—the bedstead was pulled away—the doctor felt the man's pulse and then slapped his face—two constables lifted the man from under the bed; he was still on the ground when the doctor felt his pulse and slapped his face—I felt a man's hand, Dr. Kay jumped on the bed, threw off some bed clothes, and said "Why, it is a man"—the man was lying on his back and his shirt-sleeves were tucked up, his Guernsey-sleeves were down, his waistcoat unbuttoned; he had no coat on, he had boots on; he was like unconscious—I saw an egg-box under the bed, I had pulled that out, the man was behind it—Dr. Kay told me to call down for police—he had felt the man's pulse before that—I jumped on the table, I wanted to open the bottom window, but it was impossible, it was too tight—I opened the top window and called for constables, and two constables came up; the man was not got out before they came, he remained between the bedstead and the wall—I cannot remember now if we pulled the bedstead away from the wall when the two constables came into the room—they lifted the prisoner up from behind the bed and lifted him into a corner and held him against the wall—Dr. Kay told him "Look what you have been doing to the poor body"—I could not tell whether the prisoner could stand when they put him in the corner, because the two constables were still holding his hands—then Dr. Kay told the constables to take him to the station—Dr. Kay had felt his pulse and slapped his face when he was lying on the ground—the prisoner opened his eyes after his face was slapped, he never spoke—I cannot tell the distance the bedstead was from the wall because they have a German feather bed, the bed-covers were half on the wall and half on the bed—I looked for the bottle under the bed, but did not find it there—I was present when it was found—it was seen by a constable—I pulled the bed off, and prevented the bed falling down from the bedstead, I put the feather bed on the bedstead, so I found the bottle as it was lying and showed it to the constable—I saw it before the constable—when I first saw it it was on just the middle part of the bed on the wall side—when we pulled the bedstead away for Dr. Kay to come in there to see the man the feather bed fell away and then I saw the bottle—I lifted up the feather bed and then I saw the bottle under the feather bed—it was a bottle like that, there was no cork—the constable took it up, I cannot exactly tell whether it was the constable or Dr. Kay—I had nothing to do with the bottle.
Cross-examined. Before I went into the room other people were in it—I could not tell how many, or what people—I could not tell if Rosenbloom was there—I did not see him in the room—it was not necessary for me to look over the people; I cannot tell—there were, no women there when I first went in—I met the deceased's mother-in-law on the stairs; she had been there before me, but she was fainting in the back room—I did not see Mrs. Lipski there—the women were in the back room, because Mrs. Dinah Angel was so bad—Dr. Kay and Mr. Piper did not tell me to look under the bed for the bottle, but to take the things out from underneath the bed—Dr. Kay said there must be a bottle somewhere, and then he and Mr. Piper told me to look under the bed, and then I and Simon did look under the bed—Simon was there afterwards, and he was there before the bottle was found—I did not see him the first time I entered the room—Simon did not hand the bottle to the doctor—I did not see Simon with the bottle at all—the bedclothes were lying against the wall, half on the wall and half on the bed—the bedstead itself must have been about 8 to
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10 inches from the wall before it was moved—we moved it out so far that the doctor could go down to see to the man—I could not say whether the doctor could not get down to see to the man before we moved the bed—he did not go down until the bed was pulled over—I could not tell whether we pulled it over 2 or 3 feet—when I saw the man he was lying on his back, and his eyes were shut—he was still on his back when the doctor slapped his face, between the bedstead and the wall—I could not tell whether the prisoner fell down when the policemen placed him against the wall—I was there—I never took particular notice whether he could stand or not, or whether he fell down—I took particular notice the two constables were holding his hands—we got out the bed from the wall before we found the bottle, and after the doctor had gone down to the man—it was after the bed was moved that we found the bottle.
