The Debatable Case Of Mrs. Emsley

IN the fierce popular indignation which is excited by a sanguinary crime there is a tendency, in which judges and juries share, to brush aside or to treat as irrelevant those doubts the benefit of which is supposed to be one of the privileges of the accused. Lord Tenterden has whittled down the theory of doubt by declaring that a jury is justified in giving its verdict upon such evidence as it would accept to be final in any of the issues of life. But when one looks back and remembers how often one has been very sure and yet has erred in the issues of life, how often what has seemed certain has failed us, and that which appeared impossible has come to pass, we feel that if the criminal law has been conducted upon such principles it is probably itself the giant murderer of England. Far wiser is the contention that it is better that ninety-nine guilty should escape than that one innocent man should suffer, and that, therefore, if it can be claimed that there is one chance in a hundred in favour of the prisoner he is entitled to his acquittal. It cannot be doubted that if the Scotch verdict of 'Not proven,' which neither condemns nor acquits, had been permissible in England it would have been the outcome of many a case which, under our sterner law, has ended upon the scaffold. Such a verdict would, I fancy, have been hailed as a welcome compromise by the judge and the jury who investigated the singular circumstances which attended the case of Mrs. Mary Emsley.

The stranger in London who wanders away from the beaten paths and strays into the quarters in which the workers dwell is astounded by their widespread monotony, by the endless rows of uniform brick houses broken only by the corner public-houses and more infrequent chapels which are scattered amongst them. The expansion of the great city has been largely caused by the covering of district after district with these long lines of humble dwellings, and the years between the end of the Crimean War and 1860 saw great activity in this direction. Many small builders by continually mortgaging what they had done, and using the capital thus acquired to start fresh works which were themselves in turn mortgaged, contrived to erect street after street, and eventually on account of the general rise of property to make considerable fortunes. Amongst these astute speculators there was one John Emsley, who, dying, left his numerous houses and various interests to his widow Mary.

Mary Emsley, now an old woman, had lived too long in a humble fashion to change her way of life. She was childless, and all the activities of her nature were centred upon the economical management of her property, and the collection of the weekly rents from the humble tenants who occupied them. A grim, stern, eccentric woman, she was an object of mingled dislike and curiosity among the inhabitants of Grove Road, Stepney, in which her house was situated. Her possessions extended over Stratford, Bow, and Bethnal Green, and in spite of her age she made long journeys, collecting, evicting, and managing, always showing a great capacity for the driving of a hard bargain. One of her small economies was that when she needed help in managing these widespread properties she preferred to employ irregular agents to engaging a salaried representative. There were many who did odd jobs for her, and among them were two men whose names were destined to become familiar to the public. The one was John Emms, a cobbler; the other George Mullins, a plasterer.

Mary Emsley, in spite of her wealth, lived entirely alone, save that on Saturdays a charwoman called to clean up the house. She showed also that extreme timidity and caution which are often characteristic of those who afterwards perish by violence—as if there lies in human nature some vague instinctive power of prophecy. It was with reluctance that she ever opened her door, and each visitor who approached her was reconnoitred from the window of her area. Her fortune would have permitted her to indulge herself with every luxury, but the house was a small one, consisting of two stories and a basement, with a neglected back garden, and her mode of life was even simpler than her dwelling. It was a singular and most unnatural old age.

Mrs. Emsley was last seen alive upon the evening of Monday, August 13th, 1860. Upon that date, at seven o'clock, two neighbours perceived her sitting at her bedroom window. Next morning, shortly after ten, one of her irregular retainers called upon some matter of brass taps, but was unable to get any answer to his repeated knockings. During that Tuesday many visitors had the same experience, and the Wednesday and Thursday passed without any sign of life within the house. One would have thought that this would have aroused instant suspicions, but the neighbours were so accustomed to the widow's eccentricities that they were slow to be alarmed. It was only upon the Friday, when John Emms, the cobbler, found the same sinister silence prevailing in the house, that a fear of foul play came suddenly upon him. He ran round to Mr. Rose, her attorney, and Mr. Faith, who was a distant relation, and the three men returned to the house. On their way they picked up Police-constable Dillon, who accompanied them.

The front door was fastened and the windows snibbed, so the party made their way over the garden wall and so reached the back entrance, which they seem to have opened without difficulty. John Emms led the way, for he was intimately acquainted with the house. On the ground floor there was no sign of the old woman. The creak of their boots and the subdued whisper of their voices were the only sounds which broke the silence. They ascended the stair with a feeling of reassurance. Perhaps it was all right after all. It was quite probable that the eccentric widow might have gone on a visit. And then as they came upon the landing John Emms stood staring, and the others, peering past him, saw that which struck the hope from their hearts.

It was the footprint of a man dimly outlined in blood upon the wooden floor. The door of the front room was nearly closed, and this dreadful portent lay in front of it with the toes pointing away. The police-constable pushed at the door, but something which lay behind it prevented it from opening. At last by their united efforts they effected an entrance. There lay the unfortunate old woman, her lank limbs all asprawl upon the floor, with two rolls of wall-paper under her arm and several others scattered in front of her. It was evident that the frightful blows which had crushed in her head had fallen upon her unforeseen, and had struck her senseless in an instant. She had none of that anticipation which is the only horror of death.

The news of the murder of so well known an inhabitant caused the utmost excitement in the neighbourhood, and every effort was made to detect the assassin. A Government reward of £100 was soon raised to £300, but without avail. A careful examination of the house failed to reveal anything which might serve as a reliable clue. It was difficult to determine the hour of the murder, for there was reason to think that the dead woman occasionally neglected to make her bed, so that the fact that the bed was unmade did not prove that it had been slept in. She was fully dressed, as she would be in the evening, and it was unlikely that she would be doing business with wall-papers in the early morning. On the whole, then, the evidence seemed to point to the crime having been committed upon the Monday evening some time after seven. There had been no forcing of doors or windows, and therefore the murderer had been admitted by Mrs. Emsley. It was not consistent with her habits that she should admit anyone whom she did not know at such an hour, and the presence of the wall-papers showed that it was someone with whom she had business to transact. So far the police could hardly go wrong. The murderer appeared to have gained little by his crime, for the only money in the house, £48, was found concealed in the cellar, and nothing was missing save a few articles of no value. For weeks the public waited impatiently for an arrest, and for weeks the police remained silent though not inactive. Then an arrest was at last effected, and in a curiously dramatic fashion.

Amongst the numerous people who made small sums of money by helping the murdered woman there was one respectable-looking man, named George Mullins —rather over fifty years of age, with the straight back of a man who has at some period been well drilled. As a matter of fact, he had served in the Irish Constabulary, and had undergone many other curious experiences before he had settled down as a plasterer in the East-end of London. This man it was who called upon Sergeant Tanner, of the police, and laid before him a statement which promised to solve the whole mystery.

According to this account, Mullins had from the first been suspicious of Emms, the cobbler, and had taken steps to verify his suspicions, impelled partly by his love of justice and even more by his hope of the reward. The £300 bulked largely before his eyes. 'If this only goes right I'll take care of you,' said he, on his first interview with the police, and added, in allusion to his own former connection with the force, that he 'was clever at these matters.' So clever was he that his account of what he had seen and done gave the police an excellent clue upon which to act.

It appears that the cobbler dwelt in a small cottage at the edge of an old brick-field. On this brick-field, and about fifty yards from the cottage, there stood a crumbling outhouse which had been abandoned. Mullins, it seems, had for some time back been keeping a watchful eye upon Emms, and he had observed him carrying a paper parcel from his cottage and concealing it somewhere in the shed. 'Very likely,' said the astute Mullins, 'he is concealing some of the plunder which he has stolen.' To the police also the theory seemed not impossible, and so, on the following morning, three of them, with Mullins hanging at their heels, appeared at Emms's cottage, and searched both it and the shed. Their efforts, however, were in vain, and nothing was found.

This result was by no means satisfactory to the observant Mullins, who rated them soundly for not having half-searched the shed, and persuaded them to try again. They did so under his supervision, and this time with the best results. Behind a slab in the outhouse they came on a paper parcel of a very curious nature. It was tied up with coarse tape, and when opened disclosed another parcel tied with waxed string. Within were found three small spoons and one large one, two lenses, and a cheque drawn in favour of Mrs. Emsley, and known to have been paid to her upon the day of the murder. There was no doubt that the other articles had also belonged to the dead woman. The discovery was of the first importance then, and the whole party set off for the police-station, Emms covered with confusion and dismay, while Mullins swelled with all the pride of the successful amateur detective. But his triumph did not last long. At the police-station the inspector charged him with being himself concerned in the death of Mrs. Emsley.

'If you are innocent no harm will befall you,' said the inspector, and he was duly committed for trial.

This dramatic turning of the tables caused the deepest public excitement, and the utmost abhorrence was everywhere expressed against the man who was charged not only with a very cold-blooded murder, but with a deliberate attempt to saddle another man with the guilt in the hope of receiving the reward. It was very soon seen that Emms at least was innocent, as he could prove the most convincing alibi. But if Emms was innocent who was guilty save the man who had placed the stolen articles in the outhouse? and who could this be save Mullins, who had informed the police that they were there? The case was prejudged by the public before ever the prisoner had appeared in the dock, and the evidence which the police had prepared against him was not such as to cause them to change their opinion. A damning series of facts were arraigned in proof of their theory of the case, and they were laid before the jury by Serjeant Parry at the Central Criminal Court upon the 25th of October, about ten weeks after the murder.

At first sight the case against Mullins appeared to be irresistible. An examination of his rooms immediately after his arrest enabled the police to discover some tape upon his mantelpiece which corresponded very closely with the tape with which the parcel had been secured. There were thirty-two strands in each. There was also found a piece of cobbler's wax, such as would be needed to wax the string of the inner parcel. Cobbler's wax was not a substance which Mullins needed in his business, so that time theory of the prosecution was that he had simply procured it in order to throw suspicion upon the unfortunate cobbler. A plasterer's hammer, which might have inflicted the injuries, was also discovered upon the premises, and so was a spoon which corresponded closely to the spoons which Mrs. Emsley had lost. It was shown also that Mrs. Mullins had recently sold a small gold pencil-case to a neighbouring barman, and two witnesses were found to swear that this pencil-case belonged to Mrs. Emsley and had been in her possession a short time before her death. There was also discovered a pair of boots, one of which appeared to fit the impression upon the floor, and medical evidence attested that there was some human hair upon the sole of it. The same medical evidence swore to a blood mark upon the gold pencil which had been sold by Mrs. Mullins. It was proved by the charwoman, who came upon Saturdays, that when she had been in the house two days before the murder Mullins had called, bringing with him some rolls of wall-paper, and that he had been directed by Mrs. Emsley to carry it up to the room in which the tragedy afterwards occurred. Now, it was clear that Mrs. Emsley had been discussing wall-papers at the time that she was struck down, and what more natural than that it should have been with the person who had originally brought them? Again, it had been shown that during the day Mrs. Emsley had handed to Mullins a certain key. This key was found lying in the same room as the dead body, and the prosecution asked how it could have come there if Mullins did not bring it.

So far the police had undoubtedly a very strong case, and they endeavoured to make it more convincing still by producing evidence to show that Mullins had been seen both going to the crime and coming away from it. One, Raymond, was ready to swear that at eight o'clock that evening he had caught a glimpse of him in the street near Mrs. Emsley's. He was wearing a black billy-cock hat. A sailor was produced who testified that he had seen him at Stepney Green a little after five next morning. According to the sailor's account his attention was attracted by the nervous manner and excited appearance of the man whom he had met, and also by the fact that his pockets were very bulging. He was wearing a brown hat. When he heard of the murder he had of his own accord given information to the police, and he would swear that Mullins was the man whom he had seen.

This was the case as presented against the accused, and it was fortified by many smaller points of suspicion. One of them was that when he was giving the police information about Emms he had remarked that Emms was about the only man to whom Mrs. Emsley would open her door.

This answer of his—which was shown to be untrue—told very heavily against him at the trial.

It was a grave task which Mr. Best had to perform when he rose to answer this complicated and widely-reaching indictment. He first of all endeavoured to establish an alibi by calling Mullins's children, who were ready to testify that he came home particularly early upon that particular Monday. Their evidence, however, was not very conclusive, and was shaken by the laundress, who showed that they were confusing one day with another. As regards the boot, the counsel pointed out that human hair was used by plasterers in their work, and he commented upon the failure of the prosecution to prove that there was blood upon the very boot which was supposed to have produced the blood-print. He also showed as regards the bloodstain upon the pencil-case that the barman upon buying the pencil had carefully cleaned and polished it, so that if there was any blood upon it, it was certainly not that of Mrs. Emsley. He also commented upon the discrepancy of the evidence between Raymond, who saw the accused at eight in the evening in a black hat, and the sailor who met him at five in the morning in a brown one. If the theory of the prosecution was that the accused had spent the night in the house of the murdered woman, how came his hat to be changed? One or other or both the witnesses must be worthless. Besides, the sailor had met his mysterious stranger at Stepney Green, which was quite out of the line between the scene of the crime and Mullins's lodgings.

As to the bulging pockets, only a few small articles had been taken from the house, and they would certainly not cause the robbers pockets to bulge. There was no evidence either from Raymond or from the sailor that the prisoner was carrying the plasterer's hammer with which the deed was supposed to have been done.

And now he produced two new and very important witnesses, whose evidence furnished another of those sudden surprises with which the case had abounded. Mrs. Barnes, who lived in Grove Road, opposite to the scene of the murder, was prepared to swear that at twenty minutes to ten on Tuesday morning —twelve hours after the time of the commission of the crime, according to the police theory—she saw someone moving paper-hangings in the top room, and that she also saw the right-hand window open a little way. Now, in either of these points she might be the victim of a delusion, but it is difficult to think that she was mistaken in them both. If there was really someone in the room at that hour, whether it was Mrs. Emsley or her assassin, in either case it proved the theory of the prosecution to be entirely mistaken.

The second piece of evidence was from Stephenson, a builder, who testified that upon that Tuesday morning he had seen one Rowland, also a builder, come out of some house with wall-papers in his hand. This was a little after ten o'clock. He could not swear to the house, but he thought that it was Mrs. Emsley's. Rowland was hurrying past him when he stopped him and asked him —they were acquaintances—whether he was in the paper line.

In answer to this Rowland appeared in the box and stated that he considered Stephenson to be half-witted. He acknowledged the meeting and the conversation, but asserted that it was several days before. As a matter of fact, he was engaged in papering the house next to Mrs. Emsley's, and it was from that that he had emerged.

So stood the issues when the Chief Baron entered upon the difficult task of summing up. Some of the evidence upon which the police had principally relied was brushed aside by him very lightly. As to the tape, most tape consisted of thirty-two strands, and it appeared to him that the two pieces were not exactly of one sort. Cobbler's wax was not an uncommon substance, and a plasterer could not be blamed for possessing a plasterer's hammer. The boot, too, was not so exactly like the blood-print that any conclusions could be drawn from it. The weak point of the defense was that it was almost certain that Mullins hid the things in the shed. If he did not commit the crime, why did he not volunteer a statement as to how the things came into his possession? His remark that Mrs. Emsley would not open the door to him, when it was certain that she would do so, was very much against him. On the other hand, the conflicting evidence of the sailor and of the other man who had seen Mullins near the scene of the crime was not very convincing, nor did he consider the incident of the key to be at all conclusive, since the key might have been returned in the course of the day. On the whole, everything might be got round except the hiding of the parcel in the shed, and that was so exceedingly damning that, even without anything else, it amounted to a formidable case.

The jury deliberated for three hours and then brought in a verdict of 'Guilty,' in which the judge concurred. Some of his words, however, in passing sentence were such as to show that his mind was by no means convinced upon the point.

