by Covell, Mike
THE INQUEST. IMPORTANT EVIDENCE. Yesterday morning Mr. Wynne E. Baxter, at the Working Lads' Institute in the Whitechapel road, an inquiry into the circumstances attending the death of the murdered woman Annie Chapman. Excitement in the neighbourhood had subsided somewhat, though the interest in the occurrence was still apparently almost as keen as ever. A mob of people began to assemble quite early in the day before the house in Hanbury street, where the body had been found. A considerable number gathered round outside the building in which the Coroner was to hold his court, and the premises in which the mortuary is situated were again, as on Saturday, thronged round at both entrances by people eager to see anything that might transpire, and earnestly discussing the details of the affair as set forth in the newspapers. On the whole, however, the thorough threshing out of known facts from the alarmist fiction and vague rumours of Saturday had probably exerted a quieting influence. At ten o'clock the Coroner entered the large front room on the first floor of the Institute, and a jury was sworn in, one young man, being a Jew, putting on his hat and taking the oath on the Old Testament. Two inspectors, understood to be watching the proceedings were gently rebuked for not having provided a plan of the premises in which the body was found, and at two other points had to admit that they had been unable to discover persons mentioned in the course of the evidence. The proceedings lasted for nearly three hours, but nothing of any conspicuous importance was elicited. So far as the investigation went, the most remarkable results of it were a demonstration of the accuracy of the later newspaper accounts and the painful side lights it threw on low life in Spitalfields. John Davies, a small, elderly man, who was not quite sure whether the number of the house he lived in was 19 or 29 or some other number, lived with his wife and three sons in one room at the top of the house. He had been the first to find the body. There was the usual difficulty in confining the witness to the rules of evidence, but on the whole he gave his testimony well. Amelia palmer, the intimate friend and associate of the murdered woman, came next. She was a decently but poorly dressed woman of middle age, with a thin, unhappy face, and said she got her living by charing. Very sad indeed was the general tenor of this woman's evidence, given in a low, nervous undertone. Evidently anxious to say the best she could of her friend of five years' standing, she could make out but a pitiful case, in which drink and despondency and lawless living and hunger and sickness made up a doleful record. She was obliged to admit that she had often known the deceased the worse for drink; but then she pleaded she had led such a irregular life that a very little drink upset her. When sober she was “a very respectable woman” - a very straightforward and a very clever, industrious little body. She had never heard her use bad language. Since the death of her husband she had given way altogether. The last time the witness had seen the murdered woman was on Friday. According to her usual practice she should then have been down at Stratford, where she went every Friday to sell her crochet work or whatever. I said, “Aren't you going to Stratford today?” She said, “I feel too ill to do anything.” I saw her again about ten minutes afterwards upon the same spot. She said, “It's no use my giving away. I must pull myself together and go and get some money, or I shall have no lodgings.” “That,” continued the witness, “is the last I saw of her.” That was on the Friday afternoon before her tragic death on Saturday morning. Tim Donovan came next. He was the deputy of the lodging house in which these women had lived - a thin, pale faced, sullen looking young man, with a plentiful lack of shirt collar and a closely twisted crimson scarf round his throat. He had not gone far before ha and the coroner got into a wrangle over the question as to whether a man who got up as late as a lodging house deputy was not justified in speaking of half past two p.m. as half past two in the morning. The coroner got the best of the argument and reprimanded the witness for his insolence of tone. Then things went on smoothly, and Donovan threw a lurid light upon the manners and customs of his people. Deceased, he said, had been very partial to the lodgers, by which, as it was explained, he meant that she was very sociable with them. He gave her a very good character, because in the course of the four months she had been in the habit of frequenting his house she had only had one row in the kitchen, in the course of which she had received a “clout” on the forehead and a bruise on the breast. Donovan's establishment appears to be designed for “married” people. He has only one single bed on each floor. All the rest are double with wooden screens round them, and eightpence a night is charged for each. Number 29 had been regularly occupied by the deceased, sometimes by herself and sometimes not. Donovan had sometimes refused to let her in. This was not because the rules of the house forbid anything objectionable, but he had been ordered by the woman's “husband,” the flitting pensioner, not to admit her in any company but his own. The watchman of the lodging house came next, a pallid youth whose duty it was to sit up all night. A curiously cropped head, a huge dirty white muffler round his neck, and a quiet, sphynx-like imperturbability of countenance were his chief characteristics. The only material point of evidence he gave was that the pensioner who had been in the habit of coming with the woman had called on Saturday, after the murder, to make inquiries about her. He was told what had occurred, and had gone away without saying a word. By this time rumours of important arrests had reached the Coroner's court. There was a buzz of excitement distinguishable from the pavement below, and the clock pointed towards luncheon time. In due form the Court was adjourned until two o'clock tomorrow, when the inquiry will be proceeded with. Yesterday, at the Working Lads' Institute, Whitechapel road, Mr. Wynne E. Baxter, coroner for South east Middlesex, opened an inquest into the circumstances attending the