WILLIAM PIPER . I am assistant to Dr. Kay, surgeon, in Commercial Road—on the Tuesday morning I was stopped in the street, and went to No. 16, about half past 11—I went at once upstairs and into the front bedroom on the first floor—at that time Dywein and Rosenbloom and two or three women and perhaps another man were in the room—I saw the deceased on the bed lying on her back, with her head inclined to the right towards the wall, with her right arm more or less over her breast, her parts exposed, the chemise rolled up to just underneath the breast, so that I could see the lower parts exposed, the right leg was drawn up—I at once went to her and moved her head towards me—I moved her arm; I found she was dead—I put her back in the same position as I found her—I then looked round and cleared the room; I told the people to go out—I noticed the window; there was a top blind down, and an ordinary curtain across the lower panes—the sash of the window was shut, and the upper sash was slightly open, 1 1/2 or 2 inches—I saw a female's clothes on a chair, as if undressed from the night before, and a pair of trousers lying on the floor—there was a square pillow on the floor—the woman was lying on the bare sacking of the bed; the ordinary covering was pushed down towards the foot of the bedstead—I did not notice at that time how far the bedstead was from the wall—I saw a table in front of the window—there was a glass on the table which I looked at and smelt; it appeared to be beer or stout—that is all I noticed at that time, except that I saw yellow marks of acid on the floor and on the woman's chemise and face, her mouth and lips and chin—I did not notice whether her face was injured at that time—that was all I noticed before I proceeded to leave the room—when I went to the door to leave the room I saw the key was on the inside of the door in the lock—I took it out and went to shut the door, and I then found the lock had been locked, so that the bolt was shot, and that prevented me from shutting the door completely to—it had a queer look, so I went back and unlocked it from inside—it was shot, and would not come to—the bolt came on the box; I had to unlock it—the box was slightly loosed, and when the bolt came on thereat got more forward, so that it would not shut—I am quite sure this part into which the bolt shoots was loose—it is a spring lock; only one part is spring—it appeared to me by pushing against it it forced it away, and would loose the box into which the lock shoots—I found it was locked—I then locked it from outside, putting the key in on the outside—this is exactly as it was—it has been tightened since—I did not touch the box
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of the lock at all; I did nothing to it—afterwards I went outside, pulled the door to, and locked the door from the outside—the room at that time had been cleared, and nobody went in—I took the key out, and kept it my possession—I went and fetched Dr. Kay, my principal; he returned with me a very few, perhaps 10, minutes afterwards—there was one constable on the outside of the door, keeping the crowd back—I unlocked the door, and Dr. Kay and I entered the room—several others came in, I cannot tell who; Dywein and Rosenbloom, people who were there—the police came in shortly afterwards—Dr. Kay examined the woman—I saw this bottle, not then, but subsequently, in the room—it was not exactly found, it was pointed out by Rosenbloom to the constable; it was then lying in one of the folds of the feather bed—there was no cork in it; I put one in—Dr. Kay took it—we both looked at and smelt it—there was just a little stuff in it; I formed the opinion that it was nitric acid, commonly called aqua fortis—I saw the prisoner there—in searching for the bottle Dr. Kay got on the bed to remove the pillow, and discovered this man lying between the bed and the wall—I think I assisted someone in pulling the bed out—it was pulled out, and then we both got down on that side and Dr. Kay examined the man and found he was not dead, so we woke him up—he was in his shirt-sleeves, which were rolled up—I did not see his coat or hat found there—the police and Dr. Kay were there—then the police took charge of the prisoner, and he was taken to Dr. Kay's surgery first, then to the station-house, and afterwards to the hospital.
Cross-examined. When I first went into the room three or four women were there—they were in a very excited state; they usually are—they were not very near the bed when I went in—I asked them to come out when I was coming away to leave the room; probably I might have put my hand on the shoulder of one or two of them and said "Go out; we want to clear the room"—one wanted to catch a glimpse of the woman and I said "No, no," and stood in front of her—when I went in the door was left open and several people were behind me, both men and women—I should not say I was there 10 minutes before I desired the people to go and turned them out—Rosenbloom pointed out where the bottle was—the bottle was then in one of the folds of the covering of the bed as it was being moved; we were searching for the bottle.