'If you can even now make it manifest that you are innocent of the charge,' said he, 'I do not doubt that every attention will be paid to any cogent proof laid before those with whom it rests to carry out the finding of the law.'

To allude to the possibility of a man's innocence and at the same time to condemn him to be hanged strikes the lay mind as being a rather barbarous and illogical proceeding. It is true that the cumulative force of the evidence against Mullins was very strong, and that investigation proved the man's antecedents to have been of the worst. But still, circumstantial evidence, even when it all points one way and there is nothing to be urged upon the other side, cannot be received with too great caution, for it is nearly always possible to twist it to some other meaning.

In this case, even allowing that the evidence for an alibi furnished by Mullins's children was worthless, and allowing also that Mr. Stephenson's evidence may be set aside, there remains the positive and absolutely disinterested testimony of Mrs. Barnes, which would seem to show that even if Mullins did the crime he did it in an entirely different way to that which the police imagined. Besides, is it not on the face of it most improbable that a man should commit a murder at eight o'clock or so in the evening, should remain all night in the house with the body of his victim, that he should do this in the dark—for a light moving about the house would have been certainly remarked by the neighbours—that he should not escape during the darkness, but that he should wait for the full sunlight of an August morning before he emerged?

After reading the evidence one is left with an irresistible impression that, though Mullins was very likely guilty, the police were never able to establish the details of the crime, and that there was a risk of a miscarriage of justice when the death sentence was carried out.

There was much discussion among the legal profession at the time as to the sufficiency of the evidence, but the general public was quite satisfied, for the crime was such a shocking one that universal prejudice was excited against the accused. Mullins was hanged on the 19th of November, and he left a statement behind him reaffirming his own innocence. He never attempted to explain the circumstances which cost him his life, but he declared in his last hours that he believed Emms to be innocent of the murder, which some have taken to be a confession that he had himself placed the incriminating articles in the shed. Forty years have served to throw no fresh light upon the matter.

TRANSCRIPT OF THE EMSLEY MURDER TRIAL

874. JAMES MULLINS (52), was indicted for the wilful murder of Mary Emsley;
he was also charged on the coroner's inquisition with the like offence.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY, with MESSRS. CLERK and ORRIDGE
conducted the Prosecution.

WILLIAM ROSE. I am a solicitor residing in Victoria-park square—I knew Mrs. Mary Emsley, who lived at 9, Grove-road—she was a client of mine, and had been so for some years prior to her death—she was possessed of considerable house property in that neighbourhood—she collected a great part of her rents herself from weekly tenants—she lived alone, without any servant—I know a person of the name of Walter Emm—he occasionally assisted her in the collection of rents—On Friday, 17th August, Emm called on me and made a communication to me—I did not go with him, but sent him, and appointed to meet him at the house in Grove-road—I met Dillon there—the door of the house was fastened when we got there—we knocked at the front door and there was no admittance to be gained—I then desired the constable to get over the garden wall at the back—he did so, and said the door was open, and I went over the wall and followed him in the same way—we went through the house—we found no person on the ground floor—the door of the parlour was open, and the back window appeared to be a little open—there is a front and back parlour; they open from the one to the other, and form one room—we then went up on to the first floor—the door of the front bedroom on the first floor was open—that was the room used by the deceased as her bedroom—there is a small back room as well with lumber in it—the bed appeared not to have been slept in—we then went up stairs to the second floor—the door of the front room was open, and I there saw the body of Mrs. Emsley, with her head towards the landing, near the doorway—the body was lying so much in the doorway as to prevent the door from closing—you could scarcely enter the room without treading over the body—there was a bundle of papers for papering rooms in front of her, and two pieces of paper under her arm—Dr. Gill was then sent for at my request; he came almost immediately—the deceased remained in the position in which she was lying until the doctor came, at my request, she was not disturbed in any way—when I was there that day I noticed this key (produced)—it is a remarkable one—I saw it in the bedroom of the deceased, on the first floor—that is the room underneath that in which she was found dead—the key was on the table—there was a table in the bed-room next to the window, and I am not sure whether it was not in a basket, I think it was—there was some biscuit in the basket, and I think some other keys, but I noticed that key particularly on account of the bow being remarkable.

Cross-examined by MR. BEST (with MR. PALMER). Q. You have known the prisoner, I believe? A. I don't think I ever saw him till he was in custody; I think that was the first time I ever saw him; to my knowledge I had never seen him before—I think Mrs. Emsley bad a person of the name of Rowland who assisted her in the collection of rents—I never heard of a man of the name of Wright—I am not sure that a person of the name of Wilson, of Ratcliffe, did not collect some rents—he is a tenant of hers—I have no personal knowledge of that—the fastening to the front door was a common lock and a latch-key lock—I looked at the street door and found that the door had been apparently pulled to—it was not fastened inside—there are bolts inside—those were not fastened—there did not appear to have been any force at all—there was a great quantity of blood about in this room where we found the deceased lying—not all over her; there was a pool of blood; I did not notice particularly as to any splashes about the room—the smell and appearance was so offensive I did not enter the room to examine it minutely.

EDWARD DILLON (Police-sergeant, K 19). On Friday, 17th August, I was called by a man, of the name of Emm, to No. 9, Grove-road—I went there and found Mr. Rose, Mr. Faith, Mr. Whitaker, and Mr. Biggs, waiting outside the house—I gained admittance at the next door, and passed over the back wall to the back yard of the deceased's house-I found the back door shut, on the latch—the front door was shut on the spring-lock, but not double-locked; it would double-lock—there were no bolts drawn—a person going out and pulling the front door after him would leave it securely latched—I next went into the back parlour, and saw the back window raised up four or five inches—the shutters were closed but not fastened; not bolted—I saw the front parlour window shutters down and the curtains drawn back—I went into the front parlour; the curtains were drawn back and the shutters open; the window was fastened by a catch above—I next proceeded to the first floor front room—I saw a bed there which did not appear to have been slept in recently; the bed was not made-the right hand window-blind in the room was drawn down and the left drawn up-I then went into the back room on the same floor, which was filled with lumber and a quantity of paper hangings—I then went up stairs, and saw the deceased lying dead in the front room—that was on the floor above the front bed-room—the left hand window in the room was raised up a few inches, the right hand window was down—the deceased was lying on her left side, with her head against the door-post; her face was towards the boards, downwards, on the left side—there were a quantity of paper-hangings in that room and a quantity behind the deceased's back; there were several pieces near her head—I noticed the floor of the landing outside, and observed a footprint in the blood—I was not present when the piece of board was cut out—Dr. Gill was then sent for—I remained there till he came—everything was left in the same state as I have described it until Dr. Gill made his appearance—from the direction of the footprint the foot would be coming from the room—I examined all the bolts of the doors and shutters in the house—I discovered no marks whatever of any violent entry having been made—I afterwards made a search of the rooms below, and found a gold mourning ring between the bed-tick and mattress—the ring is in Court; my inspector has it—I found that in the first-floor, in the bed room; it bore the inscription of Samuel Emsley, Esq.—I also saw three half-pence in coppers on a chair—I gave the ring to Inspector Kerrison—I remained on the premises till I was relieved—the garden of the house is surrounded by walls—the gardens of the houses at the back of the houses in Grove-road abut on the garden of the house of the deceased on either side—there is no road between—the houses in Grove-street are at the back of the Grove-road houses—the back door of No. 9 has a glass window in it.

Cross-examined. Q. You went to this room where you found the deceased lying, did you observe whether there was much blood about it? A. A great quantity of blood—there were a great many splashes about the floor and the wall, as if the blood had spurted out from the person who had been struck.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Did you notice the direction in which the blood appeared to have flowed? A. It appeared to have flowed in front of the woman from the position I found her in, and a great quantity splashed behind her.

SAMUEL LAWRENCE GILL. I am a member of the Edinburgh College of Physicians, and a surgeon of London—I was called in to see the deceased—I found her lying at full length on her left side, with the face turned a little more to the left, towards the boards—she was dressed—there was no sign of her having made any preparation for going to bed—the first wound which presented itself to my notice was a large opening in the back of the skull, extending deeply into the brain—I think that was the result of repeated blows—that wound alone was quite sufficient to account for death—there were a great number of minute portions of the skull carried completely within the brain and packed under the other portion of the skull, into the interior of the substance of the brain, and deposited within the upper portion of the skull—the posterior portion of the cerebrum would be immediately exposed to that injury, the posterior portion of the big brain, and of the little brain also, the opening was so large—there were several other wounds which would have caused death besides that one—the wound over the left ear would have caused death—it was a contused wound, and the whole of the temporal bone on that side was driven in; that also being in small fragments—there was also a blow above the other ear, that was a contused wound—there was no wound in the scalp on that side, but there had evidently been a heavy blow on that side—there was also what we should almost term a lacerated wound above the left eyebrow, and another, wound in the left ear, also a lacerated wound—before I saw this hammer (produced) I had formed an opinion as to the character of the instrument with which these blows were inflicted—the wound, which was the result of repeated blows, might have been inflicted with the blunt side of this hammer—I had an opportunity of seeing whether the hammer fitted the wound on the eyebrow; the blade, of the hammer corresponded with the length of that wound—I consider it was. such a wound as might have been inflicted by the thin end of that hammer—I noticed a quantity of blood; there was a pool on the floor which had flowed from the body, from one point, passing away from her into the room from the doorway—from the place where the head was, the room was. inclined—I noticed a mark of blood on the under part of her petticoat, but, of course, external, as the petticoat was drawn upwards over the head—it was a superficial smear—it appeared to me as if something had been wiped on it

Cross-examined. Q. Could you form any opinion from the appearance of the wounds which wound was inflicted first? A. It would be a mere, matter of opinion, but I should rather think that the wound on the temple had been inflicted first; that appeared to have been one blow—the body was slightly decomposed when I saw it—the face was very slightly decomposed—I don't think the incised wound on the eyebrow was as. much decomposed as the opposite side of the face—there were indications of decomposition going on, certainly—the effect of decomposition, under some circumstances, would be to cause a wound to expand, to gape—I don't consider that it was at all distended from decomposition, because it was comparatively dry—in this case the wound would gape slightly, certainly—I forget how long after my first examination this hammer was shown to me; I should think a week, perhaps more—I have not the slightest recollection; it might have been a fortnight; I don't bear it in mind—I did not compare the hammer with the body—I measured the wound over the eyebrow, and probed the depth of it with my finger—I form my opinion as to the instrument which inflicted the wounds from the appearance of the wounds and from being accustomed to see wounds inflicted by all sorts of instruments—a piece of iron, an iron bar, sharp at the end, would, undoubtedly produce such wounds as these—I should think it possible, certainly, that the wounds at the back of the head might have been done with a larger instrument than this—I considered they could have been done with a hammer—the wound at the back of the head was considerably greater than this part of the hammer; it was some inches in size—I should imagine that whatever instrument was used there would be a considerable quantity of blood on it.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Could large wounds, larger than any single wound, have been inflicted by that hammer by repeated blows? A. By repeated blows—I measured the wound on the eyebrow; it was an inch and a half long—all I say is that this hammer might have inflicted the wounds—I gave it as my opinion when I saw the body that she had been dead, in all probability, three or four days—I saw her on Friday in the middle of the day—what I saw and observed was quite consistent with an attack on Monday, 13th August.

COURT. Q. You say her appearance was consistent with her being wounded on the Monday; that what happened to her might have happened on Monday? A. Quite likely—I could not fix within a day either way—it might have been on Monday evening, or Tuesday morning, or on the Sunday—it would depend on the state of the atmosphere.

ELIZABETH PASHLEY. I reside at 16, Grove-road, immediately opposite No. 9, where Mrs. Emsley used to live—I have lived there twelve years—I last saw her alive on Monday evening, August 13th, between 7 and 8 o'clock, sitting at her first-floor window—she usually went to bed about 10, or even before, I have seen her, but usually about 10—the shutters of her house were always closed by dusk—I never saw them open after dusk—I noticed her house about 12 o'clock on the night of 13th August—the shutters were open—my attention was attracted by it; I thought it remarkable—I observed the house early the next morning, about daybreak; it was not quite light—the shutters were not closed—the blinds were just the same as they were on the Monday—the first floor blind was down—the window even with it was up rather more than half-way—one blind was pulled down and the other blind was rather more than half-way up—there were no blinds on the second floor—one of the windows of the second floor was slightly open—I saw a person on the Wednesday knock at the door three times—I observed other persons knocking, but I do Dot know which days they were—when persons knocked at the door of the deceased she would open the first-floor window, where she usually sat, and look out and speak to them from the window—she would sometimes speak to them from the area, which is grated over—there was no access into the house by the area—she would only let those persons in who were in the habit of going there, or who worked then—if she knew them she would come down or answer them from the window, but she always looked out from the window first

Cross-examined. Q. There was nobody in the house with her? A. No; she never kept any servants in my experience—I do not know how many persons were in the habit of visiting her during the day—she was generally out in the day—only a very few work people went into the house—I can't say how many; not so many as a dozen—she never had any tradespeople—I have seen a paperhanger go in—I have seen Mr. Rowland go in, and Mr. Emm—I do not know Mr. Wilson, or Mr. Wright—I have seen others go in but they would be persons who were bringing things to the house, and I know she knew them.

ELIZABETH FRANCES MUGGERIDGE. I live at 17, Grove-road, nearly opposite the house of the deceased, Mrs. Emsley—On Monday, 13th August, I saw her about 7 o'clock in the evening, sitting at her first-floor bedroom window—I did not observe her doing anything—I noticed the house again that night between 10 and 11—the parlour shutters were open and one of the curtains was drawn further back than usual, and the first-floor bedroom window was half-way up; the shutters being open at that time was an unusual circumstance—I had noticed it was her habit to close her shutters at dusk, had also observed that when persons called on her she would look out at the window or answer them up the area—on Wednesday morning, about 11 o'clock, I saw a man and woman call at the house—they knocked several times at the door and gained no admittance—I did not observe any one else particularly after that

WILLIAM SMITH. I am in Mr. Linsell's service, a draper in the Mile-end- road—I did not know Mrs. Emsley myself—I remember having to take a message there on Tuesday, the 14th August, about half-past 8 in the morning—I was sent by my master—I knocked at the door for about five minutes, loud, so that anybody must have heard, if there had been anybody in the house—I then went away and returned again in the evening between 8 and 9; I knocked again and failed to gain admittance—I looked through the key hole to see if I could see anybody.

JOHN COOK. I reside at Peckham, and am a builder—On 14th August, a little after 10 in the morning, I called at 9, Grove-road, at the house of Mrs. Emsley, about some paper hangings—I expected to buy some—I had received a note on the 10th, saying that she had some to dispose of—I knocked at the door three times and got no admittance—I then walked away round the square, and about, and came again, knocked and got no admittance.

Cross-examined, Q. Had you known this old lady before? A. About two years—I had not had dealings with her for paper-hangings before this—I am building on her ground and therefore she often came to see me—I think it was the last day in July she was at my house.

EDWIN EMM. I am the son of Walter Thomas Emm, a shoemaker, living at Mr. Emsley's brick-fields, Bethnal-green—I knew the deceased—on Monday, 13th August last, I was sent by my father to her house for some brass taps—I did not go that day, I went on the following day and knocked at the door of the house.