death of Mrs. Annie Chapman, alias Sievey, the victim of the murder. Inspector Helson watched the case on behalf of Scotland yard. Throughout the proceedings a shifting crowd of thirty or forty persons stood about the door, without, however, seeing anything of an exciting nature. In the neighbourhood of the mortuary when the jury went to view the body there was a larger crowd and some little excitement. The jury also examined the clothes worn by the poor woman at the time of her assassination, but they seemed eager to terminate the duty quickly, and soon returned to the Lads' Institute. In the course of the inquest considerable interest was aroused by the news that a man known as “Leather Apron” had been arrested on suspicion of being the murderer. The first witness called was the old man who found the body. He said his name was John Davis, and he had lived at 29 Hanbury street, Spitalfields, for rather more than a fortnight. He occupied with his wife and three sons one room on the top floor at the front. They all lived together, but the room was a large one. On Friday night he went to bed at 8 o'clock, and his wife followed him about half an hour later. His sons came home at different times, the last at about a quarter to 11. The window of the room was not open. He awoke at 3 o'clock on Saturday morning, and remained awake till five, when he fell asleep till he heard quarter to six strike by a neighbouring clock. Then he got up with his wife, who made him a cup of tea. After drinking it he went downstairs and into the back yard. The house was three storeys high. The front door in Hanbury street opened into a passage which ran right through into the back yard. There was a back door opening into the yard, and he did not believe that either of the doors could be locked. He had seen no lock on them, and had never known them to be fastened. Anyone who knew where the latch of the front door was could open it and go along the passage into the back yard. When he went into the yard on Saturday morning the back door was shut. The Coroner - Was it latched? The witness - I cannot say. I was too much upset. The front door was wide open. I was not surprised at that. I opened the back door and stood on the top of the steps. The Coroner - Before we go any further will you describe the yard? The witness - It is a biggish yard. Facing me on the opposite side of the yard, but to the left, was the shed in which Mrs. Richardson, who occupies part of the house, keeps her wood. On both sides are close wooden fences, about 5ft 6in high, separating the yard from others on each side. The Coroner - I hope the
police will supply me with a little plan. The case is of sufficient importance. Inspector Chandler - You shall have one after the adjournment. The Coroner - That may be too late. The witness (resuming) - Between the steps and in fence, on the left hand side, is a recess about 3ft 6in wide. As soon as I opened the back door I saw a woman lying in this corner. She was flat on her back, with her head towards the house but not touching it. Her clothes were disarranged. I did not touch her. I did not even go down the steps, but went back to the front door and called two men who work for Mr. Bailey, packing case maker, Hanbury street. I don't know their names although I know them by sight. The Coroner - Have they been identified? Inspector Chandler - Not yet. The Coroner - The witness must find them, either with the assistance of the police or of my officer. Did these men come to you when you called them? The witness - Yes. They were waiting outside their shop to commence work. They came along the passage and saw the sight without going into the yard. Then they ran to find a policeman. We left the house together, and I went to Commercial street police station to report the case. I did not inform any one in the house of what I had discovered. The inspector at the station sent two men off at once. After a while I went back to Hanbury street, but did not go into the house again. Constables were there then. I had never seen the deceased before. I was not the first one that got up in the house that morning because there is a man called Thompson who goes to his work about half past three. I have never seen women in the lobby of the house, but Mrs. Richardson says they frequently come in. I heard no noise about the place on Friday night or Saturday morning. I returned to the house about three o'clock on Saturday afternoon after leaving off work. Mrs. Amelia Palmer deposed that she lived at 30 Dorset street, Spitalfields, a common lodging house. Her husband was a pensioner, and she went out charing for the Jews. She knew the deceased well, having been acquainted with her quite five years. The body at the mortuary was that of Annie Chapman. She was the widow of the late Mr. Frederick Chapman, a veterinary surgeon, who lived in Windsor. He died about eighteen months ago. the deceased had lived apart from him for four years or more. She resided in various places, principally in common lodging houses in the neighbourhood of Spitalfields, but for some time she lived with the witness when the husband of the latter was in work. About two years ago she lodged at 30 Dorset street with a man who made wire sieves. At that time she was receiving 10s per week from her husband. It always came by P.O.O. to Commercial road, but the payments stopped about 18 months ago, and the deceased then found that her husband was dead. When she told the witness she cried. After living with the man that made sieves she was called “Sievey.” The witness had met the sieve maker twelve or eighteen months ago. He had left the deceased, and said he had gone to live at Notting hill. She last saw the deceased on Friday afternoon about four o'clock. She had seen her previously on Monday and Tuesday. On Friday afternoon the deceased was standing opposite the lodging house, 35 Dorset street. She had no bonnet or jacket on, and said she felt very ill. Her right eye was black, and the witness said “How did you get that black eye?” Instead of answering directly the deceased said, “Look at my chest,” and she showed a bruise there, Both bruises had been done by another woman who, like the deceased, was acquainted with a man called “Harry the Hawker.” The deceased told witness that on