ARTHUR SACK (Policeman H 389). On Tuesday, 28th June, about 12 o'clock, I was on duty in Commercial Road and was called to 16, Batty Street—I went up to the room on the first floor and found Dr. Kay, Mr. Piper, and Harris Dywein—at that time the body of the woman lay dead on the bed—Dr. Kay spoke to me about the body of a man underneath the bed, and I helped to pull the bed away out of the recess—the bed was some little distance from the wall when we began to pull it; we pulled it a little further away, quite a yard I should think—then the prisoner was seen lying on the other side of the bed on the ground—he was on his back in his shirt sleeves which were rolled up—instructed by the doctor I assisted to lift the man up from the ground—he seemed to know a little—his eyes were opened when we lifted him up—I noticed yellow stains on his shirt and hands—when we had assisted him up he could see the deceased as she lay; he fell down backwards again—in consequence of what the doctor said I got a cab and took him first to Dr. Kay's and then to the police-station and afterwards to the London Hospital, where I left him
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in charge of a constable—he did not speak during the whole of this time; he did not seem to be in pain—he was asked his name at the hospital about three quarters of an hour after he left 16, Batty Street, and he wrote down the name of Lipski—I was present when the bottle was found—Dr. Kay actually picked it up from the bed.
Cross-examined. I saw Dr. Kay pick it up—I could not say if he was the first who touched it—Dywein pointed it out—I said the prisoner seemed to be unconscious when on his back—I did not notice that the bedstead had been pulled out before I got there—Dr. Kay pointed the man out to me.
ALFRED INWOOD (Policeman H 431). On the Tuesday I was passing through Batty Street, and in consequence of what I heard I went to the first floor front room, where I found Dr. Kay, Mr. Piper, and Sack—after Sack took the prisoner away I searched the room—I found this hat of the prisoner at the foot of the bed on the near side as you approach the bed, covered over by a pillow—this old coat, which has been identified as the prisoner's, I found at the foot of the bed near the wall under the bed on the floor—there was this other newer coat over it—over them was a row of nails or pegs with clothes hanging on them—I did not notice anything particularly the matter with the good coat at the time—I noticed it was lying down as if it had been laid down, as if it had not fallen—on the old underneath coat I noticed stains and also smelt a very strong smell coming from it; it burnt the skin off my fingers when I picked it up—it was very wet—I saw an old pair of trousers lying on the floor against an old egg box under the bedstead—there were some old clothes in the egg box—I did not see where the waistcoat was found—the things hanging on the walls were female clothing, such as dresses and petticoats, and another coat I believe there was—I took charge of the prisoner's coat on the floor and the hat—I left the other, the better, coat there—afterwards I took the coat wet with the stuff on it to the station and handed it to Inspector Final.
Cross-examined. When I searched the room the prisoner had been taken away in custody by the police—there was no crowd on the stairs or coming into the room then—I had removed them—there was a crowd coming in—on the near side of the bed I found the hat, that was nearest to the door—the prisoner was in the room when I reached there—when I began my search the prisoner had been taken away a few minutes.
CHARLES PETERS . I live at 222, Romford Road, Stratford, and am the leaseholder of 16, Batty Street—for about 20 years I have been accustemed to fixing locks and doing repairs of that description myself—I remember fixing a lock on the door of the first floor room of 16, Batty Street; it was about a fortnight or three weeks before this sad affair—it was a brand new lock and a very good lock, I believe—after I had fixed it I tried it to satisfy myself; it would unlock and lock, and then I saw the deceased sitting by the window and tried to make her understand to come and try the lock herself, but I found I could make no effect on her—then I went to the door and tried it backwards and forwards and beckoned her, and she tried it and bowed and went away—it was then in perfectly good and working order to my satisfaction—this is the lock and the box, but the wedge that I cut was not split in this way—I imagine it has got split in wrenching the door open—I put the wedge to complete it, that the box might be placed on it, and so that it would be steady—the lock was in my opinion perfectly available to lock the door.
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Cross-examined. I was not brought up as a locksmith—I consider myself a practical man—I served seven years' apprenticeship to a tailor and worked at that for ten years after—the box was in the centre of the lock a little below the top, and a little higher than the bottom of the lock.
By the COURT. I have a set of carpenter's tools for my own use and amuse myself with them; I brought a parcel with a hammer in it to-day as I thought the case would not come on.
WILLIAM PIPER (Re-examined by MCINTYRE). The partition enclosing the room was wooden and gave, and when the door was forced open it did not injure the lock but shifted the box slightly from one of these pegs underneath—it interfered with the box.