RICHARD TANNER. I am a sergeant of the detective police—I know the prisoner; I have only known him since the murder—I was employed to investigate this murder, with Inspector Thornton and Sergeant Thomas—I had seen the prisoner previous to his making a communication to me, about 28th August, as near as I can recollect; it was the latter end of August—he was fetched from his lodgings by Sergeant Thomas, and Mr. Thornton and myself had a consultation with him in reference to the murder of Mrs. Emsley—we sent for him for the purpose of making inquiries—on Saturday, 8th September, about 6 o'clock, he came to my house in Wood-street, Westminster—he did not wear spectacles when he came to me—he said, "I am come to give you some information; I have been to Mr. Thornton's and he is out"—I asked him into my room and he said, "You know, Sergeant Tanner, that since I saw you and Inspector Thornton, I have had my suspicions about the man who committed the murder, and I have been watching him"—I said, "Before you go any farther, Mullins, who is it 1s.; he replied, "Emms"—I believe his name is Emm, but he said "Emms"—he said, "This morning I went to Emsley's brick-field at 5 o'clock, and I remained there watching Emms, pretending to be picking herbs, and between 8 and 9 o'clock I saw Emms come out of his house and go to a ruined cottage about fifty yards in front of his house; he brought out from then a large parcel, took it indoors, remained about ten minutes, came out again, appeared to be looking about him, and he had a small parcel in his hand about the size of a pint pot; he went to a shed or a lean-to adjoining big own house, went inside, remained about two minutes, came out again with, out the parcel and went indoors"—I said, "What do you think the parcel contained?"—he said, "I can't tell"—I then left my own home with him and went to Mr. Thornton's residence which is close by—he said nothing else before we went to Mr. Thornton's—he said nothing about where the parcel was put, further than what I have stated—he did not then give any information about where the parcel was put—we went to Thornton's—he was not at home—I walked with him then as far as Palace-yard—I asked him if he would have some refreshment and he did; we had a glass of ale—when we came out, on parting he said, "Now don't go without me"—he desired to go that night—I said, "No, I can't go to-night"—I had a motive, Mr. Thornton was not there and he had charge of the case—I think I said, "Mr. Thornton is not at home; I can't go without him"—he then said, "Now don't go without me"—I said, "No, you know I have taken down the substance of your statement, in writing in a book, and no advantage shall be taken of your information; I hope you think we are beyond that"—he said, "Very well"—I said, "I will go with you tomorrow morning; I will send a sergeant for you, where shall I send for you?"—he said, "To 17, Oakum-street, Chelsea"—a reward had been offered at that time—I have got a bill (producing one) similar to those which were posted and placarded about—it was posted all over London; first a reward of 100l. and then of 300l.—Mullins was aware of the reward having been offered—he said on parting, "Don't go without me; if it comes off all right I will take care of you"—that is the substance of what passed between us that night—I went the next morning to Emsley's brick-field with Inspector Thornton, Sergeant Thomas, and the prisoner—we went in a cab—nothing passed with me, I was outside; Thornton and Thomas were inside with him—this plan (produced) appears very correct—there is a shed by the side of Emm's cottage in which ultimately the parcel was found—there is a ruined house shown here; that is about fifty yards from Emm's cottage—it was about midday on Sunday morning when we arrived there—the ruin is a perfect wreck; it is a very old dilapidated cottage, in fact, there is a hole in the wall where any person ean go in—there is a door to the shed by Emm's cottage, but the lower half of it is gone, there is only the top portion complete—it was open—it appears that anybody, at any time, could have got into that shed—at the time we arrived on that morning the shed was open, and there was a slab of stone just against the side of it—that is shown on the plan—this field, which is called Emsley's brick-field, is an open field; persons have no right there, but they can get in very easily—the palings appear to be knocked down—there is room enough for any person to go in—there is a gate also which I found open, but independent of that, there are gaps in the palings which appear to have been knocked down, and any person can get in—we arrived in Bonner's-lane, myself, Thornton, and Thomas were walking down Bonner's-lane, and through a gap in the place we saw Emm and a man standing in conversation—they were at the other end of the field from Emm's house, at the extreme end, I should say quite 200 yards—we told Mullins to remain as it were about here (pointing to the plan), out of the field entirely so as not to be seen—we all three went to Emm; he was called aside, and Mr. Thornton made some communication to him in my presence—he was told the accusation in substance, that Mullins had made—we did not tell him that Mullins had made it—I then went, by the direction' of Inspector Thornton, to Emm's house and searched it—I spoke to Mrs. Emm—Emm was not there then, he was left with Mr. Thornton—we looked in the shed and at that time found nothing—we then went back to Mr. Thornton to report the result of our mission, and at that period Mullins appeared in the field, within fifty yards of us—I found Thornton and Emm had advanced to the ruined cottage; they were standing in front of it—at the time I saw Mullins in the field I went to him, and on my approach he said, "You have not half searched the place, she (meaning, I suppose, Mm. Emm) had her back to you all the while; come, I will show you where I think it is put"—I said, "No, not now; we don't want Emm to know you are the informant," and in the conversation we walked round between a stack of bricks and another old shed which is in the field—we halted four or five yards in front of the identical shed which he alluded to as where he saw Emm put the parcel, and he said, "There, look now, go and pull down that b—slab and turn up those bricks"—I looked at him and retired with him from the spot—I did not go towards the shed—I came back some twenty yards—I spoke to Sergeant Thomas and desired him to go and pull down the stone, at the same time telling Mullins to go to the Rising Sail and wait for me—Thomas went to the stone and returned to where Thornton, Emm, and I were—Thornton and Emm were still in front of the ruin—I saw Thomas pull the stone on one side, and saw him bring out the parcel—the slab is shown on the plan, we had simply to pull the stone forward and take it out; anyone could have placed it there without going into the shed—the parcel was opened in the presence of Emm—I cannot speak to its condition so well as Thomas; he handled it and undid it—I did not handle it in its original state—I saw it opened and saw what it contained—this is the outer paper; it was tied round the same as it is now, with this piece of tape—it is a piece of tape which might form an apron string or anything of that sort; besides that there was an inner parcel—this is it, it was tied as it is now, with a piece of shoemaker's waxed string—it contained some pieces of newspaper, some blotting paper, one metal table spoon, and three metal tea spoons, and these two lenses or magnifying glasses; two of the spoons are lettered "W. P."—besides these there was a cheque for 10l. on the Bank of London—this is it—that cheque is described in the handbill as a cheque drawn by Pickering and Carrier on the Bank of London, dated August 14th, 1860—those were all the contents of the parcel—I was then directed to fetch Mullins back from the public-house, which I did, leaving Thornton, Thomas, and Emm still in front of the ruined shed—Mullins came back and stood in front of an old waggon that was there—he said, "Have you found anything?"—he appeared delighted, rubbed his hands, and laughed, and said, "Have you found any b—money?"—I said; "Thomas has found something, I cannot tell you what; Emm is very ill"—he appeared to laugh, rubbed his hands and said, "Oh, of course he would be"—I was then told to take him to the station in Arbour-square, which I did—Emm was also taken—he was there charged and Mullins also—he was charged by Inspector Thornton, in my presence, the charge was taken down in writing—the charge sheet is not here—it would be at Scotland-yard now—upon being charged, Mullins said, "Is this the way I am to be served, after giving information?"—I searched him—I found that his shoe was tied with a piece of waxed string—I have it here; it is waxed with cobbler's wax—the string round the parcel is waxed with cobbler's wax—I also found on him a pocket-book and some spectacles, but nothing material to this case; the spectacles were in his pocket—I afterwards went to 33, Barnsley-street, where he occupied a room—I there found a piece of tape, which 1 produce.

COURT. Q. Has that piece of tape been examined so as to ascertain the number of threads it contains? A. It was examined by several gentlemen on the coroner's jury who were drapers; I have not counted the number of threads in it—Inspector Thornton was originally a draper—the piece of tape at the extreme end of the parcel, I thought corresponded with this piece—they appear to me to be the same tape—I think the short piece at the end of the parcel, and this piece, correspond; they appear to be exactly the same kind of tape.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. I believe you also produce a piece of wax that you found on the chimney piece in the prisoner's room? A. Thomas found that in my presence—I saw him take it from the chimney- piece—I was also with Mr. Thornton when he found the hammer.

Cross-examined, Q. If understand you rightly, you had been in communication with the prisoner as early as 28th August? A. I think about that time—a reward had been offered then; 300l.—the whole of the reward had been offered then—it was offered on the 24th.

COURT. Q. The 300l. had been offered before you had any communication with the prisoner? A. Yes.

MR. BEST. Q. You have told us that you left him outside the field while you went to search the shed. A. Yes; I supposed him during that time to be where I had directed him to wait, outside the field—when I afterward? saw him coming towards the shed, he was about fifty or sixty yards from it; he could not from where he was, have seen what we had done inside the shed—he could see us enter the shed—we remained there two minutes probably, then he came up to us—he did not first call our attention to the bricks which were lying about—he did not mention anything about searching some bricks previous to telling us about the slab—I am sure he did not, or about searching some wood—he afterwards said "Turn up those bricks"—that was before we had found the parcel—Emm is by trade a shoemaker—I found his tools in his house; his daughter was at work—I examined his tools; I believe a shoemaker's hammer was amongst them; I am not quite sure—I believe shoemakers use a hammer in their trade—Sergeant Thomas searched that portion of the house.

WILLIAM THOMAS. I am a sergeant of the detective police—On Sunday morning, 9th September, in consequence of instructions from Inspector Thornton, I went to 17, Oakum-street, Chelsea, between 10 and 11 in the day; I found the prisoner there—he came out of the house; I was just behind him—I took a turn and met him, and beckoned to him when he saw me, and he followed me into the Brompton-road—he spoke first to me, he said "Thomas, I took you to be Tanner"—he said "You know that I am very elever in these matters, I have been working hard, day and night to discover the murderer of Mrs. Emsley, and I have found him out"—I said, "Who do you suspect?"—he said, "The man Emm, who gave evidence on the coroner's inquest; he was suspected; no one had better opportunity, as he was in the habit of taking small sums of money, and would be admitted by Mrs. Emsley at any time"—I said, "Mullins, would she admit you V—he said, "Oh, no, she would answer me from the window, and up the area"—he said nothing more at that time—I had seen him before and spoken to him before—I had not know him for any number of years—I went with him to Scotland-yard, and then went with him, Inspector Thornton, and Tanner, to Bethnal-green—as we were going along in the cab, the prisoner and Thornton were in conversation, and after they had stopped, I said, "Mullins, what sort of a parcel did you see Emm place in the shed?"—he jumped up, put his hand into his coat pocket, and withdrew a handkerchief, and rolled it up to about the same size as the parcel, and said, "That is about the size."

COURT. Q. And was that the size? A. Yes; I afterwards found that to be the size.

MR. CLERK. Q. Was he telling Thornton in the cab what he had seen Emm do? A. Thornton and the prisoner were in conversation, but I did not bear all they said—When we got to the brick-field we went into the brickfield—I went to the shed that had been spoken of, adjoining the house—I looked into the shed, but did not disturb anything; I merely looked into it—after that I went into the house and searched there; I saw some papers relating to some property between the deceased and Emm—I then returned to Inspector Thornton, and at that time Mullins made his appearance in the field—I had taken him up Bonner's-lane, out of sight of Emm's place altogether, and said, "Mullins, remain here till we send for you"—that was about 150 yards from the place where I next saw him—he had some conversation with Tanner in the field—I did not hear what passed—Tanner then spoke to me, and from what he said I went again to the shed, and removed a flagstone that was just inside the door, and there I found a parcel, tied round with tape—it was behind the stone, between the stone and the wall—at the bottom there were some bricks and rubbish—the stone was buried about three or four inches outside and inside—the parcel was on the top of the bricks, between the wall and the stone—the bricks were not visible from outside, in the field, until I had removed the stone, not what was behind the stone, not in the middle, where the parcel was—the stone was two inches from the wall at the bottom part—it was standing nearly against the wall, it leant towards the wall—the brick rubbish was between the bottom of the stone and the wall—the brick rubbish was not visible when I was outside in the field—when I took the parcel I brought it to where Thornton was standing in the field—I spoked to Emm first, before I untied the parcel—Mullins was not near enough to hear what was said—I opened the parcel in Tanner's presence—it contained some spoons, a cheque for 10l. and two lenses—I afterwards went to 33, Barnsley-street, I went to the back room on the ground floor in that house—I had been in that room before—the prisoner lived there; I had seen him there—I there found a small bit of shoemaker's wax and a small bit of twine, together on the mantelpiece—I produce them—the street door of the house opens by a small bit of twine; anybody can open it from the outside—the door of the prisoner's room was locked—I had not the key with me; I broke it open—I afterwards went to the house, 17, Oakum-street, from which I had seen the prisoner come—a person named Kelly is the landlady of that house—I went into a back room there where I found the prisoner's wife, and in that room I found a spoon, which I produce, it has on the back of it the letters W. P.

Cross-examined. Q. That is the ordinary trade mark, is it not? A. I believe so—I believe it is the maker's mark—the spoons are ordinary sort of German metal spoons, generally in use—there is a slight difference between the appearance of the spoon found at the prisoner's house, and the spoons found in the parcel—I should say the one found in the house was worn more than those found in the parcel—two of those in the parcel are alike, and one of those in the parcel and the one found in the house are just the same pattern—when I come to look at the bowls they are a different shape (examining them)—three are alike; the one found in the house is similar to this—they are German silver—I first went to the house in Barnsley-street, on Tuesday, 28th August—it is a very small backroom where the prisoner lived, not very clean—I saw no one there besides himself—there was a person living up stairs, an invalid, whose name I do not know—there was no one down stairs—I do not know how many rooms there are upstairs, there are three down—the prisoner occupied one, no one occupied the others—that was the only room occupied down stairs.

DR. GILL (re-examined). I have examined the ends of the two pieces of tape produced—I have carefully counted the number of strands in them—Tanner was present—he counted them before me, not letting me know the number he counted; there are thirty-three strands in each.

COURT. Q. So that those two pieces are pieces of the same sort of tape? A. They are in my opinion—that is all I can say.

MR. BEST. Q. You are not engaged in the manufacture of tape, I suppose? A. No; I have been in the habit of examining all fabrics, I examine all things that I feel an interest in, under the microscope—I am in the habit of examining cotton, silk, or anything, for my own private investigation.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. It is a very beautiful investigation sometimes, is it not, to examine fabrics? A. It is exceedingly beautiful.

STEPHEN THORNTON. I am an inspector of the detective police—On Saturday, 8th September, the prisoner called at my house—on the following morning I went with Tanner, Thomas, and the prisoner, to Bethnal-green—as we went along, the prisoner said he had been watching Emm, who had been living in Mr. Emsley's brick-field, Bethnal-green, for some time, and on Saturday, about half-past 8 in the morning, he saw him come out of his house, go to a ruin or shed, about fifty yards from his house, bring out a parcel, and, looking about him, go into his own house, that he was there a few minutes, then came out with a smaller parcel, and went to a shed or lean-to adjoining his own house, and was there about a minute, and then came out without the parcel—he said the parcel that he fetched from his own house was a small parcel about the size of a pint pot—I went to that brickfield—directions were given to Thomas to search in the shed and the house—the parcel was afterwards brought to me—Emm was not in good health at that time; he seemed to be labouring from illness, and suffering—had given instructions to Mullins as to where he was to remain—I told him to remain outside the brick-field, and if we wanted him we would send for him—I saw him in the brick-field at the extreme or northeast end of the brick-field shortly after—some ten minutes afterwards he came up to within twenty-five yards of where I was standing, and I sent Tanner to take him away—I saw the parcel opened, and the contents have been produced here—I afterwards went to the house in Barnsley-street, and found this plasterer's hammer, which has been produced—I found it lying with other tools, I believe, on the floor in the room.