Saturday, Sept 1, she was with a man named ted Stanley, a very respectable person, in a beer shop at the corner of Dorset street and Commercial street. “Harry the Hawker” was also there. He was under the influence of drink. He put down a two shilling piece to pay for some beer, and the woman already alluded to picked it up and put down a penny. Harry the Hawker accused the woman of taking two shillings, and she had some ill feeling against the deceased because she believed that it was she who had told Harry the Hawker about the two shillings. The same evening she met the deceased and inflicted the bruises on her that the witness had seen. On Tuesday the witness met the deceased walking near Spitalfields Church. She said she felt “queer,” and should go into the casual ward to pull herself round. She was looking very pale. She had had nothing to eat that day. The witness said, “Well, I'm not doing very well; bet here is two pence. Get yourself some tea, but don't take any rum.” The witness had seen her the worse for drink many times. She used to do crochet work, make antimacassars, and sell flowers. The Coroner - Is it correct that she got money in the streets? The Witness - I am afraid that she was not particular how she earned her living. She has told me that she was out late at night sometimes. Continuing, the witness said that on Fridays the deceased used to go to Stratford to sell anything she had. She did not see her from last Tuesday till Friday, about five o'clock in the afternoon, in Dorset street. She appeared perfectly sober. The witness said, “Are not you going to Stratford today?” and the deceased replied, “I feel too ill to do anything.” Ten minutes afterwards she found the deceased still standing in the same place. She said, “It is no use giving way. I must pull myself together and get some money, or I shall have no lodgings.” She added that she had been in the casual ward. That was the last the witness saw of her alive. She was a very straightforward woman when sober and a very industrious, clever little woman in crochet and things of that kind. Although often the worse for drink, the witness did not think she could take much. She had been living a very irregular life during the whole five years that she had known her. Since the death of her husband she seemed to have given way altogether. Her mother and a sister lived in Brompton, but they were not on friendly terms with her. On Monday last, however, she said, “If my sister sends me the boots I will go hopping.” She had two children, a boy and a girl, and she often seemed downhearted about them. After her husband's death the deceased said that they were put into a school at Windsor. The Coroner, after reading a letter handed to him by the police, remarked that it appeared doubtful whether the husband of the deceased had been a veterinary surgeon. It was stated that he was really a coachman. Timothy Donovan deposed that he was deputy at the common lodging house, 35 Dorset street, Spitalfields. For the last four months the deceased lodged there, excepting that she was not there last week till Friday afternoon about two or three o'clock. She asked him if she could go into the kitchen. He replied, “Yes, but where have you been all the week?” She said she had been in the infirmary. Inspector Chandler - She had been in the casual ward. The Witness resuming, said the deceased went down to the kitchen, and he did not see her again till half past one or quarter to two on Saturday morning, when he saw her come in at the front door and go downstairs again. He sent to ask her about the bed. She came up, eating potatoes, and said, “I have not sufficient money. Don't let it, Tim. I shan't be long before I am in again.” The money required was eight pence for the night. When she left the house to get the money it was just before two o'clock. The next time he saw her was in the mortuary dead. She had had enough to drink on Saturday morning, but could walk straight. He remarked to her that she could find money for beer but not for her bed. Her reply was that “She had only been to the top of the street.” There was a public house there called The Ringers. The deceased did not say whether anybody had given her the drink; and he did not see her with any man that night. She had been in the habit of bringing a pensioner, whose name the witness did not know, to the lodging house on Saturdays. At other times she had brought other men to whom he had refused admittance, the pensioner having told him not to let her in with any other men. He did not see her with any man last week. The pensioner and the deceased were together at the lodging house on Sunday, Sept. 2nd. He was about 45 years old, of rather dark complexion, and about 5ft 6in or 5ft 8in high. Sometimes he was dressed like a dock labourer and at other times he had a gentlemanly appearance. The deceased was always on very good terms with the other lodgers, and the witness never had any trouble with her. Last week but one, however, she had a bit of a “row” with another woman in the kitchen. That was when she got the “clout.” He had not heard of the witness having any other “row.” John Evans, night watchman at the common lodging house, 35 Dorset s
treet, said that on Saturday morning last about a quarter to two he saw the deceased leave the house and go into Freshfield street, where she turned towards Whitechapel. He had no suspicion that anything was wrong, and watched her from curiosity only. He had heard her say that night that she had been to her sister's at Vauxhall. When she left the house she said that she had not enough money for her lodgings, but would go and get some. With the exception of the pensioner the witness did not know any man she had associated with. He was not acquainted with the pensioner's name or address. On Saturday morning he called and asked for the deceased, and when the witness told him she had been murdered he went straight out of the house without saying a word. The witness had never heard any man threaten her, and never knew her to express fear of any one. She was always sociable and quiet. There were many women in the lodging house, but he did not know that any of them had ever been threatened or asked for money by strangers. The inquest was then adjourned till two o'clock tomorrow.