THOMAS WARWICK . I live at 19, Batty Street, as nearly as possible opposite 16—I work in the front parlour on ground floor of No. 19—on Tuesday morning, 28th June, I was at work there from 6 o'clock till I heard of the sad affair—from where I sit I can see quite clearly without effort across the street—up to my hearing of the sad affair I heard no noise or disturbance from over the way—if any person had got out of the first floor window opposite on that morning I must have seen him—I saw no one get out of a window in that house that morning—I knew the prisoner by sight before this day—I saw him on that morning about a quarter to 9 go in that house; he had his coat and hat on and carried a very small parcel in his hand, and I never saw him after that—I noticed the window of the first floor, there was a long blind down and a short blind covered the lower part of the window—the window itself was a little bit open at the top—the first I saw was Dywein and Dr. Kay putting their heads out of window—I first saw Dywein that morning when the top part of the window was pulled down—he had to pull it down five or six inches or more in order to call out.
Cross-examined. I was not examined before the coroner nor before the magistrate—I was at the police court—I first gave my evidence about three weeks ago—the time I saw Lipski go in was the only occasion on which I saw him that morning—I never saw him come out at all that morning—it was about a quarter to 9 he went in—I work at boot and shoe making—between six o'clock and the time this happened I went to breakfast—I was not looking out of window all the time, I was down stairs getting my breakfast about 7 or 8 o'clock—I must have been blind if I did not see the man come out of the window opposite while I was at work.
Re-examined. I got back from breakfast a little after 9 o'clock—I breakfast in the same house.
Saturday, July 30th, 1887.
DAVID FINAL (Inspector H). On 28th June about a quarter to I the prisoner was brought to Leman Street Police-station; he appeared to be partially insensible—he was seen by Mr. Phillips the divisional surgeon—I gave him some mustard and warm water and Dr. Phillips ordered him some afterwards—that had not the effect of making him sick—after that I searched him and found on him 2s. or 3s. silver and some coppers and a pawn ticket—I put back the ticket and the money in his pocket and he was sent to the London Hospital—I then went to 16, Batty Street, arriving there about half-past 1 I think—I went up to the first floor front room, of which a constable was in charge at the time—the
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door was locked, the constable opened it and I went into the room and examined the lock—the screws of the box were about a quarter of an inch drawn from the wood as if the door had been forced and the wood was split as it now is—the lock was in perfect order except that the bolt was shot—after this I went upstairs and I could see through the little window in the partition—the deceased woman was still lying on the bed, I could see her as she lay there—later on Inwood brought me this coat and hat—I searched the coat pockets and in one of them found this, "J. Lipski, United Stick and Cane Dressers' Protection Society," and a pawn ticket for a silver Geneva watch pawned in the name of John Lipski on 23rd June for 6s., Merdle Street—that was all the search I made at that time—after that I received this bottle from Dr. Kay, it had a cork in it when given to me—on the evening of the same day about half-past 7 I went with Sergeant Thick and an interpreter, Mr. Smedge, to the London Hospital and into a ward where I saw the prisoner in bed—he was then sensible—I spoke to the interpreter and the interpreter spoke to the prisoner in a language I did not understand the prisoner replied to the interpreter, who translated the replies as they were given—I wrote down the replies as they were translated—first of all the prisoner made a statement voluntarily without questions being put; at the conclusion of the statement I put some questions to the prisoner through the interpreter, who translated the answers to them, and I wrote them down in the form of question and answer—this is the book in which I wrote down the statement and the questions and answers—after writing it I read it to the interpreter, he interpreted it to the prisoner, and after that the prisoner said through the interpreter, "I have nothing more to say"—I was in uniform at the time—on 2nd July I charged the prisoner at the London Hospital with this crime—the same interpreter was present; he interpreted the charge to the prisoner, the prisoner made no reply—on the same day the prisoner was brought to Arbour Square Police-station; the interpreter was present—the prisoner was once more charged and he made a reply which the interpreter translated—I made this note of that reply at the time—on 20th July I was present at 16, Batty Street when the lock and the box of the lock were sawn from the first floor room door—the condition of the lock at that time was exactly as it was on 28th June, when I first saw it.