Cross-examined. Q. The hammer was quite open, I believe, not concealed? A. It was lying on the floor—there was no concealment about it—I examined it directly, and found it nearly in the same state as it is now—there was some plaster on it—it was not so clean as it is now—it appeared to me as if it had been used—I have been engaged in giving directions about this case the whole time, but part of the time I have been on leave—I have not received any communication that a person was seen to come out of the deceased's house on the Tuesday morning—in consequence of something I have made inquiries about one or two persons besides Mullins, previous to his being apprehended.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Since his apprehension, have you made inquiry about any other person? A. No; I have not.

JOHN JOSHUA CARRIER. I am one of the firm of Pickering and Co. 4, Suffolk- street, Cambridge-road—I knew the deceased Mrs. Emsley—I last saw her alive on Monday, 13th August last—I drew this cheque, and paid it to her—I gave it to her—it is dated 14th August; it should have been the 13th—it is an error in the date—it is a mistake I made in drawing it.

COURT. Q. Are you quite sure you drew it on the 13th? A. Quite sure, and gave it her myself on the same morning.

Cross-examined. Q. What time did you give it her? A. About 12 o'clock; it might have been a little before 12.

COURT. Q. How long had you been a tenant of Mrs. Emsley's? A. About eighteen years, the old and new firm together—I am not aware that she kept a banker—I do not know anything about that; I did not know that she did—I paid her on other occasions, sometimes by cheque, and sometimes money; more frequently by cheque—I do not know what became of the cheques after she had them—we never crossed the cheques; it was always an open cheque that I gave her—I cannot say now whether in looking over our accounts I ever ascertained when the cheques came into our bankers as paid—I know nothing about it.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. This cheque has never been through your bankers; it has never been paid? A. Never.

JOSEPH BIGGS. I live at Connaught-row, Bethnal-green. I was well acquainted with Mrs. Mary Emsley during the last four years, I think this is the fourth summer—I knew her husband before, from about the year 1820—I was in the habit of calling upon her in general once a week, since she lived in Grove-road—I used to call there on Sunday evening mostly—I called there on Sunday, 12th August, the day before this calamitous affair—I was to have gone there on the Tuesday to see Mr. Cook, he being an acquaintance of mine—I did not go at the time appointed; instead of going at 11, it was about half-past 1—I could not get in—I have seen some plate which the deceased deposited with me; I did not see it from the time of her depositing it with me, until the time she wanted to take something out of it, I had not any farther knowledge of it—I kept it secured as she tied it up—she took back some of that; a few articles to sell, such as a silver snuff-box, a lady's pencil-case, and a silver watch, and gold pins with coloured stones—she took away a silver pencil-case with her about four months ago, I think, somewhere early in the summer; I cannot call to mind the time exactly; it was about four months, it might have been more or less—I did not see that pencil-case afterwards until I saw it at the police court, or rather until Tanner showed it to me—I believe that this (produced) was the pencil-case which she took away with her, and for this reason; when she took it out of the parcel, (indeed I did not know it was there before,) she said "Here is a pencil-case, seeming to say, "Would you like to have it?"—that was how I understood her—I took hold of it and said, "Oh, it is an old-fashioned concern"—the point was thin, very much bent, more so than it is now—that has been put in order—I said I did not think I should—"I don't think it is of much use, it appears to be very much broke"—she said, "I don't suppose it is;" and consequently took it back again with her—I observed the head of the pencil-case at the time; it was a round head like this; I believe this to be the very pencil-case—I saw some lenses of a telescope in her possession, something like four weeks before her decease, when she gave them to me to look at, saying, "Here are two glasses, which do you think magnifies the most?" and so on—these appear to me to be the very two glasses; I remember one was much better than the other—I believe they are the same.

Cross-examined. Q. Then this pencil-case is not in the same state as when it left you? A. It is not—it looked much older then—I believe it is the same—at the time it was shown to me, I was not aware that any one was charged with the murder—they brought it to me and said "Do you know anything of this?"—I knew nothing at all about its being sold, or bought, or the least thing, not a word—of course I said, "Yes"—there is nothing I can positively swear to about it, any more than that I believe it to be the very same—the old lady was fond of selling her articles that she took away with her—I believe she was fond of money, and was in the habit of converting the things into money—these two lenses are two simple glasses—I believe them to be the two; of course I could not say there are not two others like them—I never to my knowledge saw any like them before—I know she had two like these—I am not accustomed to look at lenses.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. You believe the pencil and the lenses to have belonged to this old lady? A. I believe they did; conscientiously.

ELIZABETH GOETZ. I am the wife of Joseph Goetz, of 18, Bamsley-street, Bethnal-green—I was the niece of Mrs. Emsley—I know the prisoner—I know that he was in the habit of working at times for my aunt—I remember hearing of the murder of my aunt on the Friday—I had seen her on the Monday before that at my house; she dined with me on that day—she left me at a quarter to 2 o'clock—while she was there the prisoner came there for some keys; he came first for a box lock—my aunt gave him some keys—he came twice or three times that day—he asked for keys each time—he came and said it was a key wanted, not a box; I gave him four or five keys, and he came back with several which would not do, and he had a few more—I recognize this key, it is one that was amongst the keys that I gave to Mullins—that was on the Monday that my aunt was murdered—I next saw that key at my aunt's house on the Sunday following—that was after the murder—I believe these to be the same tea-spoons that I have seen my aunt use—I have noticed one of them bent in the handle; this one (pointing it out)—I noticed that the last time that I tea'd in that house—I saw it about four weeks before the murder—I believe these spoons to have belonged to my aunt—I know a pencil-case that she had; it is before me; I recognize it—it appears to be a pencil-case that she used at my house several times—there is nothing particular about it that I had noticed before—I think I had seen it a few weeks before 13th August, at my house—my aunt was accustomed to visit me; she never came into Bamsley-street without coming—I am aware that there were no tea-spoons left in her house after the murder—I could not find a tea-spoon to use for my breakfast, not one of any description.

Cross-examined. Q. When did you examine the house? A. I was called in on Friday, and on Saturday morning I had breakfast there, and I could not find a tea-spoon—that was the first time I looked for spoons—I did not find any—I looked for them in a table-drawer in the kitchen, and on the dresser; they were usually kept amongst the tea-things in the kitchen—I have seen three or four spoons there at a time—I have seen more than those, but not in that house; I have seen silver spoons, but not in that house—I do not know how long the old lady was in the habit of using the pencil-case; I have seen it on and off, for some time—I have seen it a long time, perhaps four years, before—she was not in the habit of using it constantly but at different times I have seen it—I have known the prisoner about six or seven months at the outside, to the best of my recollection—I have known him as being, generally speaking, employed by my aunt—he was at work for her during that period, when there was any work to do—he was the person she employed usually to carry out her plastering jobs, and so on—since the last man died Mullins generally did the work—she had a large number of houses, and consequently there was a great deal of work to be done, constant work—when she has been staying at my house, he has called there to see her, and received his orders from her, frequently—by her orders I told him to call on that very Monday for the lock to put on a door—I gave him a box-lock first—my aunt left my house that day about a quarter to 2 o'clock—Mullins had been there from 10 to 12 o'clock, during that time—I can't say exactly at what time—he did not come back again about 2 o'clock—I am quite positive he never came to the house after my aunt left; not till Wednesday—he left, and went away to get some keys for another door—he left with my aunt—that was the third time of his leaving—he had been to and fro with keys, fitting to other doors—my aunt had other business to do, and he went away with the keys by himself; and after the third time he went away with my aunt from the door, down to the house where he lived.

ELIZABETH GEORGE. I live at 8, Cutworth-street, Bethnal-green—I knew the deceased Mrs. Emsley—I had attended her for 18 months as a charwoman—she had no other attendant than me, that I know of—I was in the habit of going to the house on Saturdays—she slept in the one-pair front room—when any one called on her, her habit was to look out from the area, or to look out of the window if it was dusk, before she answered them—that was what she did when I was there—I was last there before the murder on the Saturday, as Mrs. Emsley was supposed to be murdered on the Monday—on the Saturday before that she had received a lot of paperhangings—they were put up stairs in the two-pair front and back rooms—Mullins carried them up; no one else—I had seen him there before several times—I knew that he did work for Mrs. Emsley, aud he was in the habit of coming on a Saturday to be paid for the work he had done—I saw him there on the Saturday before the murder was supposed to be committed—he was then paid about 6s. by the deceased—she took the money from her pocket—she gave me the money to examine it, to take to the door to see if there were any sovereigns in it—it was about dusk, 7 o'clock—she said it was to look if there were any sovereigns in it—Mullins was not near enough to hear that remark of hers—there were no sovereigns—he left at 7 o'clock—I remained till past 10 o'clock, my usual time—I have seen three tea-spoons—these are exactly like them, but I cannot swear they are the same—they are exactly the same sort—there were but three kept in the kitchen—I last saw them on the Saturday—when I left at 10 o'clock I left them there.

Cross-examined. Q. You attended her as charwoman weekly? A. Yes; she employed no other servant—she was an old lady, very penurious in her habits—she was never in the habit of carrying any sovereigns in her pocket, to my knowledge—she did not live in a very humble way—it was a very respectable house, a large house—her mode of living was humble, not extravagant—I have known her 17 years, when she was first married to Mr. Emsley—during that time I never saw her with much money in her pocket—some times I saw a couple of bags on the mantel-piece, about as large as my fist, but I never saw them untied—I saw them when I went, but they were not there again—I did not see any bags on the mantel-piece on this Saturday evening—I partly cleaned that room on the Saturday—an old gentleman came on the Saturday of the name of Green—he lived up at the Park—there was also a short man came to look at the paper—I believe that to be Mr. Wright, in the Mile-end-road—I did not know him at the time—a man also came about 12 o'clock with a bundle of paperhangings—she had a great many paperhangings—she was not in the habit, till latterly, of selling them, not till a week or two before her death—a week or two before she died she had several persons call upon her about paperhangings—I never saw but this Mr. Wright.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Did Wright go away while you were there? A. Yes—Mr. Green is 50 or 60 years old—I do not know whether the other person bought some—Mrs. Emsley took him up stairs—I do not know whether he bought any—he passed out—he went away while I was there—this was on the Saturday—the old lady used to carry a small basket in collecting her rents, and put the money into a leather bag.

COURT. Q. Had she any banker? A. Yes; she went to the bank—I heard say she did bank; she banked with the Bank of England.

MR. BEST. Q. Did you ever go to the Bank of England for her? A. No; when the gentleman called about the paperhangings the old lady, as he left, seemed to say that he was to call another time—I did not distinctly hear—I only passed on the stairs.

WALTER THOMAS EMM. I am a shoemaker by trade—I reside at a little cottage in Emsley's brick-field, Globe-town, Bethnal-green—I know the prisoner—I have know him from, I think, about the beginning of last February—he has visited at my house—he has had meals there—he has had tea three or four times at the house in the brick-field, and I think he has had meat and bread too there, after dinner when he has called in—I think it was about four weeks before 13th August, the day of the murder, that he had been at my cottage, but I saw him in Barnsley-street two days in that week—I had to fetch him on the Thursday before the 13th August for the old lady, to move a slab-stone in one of the houses in Barnsley-street, in the back yard—I saw him on the Friday before the murder, in the afternoon—I was frequently in the habit of seeing him—he worked for me—he worked for Mrs. Emsley, and I had to see him—I was employed by Mrs. Emsley to collect her rents, and I took jobs from her—I remember Thornton, and Thomas, and Tanner coming to me at the brick-field—that was on Sunday, 9th September, I think—I was then taken in custody—I did not know what the charge was—I was charged with having a parcel there belonging to Mrs. Emsley.

Q. We have heard that a parcel was found by Serjeaut Thomas, behind a slab in an out-house of your cottage; did you put it there? A. No; I had not anything whatever to do with that parcel—I had never seen that parcel before it was produced in my presence by Thomas—I was aware that a reward had been offered—I saw the old lady on the afternoon of Monday, 13th August, about 2 o'clock, at the end of Barnsley-street—that was the last time I saw her alive—after I left Mrs. Emsley on Monday, 13th August, I went into one of the houses to see a plumber, and from there I went home—I got home about half-past 3—I then stopped at home till 6 o'clock, or a little after 6; then I went with Mr. Rowland to Bethnal-green workhouse—I stopped there for some time, till Rowland, and my wife, and a Mrs. Buckle came out—I then went on to the field again with them—I wanted Rowland to drive me to Stratford—I was on the field some length of time—I could not catch the pony to get it harnessed; that took me some time—then I went to Mr. Rumble, the owner of the pony, to see if he would come and catch it, and when I came back again Rowland and my wife, and some one else, had caught the pony—I started about 9 o'clock to go to Bromley and Stratford—it might be two or three minutes past 9, I am not exactly confident what time exactly it was—I think I got home to Globe-town about half-past 11 o'clock—my wife went with me to Stratford, and a woman of the name of Buckle; and Rumble, the owner of the pony, drove me there—we were the four that went—I have a toll-ticket that I had on that day; this is it (produced)—the date is the 13th of the 8th month.

Q. On the solemn oath that you have taken to tell the truth, had you anything to do with the murder of this old lady? A. No I had not—I remember the day I was taken into custody, when the parcel was found—on the previous day, Saturday, I think it was about half-past 9 when I got up—I was not well that day, or I should have been up before—I went out of the cottage that day, I think, about a quarter or twenty minutes past 10—I had not left the cottage before that at all—ray daughter was in the cottage that morning—she works for me—she binds, and works on the seat—my wife was in the cottage that morning—I know a shed about 40 or 50 yards from my cottage—I did not go there that morning—I did not put any parcel there—I did not go into the shed that morning by the side of my cottage—I only went to the shed on the right side—that is—a water- closet—I went there—I returned in two or three minutes—I then remained in the house working till my dinner was ready—I was not outside any more—I collected rents for the old lady, at Stratford—that was my business that night—I went there by Mrs. Emsley's orders at 2 o'clock that day when I saw her, because I did not send my boy on Saturday—it was one house I went to, to receive 1l.—I did not receive the 1l.—I went for that purpose—I did not call at Mrs. Emsley's house after that till the following Wednesday, 15th August—I called for her to go with me to Stratford—I found no admittance to the house—afterwards, in consequence of what I had heard, I acquainted Mr. Rose, at his private house, at 8 o'clock on the following Friday morning, that I could not obtain admission to the house.