Cross-examined. The police were watching the prisoner in the ward during the time he was at the hospital—a detective officer was there in plain clothes sitting by his bedside—the prisoner had not been charged, but I had him in charge on suspicion of having committed the murder—when I first saw the prisoner on 28th June he was partially insensible—when brought to the station he appeared to be partially insensible—I slapped his face, and he acknowledged it, and then I gave him mustard and water, and he was not sick, and I opened his eye and touched the pupil, and he acknowledged it—that was all done before I was examined before the Magistrate—I said before the Magistrate he appeared partially insensible; the word partially was not put in—I say now he appeared insensible, I qualify it with partially—when I took the interpreter I did not tell the prisoner I intended to charge him with being a murderer—I took the interpreter there for the purpose of getting a statement from the prisoner whom I was there watching from what I had been told—I was doing this on my own responsibility—lam getting up this prosecution—I
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had been told the prisoner wished to make a statement—Miss Lyons, the prisoner's young lady, told me that; she came to the police-station—I did not understand what the interpreter said to the prisoner—before the prisoner made a statement I directed the interpreter to caution the prisoner that if he wished to make any statement to me I should take it down in writing, and it might be produced afterwards—the interpreter is here—I directed the interpreter to put five questions to the prisoner—I was before the Coroner at the inquest—the prisoner was not in custody then, but being watched—he had not been charged—he would not have been set at liberty from the hospital—I was before the Coroner on 1st July, and I charged the prisoner on the 2nd.
HENRY DAVID SMEDGE . I live at Leman Street, Whitechapel, and am an interpreter—I have acted as interpreter at the Thames Police-court for many years—on Tuesday, 28th June, I was sent for to the London Hospital—I saw the inspector there in uniform—I sat on the prisoner's bed—the inspector spoke to me, and in consequence of what he said I said to the prisoner "You are not bound to say anything, but what you do say will be taken down in writing by the inspector, and will be used as evidence against you at your trial"—the prisoner then commenced to make a statement, and as he did so I interpreted it to the inspector, who wrote it down in his pocket-book—when the prisoner had made the statement the inspector asked me to put some questions to the prisoner—I translated them to him and the answers to the inspector who wrote down questions and answers—when this had been done the inspector read out from the pocket-book what he had taken down—I translated it to the prisoner as he did so, and when it was finished the prisoner said "I have nothing more to say"—then I left the bedside—on 2nd July at the station I translated the charge to the prisoner when he was formally charged with the murder of Miriam Angel—he made a reply, which I translated to the inspector, and he wrote it down—I had cautioned the prisoner first.
Cross-examined. I said something about a trial to the prisoner at the hospital—it possibly arose from my custom of being used to it—possibly what I said at the police-court to him was "You are not bound to say anything; what you say will be put down"—I told the truth there—he was not charged for some days after 28th June—I don't admit that I am confusing what I said at the hospital with what I said at the police-office—the word trial is so used to me that possibly I might have used it—my impression is that I did use the word trial in Hebrew—I was only at the hospital once—at the police-station the prisoner was formally charged in my presence, and he made a reply—so far as the police are concerned those were the only two occasions on which I saw him and made a charge to him.
DAVID FINAL (Re-examined). This is a copy of what was taken at the bedside in the hospital: "At 7 a.m. a man working for me came; he asked me for work; I told him to wait; I would buy a vice for him, so as he could work. I went to purchase a vice. I went to the shop, but it was too soon. As I was going along I met another workman whom I knew at the corner of Bagchurch Lane. I went back. The shopkeeper wanted four shillings; I offered him three shillings. He would not take it. I returned and came into the passage, and I saw the man that I met in Bagchurch lane. He asked me 'Will you give me work
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or not?' I said 'Go to the workshop; I am going to get my breakfast, then I will give you work.' I then told my landlady to make some coffee. I then told a man (meaning the first man that called at 7 a.m.) to fetch some brandy. Then I went to the yard. I went upstairs to the first floor. I then saw both these men. I saw them open a box; they took hold of me by the throat, and threw me to the ground; there on the ground opened my mouth and put in some poison, and said 'That is the brandy.' They got my hands behind me, and asked me if I had any money. 'I have got no more than the sovereign that I gave you to get the brandy with.' He then asked 'Where is your gold chain?' I said 'It is in pawn.' They said 'If you don't give it to us you will be as dead as the woman.' They put a piece of wood in my mouth. I struggled; they put their knees against my throat. One said to the other 'Don't you think he is quite dead?' The reply was 'He don't want any more.' They then threw me under the bed, and there I lay for dead." Q. Do you know who these two men are? A. I know one who formerly worked with me. Q. Do you know his name and where he lives? A. His name is Simon; I don't know where he lives. Q. Do you know anything of the other man? A. I don't know him; he is a stranger to me. Q. Is his name Simon Rosenbloom? A. I can't say. Q. Do you know if Simon lives in Philpot Street? A. I can't say. I have nothing further to say." On 2nd July I read the charge to the prisoner at the police-station, and cautioned him, and the prisoner replied in German "I have not murdered her; I have not done it."
JOHN KAY . I am a Doctor of Medicine and Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, and I practice at 100, Commercial Road, the corner of Batty Street—on Tuesday, the 28th June, I was called to 16, Batty Street, and went up into the first floor room at a quarter to 12—my assistant went with me from the surgery, and he and others followed me into the room—on the bed I saw the woman lying on her back dead, with her hair dishevelled; her mouth had a stream of yellow coming from the corner on the left-hand side—her neck had two or three splashes; her breast had a splash—her hands were covered with the stains of nitric acid—the yellow stains were nitric acid, commonly called aqua fortis—she was covered up to her breast with one of the German feather beds—I turned it down to see if any violence had been offered to her—her chemise was pulled up to the breast, and the body was exposed—I noticed blood on the feather bed; splashes of blood and acid mixed—the effect of administering this stuff would cause a person to cough very violently—there were no marks of violence on the lower parts of the body—I formed an opinion she had been dead about three hours—the body was not quite cold—rigor mortis was absent—three hours must be pretty near the time—she was a stout woman—I have taken into consideration the state of the room and the weather and her condition of body in forming my opinion as to the three hours—I did not notice any marks on her face at all then, except those of the acid—I looked about the room to see what she had drunk it out of, and saw a glass containing beer—I looked about for a bottle—Dywein was there—I pulled the bed away from the wall, and stooped over the corpse and looked down between the bed and the wall—the bed was near to the wall or I should not have pulled it out—I looked down to see if there was any bottle there, and I saw the prisoner lying on his back—I could see him without moving anything—he
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was in his shirt sleeves; he looked pale; his eyes were partially open—I could see the white of the eye and part of the pupil—I felt his pulse and said "He is alive"—I put my finger on the cornea to see if he was unconscious, and he was—then I slapped him on the face, and he opened his eyes wide—he said nothing to me—I called for police to help me out with him from the corner—one on each side of him took hold of his arms and pulled him out—the bed was pulled round and the prisoner taken round the end; pulled round on the bare floor boards near to the window—I next looked in his mouth and saw he had taken some of the nitric acid; not so much as the woman—after getting him round the bed the police held him up standing—he did not fall down again; they had hold of him—I asked him some questions in English and German, and shook him, but he did not answer—I don't think he could understand what I said to him then—then the police took him away—I had examined his arms and hands to see if there were any scratches; his forearms were bare—I saw there was a little stain of acid on his hands; not much—when I was examining the man on the floor and my back was turned to the bed, Mr. Piper called to me "Here is the bottle"—Mr. Piper then had it in his hand; there was no cork in it—it is a 2-oz. phial—a few drops of the stuff were left, and from those I could tell it was the ordinary nitric acid of commerce; it smelt of that, and I tested it on copper—I made a post-mortem examination next day, the 29th—she was a well-developed woman; six months gone in the family way—I saw no signs of violence on the lower part of the body, and no signs of recent connection—her right eye was discoloured, black and swelled—I noticed a yellow stain at the corner of her mouth—there were no other external injuries—I then cut the scalp and turned it back—I saw over the right temple extravasated blood—the muscle was lacerated and bloody, and in a pulp from violent blows; there must have been more than one blow—I should think at least four blows, and very violent blows, and they were such that they might have been given with a man's fist—the brain was not congested—that does not come on immediately from violent blows; it must have time—she would be rendered unconscious by such blows; she would be stunned—her mouth was injured by the poison; the back of her throat was all charred with the acid—a portion of this stuff had gone into the stomach, and a portion had gone down the larynx and trachea and bronchial tubes, the wind pipe—that would indicate that it had been poured down her throat while she was insensible—the glottis, the covering to the windpipe, was open; in the ordinary course of swallowing that closes, to protect the liquid or food from going the wrong way—the greater portion of the acid appeared to have gone down the windpipe; the approximate amount of stuff used was about half an ounce—her hands were stained with the acid all over the back and front; all over—the cause of death was suffocation produced by the acid acting on the windpipe and closing the passage for the air—it would produce great convulsion of the parts; it would close the windpipe about three minutes after administration—every part of this coat of the prisoner's is marked with the acid—it has the effect of burning away woollen goods—I see one slight stain on Mr. Angel's coat; that might come from resting on the other coat; I could not swear to another stain—the waistcoat is stained with nitric acid, that might come from resting on the other coat—I found no trace of blood on the coat, but on the bed.