Cross-examined. Q. How often did you go on the Wednesday to this house? A. On Wednesday, the 15th, I went in the afternoon, and then, as I came home from Stratford, at half-past 9 in the evening—I knocked in the afternoon; there was no answer—I knocked again at night at half-past 9—I did not stop there, because it was raining—I sent my wife on the Thursday morning—I went on Thursday evening myself—I knocked again; there was no answer—Mr. Whitaker, a relative of Mrs. Emsley's, lives close by there, across in the Bow-road—I can't say that I thought there was something the matter with the old lady; when I knocked twice on the Wednesday—on the Thursday night I should say I did—I did not go and tell any one then that I could not get in—I spoke to the next-door neighbour, at No. 8, who came home while I was standing there—I said, "Have you seen Mrs. Emsley to-day?"—he said, "No, I have been out all day"—he looked at my wife and said, "Why, you were here this morning"—my wife had told me she had knocked in the morning—I said, "I have been knocking now for some time; it is very strange; I was knocking here at half-past 9 last night"—he said, "Oh! then she came home late"—with that I turned to my wife and said, "Well, we had better let this be; we will call one of the youngsters up in the morning, and send them to the house, and see whether we find the house in the same position as it is now; if we find the house in the same position then I will let all that I know who know Mrs. Emsley know of it"—for that reason I called the girl up at 6 o'clock, and sent her to the house—she came home again to me, and I got my breakfast, and then I called on Mr. Rose, and told him all that had gone on—I then recollected that the boy could not get admittance on the Tuesday, and I told Mr. Rose of it—from there I sent one of the children to Mr. Biggs, and I went to Brook-street, Ratcliff, to a Mr. Churchley, thinking he might have seen Mrs. Emsley—I did not know that the old lady was subject to fits, and that she had a swimming in the head about three or four weeks previous to her being murdered—I don't think I have said that I thought she was in a fit when I called on the Wednesday—I am sure I did not say so—I could not have said such a thing as that—if I had thought that, I could have got a ladder and got into the house—I did not allege, as a reason for not telling her relatives, that I thought she was in a fit—I am sure of that—I was in the habit of going sometimes three times a week to Stratford to collect those rents, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday—I used to take the old lady the rents as soon as I got back—I never went on a Wednesday but what I did receive some rents—on Mondays and Saturdays I did not have to call at her house—I dare say that this was the only occasion within the last month or so that I went down in a vehicle to collect these rents, but I have often been to Stratford in a vehicle—I don't know that I received tickets from the turnpike-keeper always—sometimes the driver of the cart did—it has not always been the same that drove me—when I have received them I have not taken any notice whether I have kept them, for I did not think they would be of any use to me—I found this one in my pocket—I did not think it would be any use to me—I found it in my waistcoat pocket—you are obliged to have them, because you go through two or three bars, and are obliged to sing out the number—I can't say whether I wore that waistcoat from that time up to the time I found the ticket; sometimes I put on one and sometimes another—I have got, perhaps, half-a-dozen waistcoats or more—I put on one, a thick waistcoat suitable for a chilly night, and a thin oue if it is warm—I asked the carman if he had this ticket and I felt in my pockets to see if I had got it, and I found it in one of my pockets—I can't say when—it was after my apprehension that I found it; after I was locked up—this was not the first time I have ever said anything about this ticket—I took it, I think, the first week after I was liberated—I took it to Mr. Wontner—Mr. Wontner told me to take care of it—I did not produce it before the magistrate; it was never asked for—I had it there ready if asked for—Mr. Wontner had it, and he gave it me back again, and told me to take care of it—Rowland was the name of one of the persons with me that evening—he was with me up to about 9 o'clock, but Rumble, Buckle, and my wife were the parties that went with me to Stratford—I cannot tell you when I first saw Rowland after that, for I often saw him—I saw him shortly after I was released, but he told the officers, and told Mr. Young, the same day I was locked up, before I was released, that Rumble and Buckle were with me—he knew it the day before I was discharged—it was not told in my presence—I was locked up when Rowland had got Rumble and Buckle to prove that I was there—they had not been examined then—I was not well when I saw Mullins on the Friday previous to the murder—that was a month before I was taken—I had been on and off in an ill state, the whole of that time—I had not been lying in bed till half-past 9 each morning from the time I saw Mullins first till I was taken, but in between I had—I have not been up as early as 5 o'clock—I am confident of that—I got up as early as 8 o'clock within a day or two of my being taken in custody, not earlier than 8 I am quite sure; never on any occasion that I now think of, I don't think I have been up before 8, I know that I have not; it is above thinking, I know I was not up before 8—there was nothing for me to look after on the field; for that reason I should not have to get up—I carry on the trade of a shoemaker.

MARY ANN BUCKLE. I live at Holly-bush-gardens, Bethnal-green-road—I remember going with Emm on a Monday down to Stratford—I had been at the workhouse that day with Mrs. Emm—Mrs. Emm and I went first—Mr. Rowland came while we were there—I do not know exactly what day of the month it was; it was the 13th August I suppose; the day it was expected that the old lady was murdered—it was, as near as I can say, about half-past 6 o'clock that day, that I saw Rowland—Walter Emm was waiting outside the Union when we came out—I saw him there—I afterwards went down in a cart to Stratford with Emm and his wife—Rumble drove us—when we got back to Mr. English's it was nearly half-past 11—he lives in Park-street, Bethnal-green—Emm was with us all that time—we stopped at Mr. English's about five minutes.

Cross-examined. Q. When were you first asked, and by whom, about this evening that you went to Stratford with Emm? A. At Arbour-square; last Tuesday, week I think—I had not been asked before—I recollected going down to Stratford on that particular day, because they said it was 13th August that the old lady was murdered—I did not hear, I think, before the Sunday that the old lady was murdered—I heard that Emm was taken in custody and charged with the murder—I knew that he was out with us that evening—I did not tell anybody so, his wife was with us at the same time—I did not hear of his being taken till the Monday morning as he was taken on the Sunday—I then went to Mrs. Emm and she was gone out—I saw her on the Monday night—I went to her house and saw him—I believe I spoke first—I can hardly recollect the words I said to him—I said. "Mr. Emm, I heard you were taken up for Mrs. Emsley"—he said, "Yes;" he was out on bail—he said, "Do you remember Monday, 13th August, I was with you at Stratford?"—I did not say anything about it—I have been at Stratford since, but never before—I went on the Tuesday after this, along with Mrs. Emm—Mr. Rowland was not with me either time—he was not with me on the Monday, only when he was in with us at the workhouse—I, Mr. and Mrs. Emm, and Mr. Rumble went to Stratford—on the Tuesday I, and Mr. and Mrs. Emm, and Mr. Rowland went, not Mr. Rumble; I think it was Mr. Rowland—I am quite sure it was Rowland—we walked down there on the Tuesday; we did not go in any vehicle.

COURT. Q. Who was with you on Monday? A. Mr. and Mrs. Emm, myself and Mr. Rumble—we started to go down there at ten minutes past 9 when we were at the end of White-horse-lane, when we got to the toll, and it was about half-past 11 when we were back in at Mr. English's—we all came back together, and Mr. and Mrs. Emm and his eldest daughter went with me to my place, and Mr. Rumble went home.

MR. CLARK. Q. Had you gone down to see about a house? A. Yes, to collect some rents; and we went to see a house that was there to let—there were two at the time, and the lady shewed us one house, and we said we did not like the house; we thought the other one was the best—I walked down on the Tuesday to see the house again, and paid a deposit on it on the Monday night.

THOMAS RUMBLE. I live at Digby-street, Grove-lane, Bethnal-green, and a carman—I know Emm well—I keep my horse in his field—I remember Monday night, 13th August—I went out with him that night—the little boy came round to me first—I did not go round to his place; the little boy came round to me and said he could not catch the pony, and his father could not, and his father came round—I sent my little boy round with the father and they caught the pony—it was about 8 o'clock when he came round to me—about 9 o'clock, when the pony was caught, it was put in the cart opposite my place, and Mr. and Mrs. Emm, and Mrs. Buckle, and I got into the cart—I drove them from there to Bromley—Mr. and Mrs. Emm got out of the cart at Bromley, and Mrs. Buckle and I sat in the cart—after that we went on to Stratford—we got back, not to Mr. Emm's house, but to the beershop just at the top of the street, about half-past 11.

Cross-examined. Q. Do you remember Emm being taken up by the police? A. Yes, on the Sunday—I heard of it on the Sunday, because I was in the field in the afternoon—I can't say when my attention was first called to the day upon which I drove him and his wife down to Stratford—it was on the day when Mr. Emm was taken in the field; that is all I know; I don't know the day—I speak with certainty as to the day I went down to Stratford; it was on the 13th.

COURT. Q. How do you know that; have you any book in which you entered any charge against him, or anything of that sort? A. No; I am confident it was Monday.

MR. BEST. Q. Might it have been the Monday before? A. No, it was Monday the 13th—I know it by the toll-ticket—I took the toll- ticket, and I believe I passed it into Mr. Emm's hands—I cannot say that I have sees it since—I saw the date on the toll-ticket—I know that was the very day I went through the gate—I always get a ticket when I go through the gate—I have been through a good many times before and since; I always had tickets—I have got one in my pocket now but I do not know the date of it—I can't say who first spoke to me about that particular day after Emm was taken in custody—Mr. Tanner and Thomas came to let me know about it—I can't say the day of the month they came to me; it was a very few days after Emm was taken; I can't say what day—they both came together—I can't say which spoke to me first—I can't say whether they did or not speak to me before I said anything to them—I believe they said to me,"Do you remember the day you drove Emm down to Stratford?"—they said, "Do you remember driving Emm down on Monday, 13th August last?"—it was not from what they said that I remembered the day; because the toll-ticket, as I told you before, told me the day of the month; I remember the night very well—when the man gave the toll-ticket to me I passed it to Emm, and I saw the number of it then—that was the first time I saw the date, and I did not take any notice of it till Tanner and Thomas came to me—they did not put it to me as Monday, August 13th; I can't say whether I or they said it.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Have you any other reason for remembering the night than what you have told us? A. No—I first heard of the murder on the Friday, I believe—I believe it was supposed to have been committed on Monday, the 13th—I have driven Mrs. Buckle down to Stratford before—I drove her in company with Mr. and Mrs. Emm on that night, 13th August—I never drove her down to Stratford before that, to my knowledge—that was the first night I ever drove her down.

ANN EMM. I am the wife of Walter Thomas Emm—I remember my husband being taken into custody on the Sunday—he got up on the morning of the Saturday before that, about half-past 9—he was very ill on Friday—I am quite sure he did not get up till half-past 9—he only went out of the cottage to the water-closet and in again, and I was at the door when he went outside—that was on the Saturday morning—my husband could not have gone out to the shed by the side of our house, or have gone to the ruin, between 8 and 9 o'clock, without my knowing it, and I am sure he did not—I remember Monday, 13th August—I remember going to Stratford—I was at my father's, at the Union, before I went down to Stratford—Mrs. Buckle went with me—Mr. Rowland and my husbaud came shortly afterwards—it was pretty well 7 o'clock in the afternoon when they came to me—Mr. Rumble went down to Stratford—from 7 o'clock that afternoon till I returned from Stratford, I was with my husband—I went to Stratford about 9 at night—Mrs. Buckle, Mr. Rumble, and my husband went with me—Rowland did not go with us—he left us when we got into the cart—I am quite sure this was Monday, 13th August

Cross-Examined. Q. When did you first remember that was the day you went to Stratford? A. I knew it was on the 13th we went to Stratford, because of going to get some rent for the old lady—I used to go to Bromley getting rents of little houses there, and then accompany my husband to Stratford—I was in the habit of going on other days—I remember this particular Monday the 13th, because it was the day I went to see my father before I went—I went to see him several times, but I did not go to Stratford the same day, afterwards: that I am sure of—it was the Monday, as we found Mrs. Emsley was dead on the following Friday—it was before, not after my husband was taken in custody, that it came to my recollection; of course I was aware it was the 13th that I went—I know we all four went together to Stratford on that day—I should have known it was that particular Monday, if my husband had not been apprehended, because we rode there in a cart on the Monday—I have thought of it a good many times since—my husband is naturally a very ailing man; he often gets up late—he was very seldom out of the place unless I knew where he was going, or what for—I usually get up first—I am generally up as soon as he is—I generally know where he goes to when he goes out of the house; he tells me if he is going anywhere particular—he never goes away without saying where he is going.

SUSANNAH EMM. I am the daughter of Walter Emm—I live with him in the cottage in the brick-field—I remember the Monday morning on which the police came to our house, and took my father into custody—my father had been in a very bad state of health the day before—he had his breakfast in bed—I give it to him at about a quarter to 9—he was then in bed—I assist him in his business—I work by the window against the shed—there are five windows to the cottage, two down stairs and three up—if a person goes from the door to the shed, they must pass the window where I was sitting at work—after I gave my father his breakfast at a quarter to 9, I was sitting at work at the window all the day, barring when I got up to my meals—my father did not go by the window to that shed while I was at work there—he could not have gone by without my seeing him—I could also see from the window the ruined cottage in the field—nobody went there from our cottage that morning—I was at work in the cottage all the day, except the time I was at my meals—I know the prisoner by sight—he has had meals at our house sometimes—in the course of that Saturday morning on which my father was in bed I saw Mullins in the brick-field—that was about half-past 2 in the afternoon—he was at the back of the school wall, right straight across the field from the window—the school is right at the opposite end of the field to our cottage—I see the cottage here (referring to the plan)—it was somewhere about here that I saw the prisoner at half-past 2—this is the window where I was sitting—when I saw the prisoner in the brick-field about half-past 2, he was walking along, looking down on the ground as if he was looking for something.

Cross-examined. Q. How far off was he? A. He was three parts across the field—shoemaking is the work I follow at this window—I can look out of the window and make shoes as well; because I am not looking at the shoes perhaps every minute in the day—I look out of the window very often—I always look about the field—anybody could go to the shed without my seeing them, but not to the ruin—I do not always have my eyes fixed on the shed; on the ruin I do, but not on the shed—I look at the ruin always, because it is right level with the window—I went to work that morning before I gave my father his breakfast; and I sat at the window at work all day afterwards—I was there the day before, Friday, and the day before that—I worked all the week—I always work at the window.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. The shed where you heard of the parcel being found, is on the left of your window? A. Yes; therefore a person might come this way to it without my seeing them—if a person went from the door of our cottage they could not go to the shed without my seeing them.

WALTER THOMAS EMM, JUN. I remember my father being taken in custody—I am ten years old—my father was taken in custody on the Sunday—I know the prisoner Mullins—I had seen him before that Sunday—I saw him in the field on Friday, lying down with a handkerchief up to his eyes—he was lying at the back of the school wall—I saw him there about half an hour—I went away then to mind my pigs—I saw him again on Saturday, he came up towards some mound where they were putting down some drain pipes, and walked back again—it was a heap of sand in the middle of the field—he stayed there about half an hour—I did not see him there again.

Cross-examined. Q. Had you seen him there any days before? A. Yes; I saw him one or two weeks—he was getting herbs; picking up something off the ground—there were not persons putting drains down when he went up to this place by the sand; they were making a road there, there were eight men there—he did not go close to them, because there was a mound they were knocking down—he did not go and look at them; he walked up towards the mound, and then he walked back again—I do not know whether they could see him—he knew me.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. What were you doing there? A. I was minding my father's pigs.

JOHN RAYMOND. I am a tailor by business, and reside at 12, Oxfordsquare—I remember the night of 13th August—I know the Grove-road—I did not know and never saw Mrs. Emeley—at the corner of Grove-road there is a public-house, of the sign of the Earl of Aberdeen—there is a urinal by the side of it; about twelve feet from it—I remember being there on the evening of 13th August, about ten minutes to 8 o'olock—there was a man there and I waited—I was facing the urinal so as to see any one that came out—I saw the man that came out; it was the prisoner—he went round the corner of the Aberdeen; going round the corner, and turning to the right, would lead to the house No. 9, on the right hand side of the way.

COURT. Q. How far would the place be from the house No. 9? A. About four hundred and twenty yards as near as possible.

Cross-examined. Q. You are a tailor? A. Yes; a journeyman tailor; not a jobbing tailor—I am a coat maker—I work for Mr. James Cook, of 63, Shorediteh—he was the last pereon—in 1847, I worked for Stevens and Clark—I have not been working for anybody since—I have been working nine years for the person who employed me—I work for him now; I am quite sure—I am not obliged to send for my work at all—I go to and for the premises for my work—I went to Scotland-yard on the Friday previous to the last examination of the prisouer—the prisoner bad been examained twice, I believe, previously to my going to Scotland-yard—I had beard of it—I read the newspapers; I had not read the account of the examination in the newspapers, never but once.

COURT. Q. Did you know the prison by sight? A. I never saw him in my life—I did not know him by name—I identified him simply by seeing the account of the examination in the papers, and I was satisfied that the man I saw come out of the urinal was the man charged with the murder—that was the way in which I imagined the case—having read the papers and seen that he was termed a plasterer by trade, and seeing the person come out of the urinal I saw that that man was a plasterer—I first saw him so as to identify him on 2d October, at the police-court in Arbour-square.