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Cross-examined. I attributed at the time the blood on the bed to the woman coughing to get rid of the poison—the post-mortem examination and putting the discharge under the microscope completely convinced me there had been no recent connection; there was no evidence of it—the man was not unconscious from the effect of poison; I attributed it to mental perturbation—he was not very unconscious; a slap roused him—I have seen a woman thrown into such a state from mental causes that I could put my finger on to her cornea without her flinching; I don't remember a man—if a man were in a state of mental perturbation, and had drunk a certain quantity of nitric acid, one would help the other to make him unconscious, but the nitric acid was not sufficient in my opinion to cause unconsciousness—I saw the prisoner about a quarter to 12—I frequently have known a woman remain unconscious from mental causes for two hours in spite of all restoratives, mustard plasters, and ammonia—I have not seen a man unconscious from mental causes—violence would tend to produce unconsciousness.
WILLIAM DUBREE CALVERT . I am house physician at the London Hospital, and was there when the prisoner was brought there on 28th June—I made some remarks to him in English, which he seemed to understand—I saw on the fingers and finger-nails of his left hand some yellow stains, and on the second joint of the third finger of the right hand a slight stain—they were such stains as would be produced by nitric acid—I noticed some trivial scratches on the backs of both his hands—on the back of the right wrist was a scratch longer than the rest—there were some slight scratches on the forearms—the skin was partially rubbed off both elbows, abraided—there were one or two slight scratches on the forehead, and noteably one on the right temple—I do not think the appearances I saw were indicative of any serious violence of any kind—I examined the mouth and thought the injuries were produced by the application of some corrosive fluid; there were some white patches at the back of the tongue and on the left tonsil, and little white patches on the pharynx—I noticed nothing more about the mouth—I thought those appearances were caused by the action of a corrosive fluid, such as nitric acid—those injuries were not serious in their character—I examined the throat on the outside—I found no marks of violence upon it—there were no marks of violence or of injury on the body beyond those I have given—the injuries on his person were not, in my opinion, such as would prevent a man from crying out.
Cross-examined. There was an abrasion on the inside of his mouth—that would indicate to my mind that some foreign substance had been thrust into the mouth—I examined the prisoner when he came in, about half-past 2, I imagine, and every day.
Re-examined. I saw nothing done to the prisoner—the abrasion I saw was recent—it was at the back of the palate, the back part of the mouth—I should think in the condition of the throat and mouth that a stomach-pump would have produced this injury, because it was in the locality of one of the white patches, the mucous membrane was there softened.
THOMAS REDMAYNE . I am house physician at the London Hospital—I saw the prisoner when he first came in, at a quarter or 20 minutes to 2 I should think—I used the stomach-pump to him.
Cross-examined. I was not examined before the Coroner, or before the Magistrate; this is the first time I have had anything to do with it—I
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got a notice yesterday I should be wanted, and a policeman came this morning—I used the stomach-pump to the best of my ability—I got something into him.
By the COURT. I could very probably have produced such an abrasion as the last witness spoke of—we had to use a gag to get the prisoner's mouth open, and he broke that.
CHARLES MOORE . I am manager to Mr. Lee, of 196, Bagchurch Lane, oil and colourman—it is an ordinary shop—I know the boy Pitman as coming to the shop on Monday the 27th, the day before 28th June, to buy a quart of methylated spirit, 2 lbs. of shellac, and 1/2 lb. of drop black, which is used for staining wood previous to varnishing—those things are used by stick makers—I did not then know where he was employed—on 28th June a man came to my shop with a two-ounce phial, similar to this—to the best of my belief the prisoner is the man—it was about 9 o'clock a.m.—he asked for a pennyworth of aqua fortis, in English, produced the bottle, and I supplied him with the pennyworth of aqua fortis—that would be about one ounce—I asked him for what purpose he wanted it—he said he was a stick maker, and wanted it for staining sticks—I cautioned him that it was poisonous—I did not wrap it up, I corked it—he took it away—my shop is next door to Mr. Smith's—I heard what had happened at No. 16 on the same day—the day after, the 29th, the policemen came to me, and I gave them information on the subject—I was taken to the hospital on the Friday morning, and into the wards where there were a number of patients in the beds there—I went from bed to bed, and came to the bed where the prisoner was—I pointed him out to the inspector—I had previous to that given a description of the person who had made the purchase at my shop.
Cross-examined. I did not know the prisoner previous to the purchase—the hair on his face did not attract my attention particularly—when I went into the ward of the hospital there was a man in plain clothes sitting by the side of the bed, I could not say whether he was a constable or not—I believe that was the only bed in the room where a man was sitting by the bedside—I was in the ward about 10 minutes—I walked down once and back again; I walked as far as the prisoner's bed and back again—his was not the end bed, I think it was near the fireplace—I did not walk to the end of the ward—the inspector went with me in uniform—I did not notice if the man sitting at the head of the bed got up when the inspector came up to the bed—I was taken there to identify the man who had bought the aqua fortis—I was told by the inspector or detective I should most likely see the man who had bought the aqua fortis there—I expected to find the man there when I went—at the time I sold the aqua fortis there were about six people, I should say, in the shop—I was very busy at the time serving these people with different things—I sell everything requisite for stick-makers.
ANNA LYONS . I live at 2, Watney Street, and am the wife of Moses Lyons—I have a daughter Kate, who for six months has been engaged to be married to the prisoner—I remember the prisoner coming to my house on Monday, 27th June, about I o'clock, to cat his dinner—he said I shall be so kind enough as to lend him money; how much he did not say—I gain I got no money to lend him, I take borrow money—I took a brush and ring to Church Street and pawned them for 25s.—I took the money to the prisoner's house and gave it to him—he said "Saturday,
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please God, I will take in the work and finish the work, I shall pay you all I owe you"—I had lent him 1l. the week before—this is the ticket—he has never paid me any portion of that 2l. 5s. back.
Cross-examined. I knew the prisoner when he was working at my son's; I have known him two years—I cannot give him a bad character, he always behaved himself—I think he was fitting up his room for the purpose of turning it into a workshop; I knew he was having money for that purpose—I knew he was working at home and employing Pitman—I did not know that he was going to employ other men as well, nor that he was doing work for people in the City, and had to take it home and get his money for it—he was doing stick and horn work—I do not know whether he was working for Mr. Lewis of Aldermanbury.
GEORGE BITTEN (Re-examined). The distance between Batty Street and White's Gardens, where Pitman lived, is 837 yards; there is another way just a little under 800 yards.
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Old April 2nd, 2017, 08:28 PM   #3
Jerry Dunlop
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Default Hanging an Innocent Man

I believe this series written in the PMG was by WT Stead. It appears the judge in the Lipski case (Stephen) may have been converted to the innocence of Lipski by his defense attorney, My Hayward, who proposed evidence that supposedly never made it into court. The article includes an interesting visit with Israel Lipski at Newgate by Mr. and Mrs. Philip Lipski.

https://books.google.com/books?id=wb...lipski&f=false (starts on Page7)
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Old April 3rd, 2017, 05:00 AM   #4
Howard Brown
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Thanks very much for the material....
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