MR. BEST. Q. You say you saw something in the papers about his being a plasterer, did you also see a description of what he was like? A. No, I did not, I am quite sure—I observed that he was a plasterer by the coat he wore and the billy-cocked hat—he looked like a man engaged in that capacity returning home from his work at that hour of the nigh—I only caught a casual glance of him as he came out of the urinal—I observed his face—I did not take the trouble to count how many persons there ware in the room with the prisoner when I saw him at Arbour-square—he was among a great many more; these might have been twenty—he was not in the court, bat in a room at the door of the court—I was taken there to see if I could point out the man I saw in the urinal—he had not then got on a plasterer's coat and a billy-cocked hat—I swore to him by his feature—I did see his features on the night in question, not longer perhaps than for two or three minutes—the man gave me every opportunity of looking at his countenance from what I was told and what I saw in the papers, I was satisfied that the man I had seen in the retiring-place was the man who was charged with the murder—I do not always notice the persons I see, but I was standing in this position (folding his arms) waiting to go in, and the man as he came out looked straight at me, up and down—it was not a casual glance that I had, the man gave me every opportunity of looking at his features, he seemed to be struck with my appearance—he stood and looked at me—I did not describe the appearance of the man before I went to the polioce court, not to a single person.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. When you went to the police-conrt was the prisoner at all pointed out to you, or did you select him from a number of other persons? A. I selected him instantly the door was opened—he was not pointed out to me at all.

Q. Have you any doubt at all, on the oath you have taken, that he is the man? A. I know I am on the charge of murder, and that, on the part of her Majesty, if I had had the least doubt previous to my going in, I should have given the prisoner the benefit thereof—he came out of the urinal and looked me in the face—I was close to him—I had a full opportunity of seeing him.

MR. BEST. Q. What officer went with you into the room where the prisoner was? A. Serjeant Tanner—I should imagine there were from fifteen to twenty persons there—I could not positively swear there were twenty—I am positively certain there were fifteen—they were men and women, apparently prisoners, charged with various offences, waiting to go before the magistrate.

MR. BEST to RICHARD TANNER. Q. Did you accompany the lost witness into the room? A. Yes; I suppose there were about twelve or fifteen persons there—it is rather difficult to tell the number of persons really in the room—there were probably three or four men of about the same age as the prisoner—I told the witness to follow me, that there would be a number of persons, to look about him, and if he saw the prisoner to say so—he stopped me and told me that the prisoner, who was then sitting down at the end of the room, was the man he had seen come out of the urinal and turn down the Grove-road.

MR. BEST. Q. You have seen the prisoner on several occasions, have you ever seen him with a billy-cocked hat? A. I never saw him but twice before he was a prisoner—I never saw him with anything of that description.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Did you in any way point out the prisoner, or suggest, or direct the witness in reference to him? A. No; what he did was perfectly spontaneous.

Prisoner. Q. Had he not the opportunity of seeing me on previous days at Arbour-square? A. Certainly; if he had been there.

COURT. Q. According to the practice would the witness be entitled to any part of the reward for giving evidence on this occasion? A. I think not—I have known a reward to be divided between witnesses in a case.

JOHN MITCHELL. I am a seaman—I also work at the docks—I live at Hoxton—I was working at the docks on Monday, 13th, and Tuesday, 14th August—I left my house at 4 o'clock on Tuesday morning to go to my work—on my way to the docks I passed through Stepney-green—it might be about five minutes to 5, as I was going down from the top of the Green—as I was going through the Green towards the docks I saw a man coming up the Green towards me, he was on the same side of the road as myself, the right side—there was nothing about the man at first to attract my attention, but on acloser approach he trembled—he seemed in a state of very nervous excitement—he had a flush on his cheek, he trembled, and his lips quivered—he was on the kerb and I was on the right, and he made a cross-walk and came aside of me, and as he came close to me I took my hands out of my pocket and he made a falter and trembled, and he stepped on my left and I turned round and had a look at his back afterwards—I had an opportunity of seeing his face distinctly as he came towards me—I took particular remark of all his feature—the prisoner is the man—his pockets were very bulky, particularly the right-hand pocket—I know the Grove-road—I suppose where I met the man would be about three-quarters of a mile from there—I know Barnsley-street—it would be a circuitous route to come that way from Grove-road to Barnsley-street—the Mile-end-road would be the direct way.

Cross-examined. Q. I believe you were quite frightened at the man, were you not? A. He rather alarmed me, but he did not frighten me much; I got out of his road—I stepped on one side; seeing a man in that state, of course it alarmed me; you would have been alarmed if you had been there—he had on corduroy trousers, a brown wide-awake, and a kind of a drab tweed coat, with shooting pockets, and the pockets were loaded up to the mouth, at least the mouth gaped; there was something heavy in the bottom of them—both the pockets quite bulged out, very largely indeed—he seemed to labour under the weight he was carrying—he Seemed to labour that way that it excited my suspicion that he had done something bad—it was as though he was carrying something very bulky.

Q. When did you give any information of what you had seen? A. I took no more notice of it till I heard of the murder on the Friday; I saw posted up at a newsvendor's the atrocious murder of an old lady, but I did not know in what part of Stepney it was; and about a week after that I went through the Grove-road and made inquiry about what was the matter, and they told me that was where the old lady was murdered, and then I directly calculated that it was the party I had seen that morning—I went and gave information to the police two or three days after, at the Robert-street station—I do not know the date—I think it was the inspector I went to; he had pen and ink before him, but whether he took heed of it or not I did not know—I went and gave information on the tuesday as the prisoner was in custody on the Monday—I heard that a man had been taken into custody, and according to the description of him I took it to be the party I had seen—I did not hear a description of him from anybody, but I heard many people talking about him, and by that I thought he was the party—I did not go to see the prisoner until I saw him at the House of Detention; that was on the Saturday as he was in custody on the Monday—I then saw the prisoner—he was in his cell by himself—nobody showed him to me; the turnkey took me round and opened every door—I saw no man completely to resemble the man but the prisoner—I saw about thirty—when the door was opened he stood sideways, all the others faced out—it was not that that made me think something was not right—I knew his features again directly, by the description I gave of him—I could not be mistaken in him—I did not go by what I heard from other people—I had been talking about this with lots of other people; before the murder was discovered and afterwards—I am a dock labourer—I was brought up a seaman—I have to be at my work at six o'clock, and I have to walk four miles and a half—I belong to the transporting gang, that remove the ships from one part to another—I heard of the reward that had been offered—that was not before I gave the information—I did not do it for the reward—I expect to be rewarded for it.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. What opportunity had you of seeing the prisoner?—how long do you think you saw him when you met him in Stepney-green? A. It might be about five minutes—I was abreast of Mr. Spill's manufactory when I saw the man coming up—he was about abreast of College-terrace—I suppose that might be 300 yards from me—he was coming up in my direction for about five minutes—I did not have that opportunity of seeing his features, not till he got closer—I remarked to myself I wondered who he was.

Q. What opportunity had you of seeing his face when he came up to you? A. By his ghastly appearance—when I went to the House of Detention there was nobody there but two turnkeys and one gentleman—neither of those persons pointed out the prisoner to me in any way—they opened thirty cells; I went through them all and eventually selected this man—I do not know whether a wide-awake and a billy-cocked hat are the same.

STEPHEN THORNTON (re-examined). A billy-cock and a wide-awake are the same thing.

WILLIAM ROWLAND. I live at 25, Barnaley-street, Bethnal-green, and am a paper-hanger—I was in the habit of doing work for Mrs. Emsley—I was for some years warrant officer, at Worship-street police court—I saw Mrs. Emsley at my house on 13th August last, and paid her some money, about 2l.—I never saw her afterwards—I know the prisoner—I know him as working for Mrs. Emsley occasionally—I saw him on Monday, 13th, about the middle of the day, somewhere about 1 or 2 o'clock, two I think it was, in Temple-terrace, close by Barnsley- street—I did not see him again till the Wednesday—he was to do some work for me on the Monday—I gave him directions to do it and expected he would have completed it on the Monday, but he did not till the Wednesday—he did not come to work on the Tuesday—he came on the Wednesday—I saw him at the job on the Wednesday—I said nothing to him that day—he completed the work—I saw him again on the Friday—he came to me and asked me to assist him in doing some work—I said, "I cannot very well afford the time, as I have got some other job"—he said, "If you will I will come and assist you," and he did come and assist me in the morning, and then I went to Gaffney's, the cooper's, and on the road I met a person who asked me, in Mullins's presence, "Have you heard that an old lady has been murdered in Grove-road? "I said, "No, I have not, "and the party said," I hope it is not Mrs. Emsley"—I noticed Mullins at that time—I noticed a tremor come over him, and a slight alteration of the features—I then went on with him to Gaffney's and finished his job—I found his work was done in a very strange manner, the paper was all turned upside down, and his mode of doing things was more like a person that was imbecile than anything else—after finishing what I agreed to do for him I left, and just afterwards I heard it confirmed that it was Mrs. Emsley that was murdered—I then went back to the cooper's where he was at work, called him out, and said, "Mullins, I want to speak to you; it is Mrs. Emsley that is murdered"—I then saw a very remarkable change in the man—he said, "Is it? come outside," in a nervous irritable way—he seemed excited, very much indeed—he said, "Come, and have some drink"—there was a public house about two doors off, and he said, "Let us have some rum, you like rum"—I do not like rum particularly, however, I did have some with him, and then I noticed that his appearance indicated something very extraordinary; he was pale, and he shook and trembled, which gave me a notion at the time that there was something very wrong about him—I next saw him on Wednesday, 5th September, previous to the apprehension of Emm on the Sunday—I met him about half-past 8 o'clock in the evening—I said to him, "Mullins, they have not found out the murderer of Mrs. Emsley; have you heard anything of the murder of Mrs. Emsley?"—he said, "No; "Nor have I, "I said—he said he was going to get something for his supper—I said, "I am going round here; "he said, "I will walk with you"—we went into a house to see a person, but did not see him—when we came out the prisoner said, "Let us have some spirits, I want some spirits, "and we did have a small drop of gin—I then went out of the house with him and I said, "Mullins, I suspect a man very strongly, and I have got him in my mind's eye now, and I will not lose sight of him till the perpetrator of this diabolical murder has been discovered"—he then assumed a very ghastly appearance; a pallor came over him, a death-like hue, and he said, "I suspect the man likewise, and I am watching him now"—I said, "I believe, Mullins, the man I suspect is not the man you suspect"—he then wanted to leave me, although he had said he was going my way—I said, "I thought you were going to get something for your supper?"—he said, "No, I shall not have any supper now"—then I put another question to him respecting the removal of the paper at Mrs. Emsley's house, which had been deposited in the parlour and which was taken up into the second floor—he said, "Some man helped me to move it"—I said, "Who was that man?"—he said, "I can't describe the man"—I said, "Why, can't you describe the man that helped you for an hour and a half, you being an old officer?"—he said, "No, I can't"—I said, "I can hardly believe you"—he then said, "I will leave you, I won't go any further with you, "and there I left him—I had known him before for nearly three months—I had heard of him before that, but did not know him personally—I know Mrs. Emm—on 13th August, the very day in question, I went with her to the workhouse to see a relation of hers, an old gentleman that I have known many years—her husband was with her—we went there about half-past 6, and stopped there till it was getting dark; at that time it was dark about half-past 7; we could hardly see in the ward where the old man was lying—she remained with me the whole of the time, and Emm was there—about ten minutes past 9, that same night, they went away with a man who is here, the driver of the cart—Mrs. Emm, Mrs. Buckley, and Walter Emm, four of them, went away in the cart—I saw them depart; they were going to Stratford—they wanted me to go, but I said, no, I had other business—I saw them depart about ten minutes past 9 that same night.

Cross-examined. Q. Mulling is a plasterer by trade is he not, not a paperhanger? A. Well, I don't know exactly what he is; he was represented to me to be a plasterer, and I believe he is—it is not difficult-to put up paperhangings—as a business it is nothing, you may learn it in about six months—I don't believe Mullins is a paper-hanger; not a tradesman—I have had several conversations with him about this poor old lady—I know he was in the habit of going to her place, and working for her—I was also in the habit of being employed by her—I was sorry to hear of her death, because I lose something by it; I felt grieved that a woman should be murdered in that way, and so would any man with any feeling—I did not see the prisoner from the 13th till the 15th—I saw him once or twice afterwards—I had no other conversation with him after the 5th September, that was the last; that was after the murder had been found out—the other conversation was before it was discovered—I saw him about the neighbourhood several times during that period—it was not because the carpenters had not finished their work that he did not finish the job, there were no carpenters employed—there was some patch-work to finish to the ceilings in some small houses, which was work that required to be done directly, as it puts them to inconvenience, and I expected him to do it—the old paper had not to be taken off, not as far as he was concerned.

Q. Do you remember what sort of a hat he wore generally? A. Yes, sometimes a hat and sometimes a peaked cap—when I saw him about 2 o'clock on the Monday I believe he had his hat or cap on; I really cannot tell now—I never saw him wear a billy-cock hat—I have never given any information against a man named Smith about this murder—I spoke before the Coroner of the man having some quarrel with Mrs. Emsley—that was before I know anything about this charge, it was after she was found murdered—I did not give information about Smith, I merely said that he had had a quarrel with Mrs. Emsley and the matter was referred to me—she said to me, "This man wants to rob me, Mr. Rowland, of a 50l. note"—I said, "No, I don't think he does"—she had detained his rent-book and he was trying to get it and seized her basket—he was a tenant of Mrs. Emsley—I know him, he is a lame man and walks with a crutch—I settled the matter between them amicably, I found that Mrs. Emsley was wrong and the tenant was right; but she made use of an exclamation, "This man wants to rob me of a 50l. note, and I have got it here"—I did not tell the Coroner I had important evidence to give—I said I had evidence to give respecting the customs and habits of the late Mrs. Emsley—I was not examined then; I think not till the third time.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Do I understand you to say that this dispute whatever it was, between Mrs. Emsley and Smith was amicably settled? A. Yes, and they parted on friendly terms, at least they were both satisfied—Smith is a man of about forty-six years of age.

ISAAC TYRRELL. I live at 1, Temple-terrace, Bethnal-green—I know the prisoner, he has worked at my house, not for me—I remember his working there on Monday, 13th August, pointing tiles and repairing the ceiling of the front-room—I saw him at work on that day—he had a hammer that he was working with—he knocked the ceiling down with a hammer—this (produced) is something like the hammer.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Do you remember what time he left his work? A. About 6 in the evening; it was not finished—I had not given directions as to its being finished—I had nothing whatever to do with it—he came next on the Wednesday, not before—he did not come at all on the Tuesday.

Cross-examined. Q. I believe he could not finish in consequence of some carpenter's work being required to be done? A. Oh, no; he could have finished—he wanted some cement for the tiles on the copper; he could have done that—I can't say whether he got any cement that day; I did not see him—I believe there was none there on the Monday—he had other tools with him, he had a trowel—he did not leave them behind, he took them away with him, I am confident of that—there were no boards given him to be fastened down by a carpenter, not in my house—a piece of board was given him on the Thursday to put on the trap door leading to the copper—that was not finished till the Thursday; the cement was put on on the Wednesday. THOMAS PRIOR. I am barman at the Royal Oak public-house, Keppelstreet, Chelsea—On Friday, 7th September last, I bought a pencil-case of the prisoner's wife—this is the one (produced)—the point of the pencilcase was bent nearly flat when I bought it—I straightened it—it was very dirty indeed—I cleaned it with rotten stone.

ANN COOPER. I am a widow living at 12, Little Orford-street, Chelsea—I know the prisoner—he, his wife and family, lodged at my house—he has five children; they left my house on 26th August—after they left Inspector Thornton came there—I saw him find a boot—I had seen that boot before; I saw it thrown out of Mullins' window on the Sunday afternoon, as they left in the evening—it was in the dust-hole when Thornton found it—this is the boot (produced). Cross-examined. Q. What part of the house were you in when you say this boot came out of the window? A. In the first-floor back room, looking into the yard—there are three rooms up stairs and two down, and a kitchen; it came out of the back parlour window—I was shaking a cloth out of the window from a young man's table who had been having breakfast—it was not Charles Shirley, he was not in the house at that time.

COURT. Q. Was the back parlour a room occupied by the prisoner? A. That was the room occupied by him.

MR. BEST. Q. Who occupied the other rooms? A. A person of the name of Cowper occupied the front parlour—he had been there about a week—a young man named Levick also lived in the house; he left on the following Saturday—there was no other person living there—I think Cowper served in a china-ware shop, but I don't know exactly; the other man used to drive a coal cart, his employer is a coal and coke merchant—I am sure there was no man of the name of Shirley there—I have seen a young man of that name there once or twice whilst Mullins was there.

MR. PARRY. Q. Who was he? did you know anything about him? A. I did not know much about him—I believe his father is a calenderer, a calico glazer, or something of that sort, not a plasterer—he is about twentyfive or twenty-six years of age—Mullins did not sleep at home regularly—I believe he once told me that his work laid over at Stepney, it was his habit to go out on a Monday and return on Saturday night—his wife and children were most of the time at home—I believe Mrs. Mullins used to go oat washing.

STEPHEN THORNTON (re-examined). I found this boot in the dust-hole described by Mrs. Cooper at the house 12, Orford-street, Marlborough-road, Chelsea—I gave instructions for a piece of the landing to be cut out on the second-floor of the house 9, Grove-road—it was done and I produce it—Sergeant Tanner actually cut it out—there is a foot mark of blood on it, of the left boot of a man, coming from the room.

WILLIAM THOMAS (re-examined). I was present when the piece of wood was cut out of the landing—this is the piece, it was taken from the landing on the second-floor; the top of the house.

STEPHEN THORNTON (re-examined). The marks on it are marks of blood—I had to wash the boot, it was in a very filthy state, it laid about two feet in the ashes—I have made a comparison of the boot with the marks on this piece of the landing—there are two nails near the too that seem to correspond exactly, and there is a licking up of the blood in the centre of the boot which appears to me a hole that would gather up the blood and leave the impression that appears to be left on that board—there is a double row of nails on the left side of the boot, and there are two nails more especially very prominent in the boot as there is on the board; if you turn the boot on to the impression you will see the two nails speak of—in washing the boot a great portion of the heel fell off; it was in a filthy state—all manner of filth had been thrown into the dust-hole.

Cross-examined. Q. Did you put this pencil mark round the impression? A. No; I think Dr. Gill did it—I had seen the marks repeatedly—these two nails in the shoe were strong in my mind—it was that which made me bring the boot away having an idea of what such an impression would leave in the warm blood—Tanner cut the mark out—a board was previously nailed over it by one of the officers—I saw it nailed over with instructions that it should be preserved.

RICHARD TANNER (re-examined). The piece of wood which Thornton has produced is in the same state that it was when it was first observed at the house, with the exception of the pencil mark round it, that was made by Dr. Gill in my presence—I cut it out myself—I understand the terms billycock and wide-awake to mean the same thing—in London they are generally called wide-awakes, in Staffordshire and those parts, I have heard they are called billy-cocks.

MR. BEST. Q. I believe you were not at the house the first time the footmark was discovered? A. I was the first detective at the house, Dillon was there before me, it was pointed out to me by inspector Kerrison.

WALTER KERRISON (Police-inspector). I produce a knife which I found in the pocket of the deceased—I searched her pockets in the morning—I saw Dillon find a ring; this is it (produced) it was found between the mattress and the bed—I observed some marks of blood on the landing of the room—I called Dr. Gill's attention to them—this is the piece of board that was cut out of that landing—with the exception of the pencil mark, it is in the same state as when I first observed it—I found nothing in the old lady's pockets but this knife—I found no money or anything of the kind.

DR. GILL (re-examined). I have examined this boot with a powerful magnifying glass—I found one hair between the welt and the sole in this broken side, the best part of it was packed within the boot; I found another hair on the surface, and a third here—I am of opinion that they were human hairs—I think I can produce them now—part of them were cut up to put under the microscope, and part of them Dr. Letheby cut up.

COURT. Q. Do you say that they are certainly human hairs? A. Certainly—I ascertained that, by means of the microscope—my experience enables me to say that they are human hairs—I could tell what colour they were—they were much the same colour as Mrs. Emsley's hair—I had some of her hair in my possession to compare the two—I compared the hairs with what I actually took from her head—they appeared to correspond in colour.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. You cannot of course say more than that? A. No one could say more than that—human hair is used for plaster and mortar; there is no doubt of that—I examined the pencil case that has been produced—I saw a spot on it which I imagined to be blood—it was on the edge—I asked Dr. Ansell to examine it with me, and we examined it together under the microscope—in my judgment that spot was blood—a microscope is an infallible test as far as regards the proof of blood—it is believed to be so.

MR. BEST. Q. You cannot tell whether that blood was human blood or not, I believe? A. Certainly not.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Unfortunately at present there is no test by which you can detect human blood from other blood, is there? A. No.

COURT. Q. Where is the mark you speak of? A. Along the line of the opening of the pencil case; between that and the head.

ROBERT WENT (Policeman, K 160). After the discovery of the murder I searched the coal cellar at the house, 9, Grove-road—in the coal cellar under the coal, I found a tin box—it was wrapped up in part of a handkerchief—I found in the box 16l. 2s. in silver, and 32l. in gold.

JAMES WRIGHT. I am an estate and house agent—I cany on my business in Bow-road—I called on Mrs. Emsley about some paper-hangings on Saturday, the 11th, to the best of my knowledge; the Saturday previous to the murder—I saw her in the evening about 6 o'clock—I remained with her, I dare say, an hour; not looking at the papers all the time—I went up stairs—when I first went in the passage, the charwoman who has been examined, opened the door—that was the last time I saw the old lady—there was another person in the house at the time—I saw a person sitting on the stairs—that was the person whom I saw at the Coroner's jury—his name is Mullins—I see him here now—it is the prisoner.

Cross-examined. Q. Where do you live?—in the neighbourhood? A. About two hundred yards from the place—I was not at the house at all on Tuesday, the 14th, I am quite positive—I do not know a man of the name of Stevenson—I am quite positive that I never entered the house after the Saturday—not at all in the afternoon of Tuesday—that I am quite positive of.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Is there any pretence for suggesting that you were ever near the house after the Saturday? A. Not any—I know the old lady before—I had done several things for her.

ELIZABETH FUKE. I am married, and live at 17 1/2, James-street, Commercial-road, East—that house belonged to the late Mrs. Emsley—I was tenant of a house of hers at No. 14, in that street—I know the prisoner—I remember hearing of this murder—he came to my house a few days before 13th August, to set a copper—that was, I believe, about twelve days before 13th August—when he came, he said Mrs. Elmsley was a miserable old wretch; that she sent men about to do work, but she did not always find them in materials to do it with—I asked him what he required and he said some cement—I asked him what quantity, he said, "About a peck"—I gave him the money and he went for it, and when he returned he further said that he had been at her house that morning; that she was sitting down to breakfast which he would not have sat down to himself, she would not even allow herself as much as a farthing's worth of milk to put in her tea; she was drinking it without, but I need not take any notice of it to her; it was a great pity such a miserable old wretch should be allowed to live.

Cross-examined. Q. Was that alluding to her penurious habits, and mode of life? you did not think he was going to murder her, from that? A. No; I believed it was in allusion to her penurious habits.

MARY MULLINS On 13th August last, I resided with my mother, at 12, Orford- street, Chelsea—my father lived at Barnsley-street at that time—two of my brothers, James and Thomas, lived at home with my mother—there was another, John, he used to be down with my father; he sometimes used to come up to mother's—I have seen this pencil-case with my brother James, in June and July, in his possession—I do not know, where my brother James is now—he is a sailor—I saw it in June last—I have seen it several times since at my mother's house, in August, and about a fortnight before my father was taken—I have had frequent opportunities of observing it—I have had it in my hand several times—I believe this to be the pencilcase I have seen with my brother.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. When did you first hear of the murder? A. I can't exactly say the day of the month—it was on Saturday—I read of it in the papers—I was in a situation at 9, Sloane-terraee, Chelsea, with Mr. Gibson—I have seen Mrs. Emsley once or twice—I know that my father worked for her—I had not seen my father before I heard of the murder—I saw him on the Saturday night, that was after the murder; I was dismissed the same day by Mr. Gibson from his service; on the Monday after my father was taken—he was taken on the Sunday—it was in September that I was dismissed—I was dismissed from my situation because my master read of it in the paper—that was all—I swear that—that is all the reason I can give—he told me I had better go, as my father had been taken, as he did not like to have me in the house.

Q. Was nothing said about removing a stone in the kitchen? A. Yes; I dropped a shilling there—the reason I was dismissed was not because I had been found removing a stone in the kitchen, and been supposed to be hiding something—it was after that, when I was paid my wages, when master told me to go—mistress paid me in the kitchen, and I dropped a shilling down by the side of the fire-place—there was a little girl came in, she saw me removing the stone—I told her to hold the candle while I removed it; she told my master after I had left—the removal of the stone was not the cause of my being dismissed—I found the shilling—no one was present when I found it—the little girl who held the light did not see me pick it up; she was called away—the bell rang for her to go up stairs—I did not find the shilling in anybody's presence—I was not dismissed for removing the stone because it was supposed I was hiding something—the master, when I took the papers up in the morning, read of it in the newspapers—he did not tell me for an hour after, for one of the young ladies was ill, and he was afraid it might disturb them, so he called me out, and told me to meet him in Sloane-street; and he asked me if I had heard about my father; he said he had seen it in the newspapers, and it was very bad, and he wished me to leave—I had got the stone up before the little girl came into the kitchen—I called her to hold the candle for me—she was accidentally called away, and did not see me find the shilling; I did not tell her not to say anything about it—I did not tell her I would give her sixpence if she did not say anything about it—I can't say exactly what time in the day it was that this stone was being removed, a little after 2 o'clock, I think—I was dismissed on the Monday after my father was taken; about 4 o'clock I think it was; between 3 and 4 o'clock—I was lifting the stone about 2 o'clock, and I was dismissed between 3 and 4 o'clock—it was after the master had told me to leave, that I was lifting the stone; I had to get my clothes and things—I last saw my brother James in July, or the beginning of August; in July I think it was—I had not seen him for some time before the murder; he did not leave home since the murder; he left some time before—I have seen this pencil-case with my brother James—I have two other brothers, John and Thomas—John used to sleep sometimes at my mother's, sometimes down at my father's; both of them, John and Thomas, slept sometimes in my mother's room, and sometimes with my father—my father used to come home very seldom; only on the Saturday—he was not in the habit of sleeping with us; only on Saturday night or Sunday—my brother went down in the country, and he heard of my brother coming home from sea, and came to see him, and he remained at home till some time after my brother came home from sea—my brother came home from sea in May—in August John and Thomas were living generally with my mother—Thomas was in a situation at a green-grocer's, in Marlborough-road, Chelsea—he was an errand-boy—he used to go there regularly every day, and slept at home—when I was out of a situation I used to sleep at home—I went to see my father on the Saturday after the murder, because I was anxious to hear about it; I was anxious to hear about Mrs. Emsley, seeing it in the papers—he did not send or come to me, I went to him, to my mother's—I was paid 12l. a year by Mr. Gibson—I can't say exactly how much it was that I received on the Monday when I was dismissed—it was not so much as a pound—it was 17s. or 18s. I am not sure which—I was only there for a short time—the slab that I was removing, was in the back kitchen, by the side of the fire-place; there was a hole by the side of the fender—Mr. Gibson's is a large house.

THOMAS MULLINS. I live at No. 1, Rose-court, East Smithfield—I am about sixteen years old—I work at light labouring—I have once assisted my father in his trade—I have been to see him in Barnsley- street—I stayed with him there—I remember Monday, 13th August last—I was staying with him in Barnsley-street that day, at No. 33—my brother John was staying with him besides me—I was doing nothing that day—I was at home all day—my father was out at work—I remember what time he came home that evening from his work, it was about a quarter-past 7—he stayed in the house after that, and did not go out any more after that— he slept there—he slept in a little bed by himself, and I and my brother slept together in the same room—I got up in the morning about half-past 7—my father, after he got up, went and water-washed the passage ceiling, and stopped the nail holes—he was at work doing that till about 12 o'clock; he then came in and had his dinner about 12, and went out about half-past 12—I did not go with him—I do not know this boot at all—I have never seen it—I never saw my father with a boot like that—I clean my father's boots sometimes—I know what a billy-cock hat is—I never saw my father wear one of those—one generally hears it called by that name—it is a round hat—it is the same thing as a wide-awake—he had not a brown wide-awake on the Monday evening at all, he had his hat.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT PARKY. Q. When did you last see your brother James? A. About three mouths ago from this time as near as I can judge—I perfectly remember the time of the murder; he was then at home.

Q. When did he leave home? A. Oh, he was not at home; I made a mistake—I said just now that he was at home—he left home about three or four weeks before the supposed murder.

Q. If you knew that, what made you tell me that he was at home? A. I bethought myself; it ran in my mind—I have been spoken to about whether my brother was at home or not at the time of the murder—it has not been very much spoken of in our family whether he was at home or not—I have heard it spoken of, because some persons asked me—I made a mistake when I said that he was at home—he never wore a wide-awake hat—there was not such a thing as a wide-awake hat in the family—he went to sea—I do not know where he is—he went in the "Mechanic"—I don't know where for; New York—I was not in work at the time of the murder—I have worked in the Marlborough-road—I was not working there in August—I can swear I was with my father on the 13th—I was not at work at a green-grocer's in Marlborough-road in August—Yes, I dare say I was; the very day I left I came down to my father's.

COURT. Q. Were you at work in Marlborough-road at a green-grocer's in the month of August? A. I do not know; I don't recollect.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Just now you said the very day you left you came down to your father's? A. I came down to my father's—it was on a Sunday morning that I left, and I came down on Monday to my father's—I can't answer whether I was at work at this green-grocer's on Sunday, 12th August—I have done work since 13th August, at Mr. Pinnock's—I have only been there one day, that is all the work I can recollect that I have done since 13th August—that is all that I have done since 13th August—I do recollect—before the 12th August I was at work at a green-grocer's in Marlborough-road, all that part of August up to the 12th—Pinnock is the name of the green-grocer—I was also at work for him two Saturdays ago—that is all the work I have done—I had been at work for him about six months before, and I have done one job for him since—I was dismissed—I was not sent away—I left myself, of my own accord—I did not have any other situation—I was not sent away, I am quite sure—I am quite sure I left on 12th August—I did not go with my father on the 13th—I was at Barasley-street all day on 13th August—I was there about 12 o'clock in the day time—no one went with me, only myself; that was all—my brother John was down in the room in Barnsley-street—I slept at home on the Sunday night with my father, in Orford-street—that was on the Sunday night—my father was at home on the Sunday—he left home on the Monday morning about six o'clock—no one went with him—I went to Barnsley-street at 12 o'clock in the day—I did nothing there all day—I went there to see my father, and to see how he got on with his work—that was not the reason I gave up my situation—I did not shut myself in the room all day—my brother John was there when I got there—he and I were in the room all day together; at 12 o'clock we were—I went out, but I was not long out—my brother did not go with me; he stayed in—he had slept in Barnsley-street the night before, by himself—he is older than I—I did not know that from him; I knew it by myself—I was there with him—no, not the night before; I was there all the day with him, and he slept there—I know he slept there on the Sunday night, because I went home, and my brother did not sleep with me, and when I went down there on the Monday morning he was there—I slept with my mother in Orford-street on the Sunday night—my brother John was not there—he slept at Barnsley- street—he was not doing any work at that time—he was not in work at all, neither of us—he was looking after work, he went there being near the docks—I went out for about a quarter of an hour—I have no remembrance what time of the day that was—it was about the middle of the day—I dined that day in Barnsley-street, with my father and brother—I am sure my father dined there; we had some bread and meat for dinner—we dined about one o'clock—my father came home to have his dinner—I don't recollect at what time he came home to his dinner—there was no table in the room when I was there—there was one chair—there was no bed forme to lie on—I and my brother did not sleep on the bare floor—there were some canes there on the floor, that they make chairs of—they were on the bed and we took them off the bed and put them on the floor—the bed is a mere tressel with a sacking; my father slept there—that is the little bed I spoke of just now—my father remained in after coming home about a quarter to 7—we had our supper afterwards—I had some bread and tea for supper—my brother and I went to bed at 9 o'clock—I did not go to sleep—I was not awake all night—we did not go to sleep till my father got into bed—I went to sleep about 12 o'clock—I went to bed about 9 and went to sleep about 12—I could not go to sleep—I do not know what time my father went to sleep—he went to bed at the same time we did—I could not go to sleep till my father came to bed—he came to bed at 9 o'clock.

Q. Why could you not go to sleep before 12 o'clock? A. Because I could I not—I am really in earnest in saying that—I did not go away the next day—I remained in Barnsley-street the whole of the next day, Tuesday—I slept with I my father again on Tuesday night—I continued to sleep there till about Thursday, and then I went home again—my brother John was in the same room—I went out once on the Tuesday for a quarter of an hour again, not much more—the room is a very small room on the ground-floor—I and my brother remained in that room the whole of Monday and Tuesday—I got there on Monday, about 12 o'clock; alone—I first heard of the murder on Saturday evening—I then remembered that I had slept there on the Monday night—when I first heard of the murder on the Saturday evening I remembered that I had slept there on the Monday night—I first heard of the murder when my father came home—there was a row in the house with Mrs. Emsley and another woman, I was in the room—that was, I believe, on the Monday—a row in No. 33, Barnsley-street—that was one of Mrs. Emsley's houses—there were some children used to sleep in the room; Mrs. Musick's—they slept in the room my father occupied—I can't recollect where they slept on the Monday night—they did not sleep with me—I do not know about their sleeping in the same room; I don't recollect it—those children are about seven or eight years old; the eldest—there are three children—I can't recollect whether they slept in the room that same night—I don't recollect whether they did on the Tuesday night—I have slept in the same room with those children, in Barnsley-street—I can't tell whether they slept with me on the Monday night—I don't know whether my brother can—I can't tell you—I don't recollect whether they slept there on the Tuesday, or on the Wednesday or Thursday.

COURT. Q. When did you last sleep in Barnsley-street? A. On Wednesday night—I never went there any more after—I came up to look after work—I last slept in Barnsley-street on the Wednesday after 13th August—there was a Mrs. Musick, the mother of these children, who slept there—I had slept there before the Monday—I was in the habit of sleeping then sometimes.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Did you sleep there on the Saturday nigh before the Monday? A. No—Mrs. Emsley did not turn Mrs. Musiek out—she ordered her to go—she stayed there by my father's permission while he was away—when my father was up at Brompton she used to sleep in the same room—that is what I have been told—I have never slept in the same room when she has been sleeping there—I do not know where she slept on the night of 13th August—I believe she was in the house—when my father was there she used to sleep in the back kitchen, and her children used sometimes to sleep in my father's room.

Q. I will again ask you how you came to know, on the Saturday following the murder, that the murder was committed on Monday, 13th August; how was your attention called to the date? A. Well, hearing of the row, in Barnsley-street on the Monday when I was there—I did not know that the murder was committed on the Monday night; I did not say it had been committed on the Monday night—no one asked me on the Saturday whether I remembered having slept there on the Monday—I understood by the papers that the murder was committed on the 13th—I heard that on the Saturday evening; I heard that it was committed on the Monday or Tuesday.

MR. BEST. Q. When you heard of this murder having been committed did you remember the row in Barnsley-street? A. Yes—it was from that that I remembered being in Barnsley-street on the Monday—the bed of rushes was not a very comfortable bed; I could not go to sleep because it was so hard.

JOHN MULLINS. I am the son of the prisoner, and live at No. 1, Rose- court, East Smithfield—I am a labourer—at present I am out of employ—when I am employed it is at the docks—I remember my father living at 33, Barnsley-street, right well; I lived there with him—I was there on Monday, 13th August last—my father was there on that day, and my brother, the last witness—my father went out at his regular time in the morning, a little after 8, after breakfast—he came home again about 12, I should say, and had his dinner; he then went to work again—I next saw him at 7 o'clock; it might want a few minutes to 7—he came into the room where I was—he had his supper at 8 o'clock and went to bed at 9—I went to bed there—I slept in that room—my father slept in the bed—I did not go to sleep for some time after I went to bed; it is not every time you can go to sleep when you lie down—I got up in the morning about the same time, half-past 7—my father got up, he had his breakfast a little after 8 o'clock, and then he water washed the passage and stopped the nail-holes—at 12 o'clock he came in to his dinner, and at half-past 12 he told me he was going to Cambridge-road to work there; he then left—I never saw this boot in all my life—I know right well what a billy-cock hat is—it is what they wear in Ireland—my father never wore one of those.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Did you ever wear one? A. At times, in Ireland, I might have one for about a month—I am not at work now—I was not at work at the time I spoke of in August—I have not been at work since—I should say it was about four months since I was at work in the docks; during that time I have done nothing, because my health would not allow me—I have lived with my father during that time in Barnsley-street, and at Brompton, in Orford-street—I went there once or twice—my father slept at home on the night of the murder—I mean in Little Orford-street.

Q. You said just now that he got up about 8, his usual time, on the Monday morning, is that so? A. You speak a little too fast for me; I recollect my father getting up on Monday morning, 13th August—if you speak a little easier I shall understand you.

COURT. Q. Where did you sleep on Monday night, 13th August? A. At 33, Barnsley-street.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. You are quite sure of that? A. On Monday night I slept in Barnsley-street; and on Sunday night, with my father—he had his breakfast on Monday morning, I recollect that.

Q. Never mind what he used to do; you say you slept with your father on the Sunday night, at Barnsley-street, who slept with you? A. On Sunday night? you are mistaken, you spoke too fast; I did not understand what you said.

Q. You said distinctly that you slept with your father in Barnsley- street, and that your father got up to breakfast at 8 o'clock in the morning, is that true or false? A. You say, where he had his breakfast on Monday morning, don't you? well, he had it in Oakum-street, no, not in Oakum-street, at 33, Barnsley-street.

COURT. Q. On Monday morning he had his breakfast in Barnsley- street, is that so? A. On Monday morning had he his breakfast in Barnsley-street? he used to go away on Monday morning from Oakum-steeet.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Were you at home all day on the Monday, it seems to puzzle you about the breakfast? A. No, it does not puzzle me—I cannot say whether he did breakfast in Barnsley-street on the Monday morning—he used to come home on Saturday night to his own place—to the best of my knowledge I was at 33, Barnsley-street on the Sunday night—I did not sleep there on the Tuesday night; I went up to Little Orford-street—I can't say how long I stayed there; my father was out at work on the Monday and I was in the room along with my brother Thomas—on Sunday night I think I slept with myself—if I said I slept with my father I was mistaken—I did not do any work on Monday—I did not go out the whole of the day—I sat in the little room all day reading an almanack, that was all that there was there—there was a little bedstead in the room, only one—my brother Thomas slept with me on the Monday night—I know three little children of the name of Musick—they used to sleep in the kitchen—they have; slept in my father's room—on Monday night they slept in the kitchen—I won't swear that they did; they must either have slept in the room or in the kitchen—I swear they slept in the house, I used to hear them asking their mother for a good many things—I did not leave the house till Tuesday evening—I remained in the house all day doing nothing—there were other persons in the house at 33, Barnsley-street—I know a young woman named Brimson—I think Mrs. Musick saw my father water-washing the passage and stopping the nail-holes; she was in and out—I don't know where she is now; we can't find her; she is put out of the way, there is no doubt about it—I remember right well when my brother went to sea, it was in July—I cannot tell where these children slept on the night in question, except that they slept in the house.

MR. BEST. Q. Have you tried to find Mrs. Musick? A. Yes, we have made inquiries about her and cannot find her out—I had no billy-cock hat on this Monday.

CAROLINE BARNES. I live at Laurestine-cottage, Grove-road—I know No. 9, Grove-road, where Mrs. Emsley lived—my house is nearly opposite to that house—I remember Monday, 13th August last—I saw Mrs. Einsley, on that day—I saw the house on the Tuesday morning—I saw some one moving the paper on the Tuesday morning—the paper was very white outside, paper-hangings—it was in the top room—it was about twenty minutes to 10 o'clock when I saw this—I saw the right hand window of the top room open a little way, which attracted my attention—I saw the window move; it attracted me being opened; I saw it opening—I could not tell who the person was that was in the room.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. When was your attention first called to this matter; when did you hear of the murder? A. On the Friday—I told Mr. Rose about this; I said I supposed it to be Mrs. Emsley, but I did not see the old lady—I said I had not seen her since I saw her moving the paper—I supposed it to be her; I did not take any notice—I was very busy at the time—it was about twenty minutes to 10 on the Tuesday.

JAMES STEVENSON. I am a builder, and reside at 3, Library-road, Oldford—I had occasion to go to Grove-road on Tuesday morning, 14th August last—I called at 3, Grove-road, at the house of a man named Piper—I did not see him, but I saw his family, and left a message for him—that was just turned half-past 10 o'clock—since I heard of the circumstance I have noticed the house where Mrs. Emsley used to live, No. 9, Grove-road—I had not noticed it previously—I passed by that house about half-past 9 o'clock, or a few minutes later that morning—I went round into the Grove-road, and left a message for Mr. Piper, the plasterer, and after leaving there I walked on the other side of the way towards Bow station, undecided whether I should go home by bus or not—after I had walked a few paces towards the Bow-railway station I looked down the Bow-road, and in looking down the Bow-road I saw a tall man coming out of a garden there with some paper under his arm—whether it was three or four pieces I cannot be positive—he was coming out of a garden apparently about the number of the house, No. 9—I then returned, and walked a few paces towards the city of London, and as I was walking I looked down the Grove-road again, and saw the person coming towards the Mile-end-road or Bow-road, some people call it one and some the other—after that I crossed over the road, one door from the Grove- road, and then I made up my mind to go home—I was walking towards home, and had just turned the corner to go down the Grove-road when I met the party face to face, nearly in each other's arms—I said, "Hallo, what, are you in the paper line?"—he said, "Yes, "in a flurried manner (speaking in a faltering tone)—I thought it might be from my coming on him all of a sudden—he said, "Yes, didn't you know that?"—I said, "No, I didn't know it; had I known it I could have given you a job, for I have got about 180 pieces of paper being hung"—he said, "Oh, yes, I have served my time at it"—"Well," I said, "I shall want some more done by and by, and the first job I have I know where you live, in Barnsley-street, Bethnal-green."

MR. BEST. Q. Did you give any information of this to any one? A. Not till some days afterwards—I told my sister-in-law—on the Saturday afternoon I went to Mr. Rose, the solicitor of Mrs. Emsley, and made him acquainted with it—that was the day after the murder was made known—I heard of it on the Friday, and on the Saturday I went and made him acquainted with it—he recommended me to go to Scotland-yard—I did not go that evening, but I went next morning, Monday; and gave information to Sergeant Tanner, and from that Sergeant Tanner and Inspector Thornton came to my house, and after that Inspector Kerrison, and I was summoned on the inquest, but was not examined. I gave in a written statement at the time to Sergeant Tanner.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. I don't know whether you were aware that there was a house being papered next door to the deceased's? A. No, I did not know anything about that—I did not even know that she lived there until after the affair—I do not know whether that was so or not—this was on the Tuesday morning, 14th August—I did not recognize Mr. Rowland until I came upon him as I have described—I did not know previously that he was a paper-hanger by trade—I only knew it from what he stated.

MICHAEL GAFFNET. I live at 7, Queen's-row, Cambridge-road, Bethnalgreen—I know the prisoner—he was doing work for me in August—I remember Tuesday, 14th August—he came to work for me on that day—he came about 1 o'clock—I had never seen him before the Monday when he came to look at the work.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. What time do you say he was working for you? A. It was about 1 o'clock on the Tuesday when he came—he had not been at work on the Monday for me—he only came to look at the work—I asked him when he would be there, so as I might clear the things out of the way for him, and he said he would be there on the Tuesday morning—he did not name the time, but he came about 1 o'clock in the day.

WILLIAM ROWLAND. I know James Stevenson the builder; I see him in Court—I did not see him in Grove-road on 14th August last—I was not near the place—several witnesses can prove that I was some two miles from there at the time, and the whole of the day—I did not come out of any house there—perhaps it may be necessary to explain that I saw Mr. Stevenson some time previous, nearly a week before, and I then had some paper under my arm—I have known him for some years, and I know he is a man labouring under some impressions, in fact, I have the impression that he was not quite right in his mind.

CAROLINE BRIMSON. I am single—I work in a laundry—I have an aunt who lodged at 33, Barnsley-street—Mrs. Musick used sometimes to attend upon her, she is an invalid—she is not bed ridden, but she was so for nine months—Mrs. Musick used to attend upon her—in consequence of Mrs. Musick going away, I went to Barnsley-street to attend upon my aunt—I had just left service—I went on the Tuesday—I do not know the day of the month, but it was on the Tuesday as Mrs. Emsley was supposed to be murdered on the Monday—I am quite sure of that—I went there at 10 o'clock in the morning—I was there the whole of that day and the next, and have been there ever since—I know the two young men, the Mullins, I saw them there—I saw one on the Tuesday, the shortest one (Thomas)—the other one was not there at all on the Tuesday—he was there on the Tuesday'week; the following Tuesday—I remember the place being waterI washed—I was there at the time, because the prisoner borrowed my aunt's pail to do it with—the prisoner water-washed the place on the Thursday, not on the Tuesday, but Thursday—that was not the first time I had seen the prisoner there—I saw him on the Tuesday morning between 9 and 10 o'clock—I am quite sure the water-washing was on the Thursday.

Cross-examined by MR. BEST. Q. Were you attending upon your aunt at this time? A. Yes, I was principally engaged with my aunt during the day, I when I had nothing to do at the laundry—my aunt had the up stairs apartmeats—I was up and down—I did not go in and out of Mullins's room—I was never in his room in my life—he washed the passage—on the Thursday, it was a wash of a yellowish cast—I did not notice whether it, was first white-washed on the Saturday.

MR. SERJEANT PARRY. Q. Did Mullins do anything at all on the Tuesday in the way of water-washing? A. No.

THE END

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The Debatable Case Of Mrs. Emsley

by

Arthur Conan Doyle

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY SIDNEY PAGET
AND A TRANSCRIPT OF THE EMSLEY MURDER TRIAL

Published in The Strand Magazine, May 1901
First book appearance in Strange Studies From Life,
Candlelight Press, New York, 1963
This illustrated compilation prepared by Roy Glashan, 2012

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS