Foul Deeds in Kensington and Chelsea

by John J Eddleston

  After the war was over, Christine’s war service was recognised by many of the countries she had served. She was awarded the George Medal by Britain, the Croix de Guerre avec Palmes, by France, and also a medal from her native Poland. She was also given an OBE. There was, however, one problem: Christine could not settle after the war and found it hard to find a position that suited her.

  For a time she worked as a saleswoman, in the dress department at Harrod’s store in London, whilst she lived at the Shelbourne Hotel, situated at 1 Lexham Gardens, Kensington. When that didn’t work out she took a job as a telephonist at India House, followed by a spell as a cloakroom attendant at a different hotel. Finally she took a new role, as a stewardess on a ship, the Winchester Castle, travelling between Britain and Australasia.

  In May 1951, Christine travelled to the docks in London to join her latest ship, the Ruahne, which was about to sail. As she struggled up the gangplank with her heavy suitcase, a small, smiling man stepped forward and offered to help her. The man identified himself as Dennis George Muldowney and he said that he was a bathroom steward on the same ship. A friendship developed, which was to last until February 1952.

  Though Muldowney would later claim that his relationship with Christine Granville was a full-blown, mutual love affair, it is highly likely that this was not the case. It may well be true that Muldowney fell hopelessly in love with the distinguished war heroine but, for her part, Christina saw him as a friend, nothing more.

  After the ship had completed its round trip to New Zealand, Christine returned to London. Muldowney followed and on one occasion, he and Christine went to see a film at the cinema. Unfortunately, Christine brought along another friend, a man, and Muldowney managed to convince himself that this other man was obviously Christine’s lover. By now she had realised that Muldowney was obsessed with her and, in April 1952, she told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave her alone. Indeed, she refused to tell Muldowney where she was staying in London, and broke off all contact with him.

  Muldowney was not to be dissuaded and determined on a course of action that would lead to tragedy. He bought himself a knife and a rubber cosh and began searching for Christine. He had decided that he would kill her and then take his own life by poisoning himself. Finally, in order to give himself time to find her, Muldowney left his job on the ships and took a position as a porter at the Reform Club in Pall Mall, London.

  There were a number of location where Christine was known to frequent in London, including a Polish club. To Muldowney’s dismay, however, she seemed to be avoiding those places and it was by pure chance that he eventually discovered that she was staying at the Shelbourne Hotel in Kensington. On Sunday, 15 June 1952, Muldowney bumped into a mutual friend, who told him where Christine was living. It was time to put the murder plan into operation.

  That same night, Christine went out for a meal with some friends. She had just decided to leave England and join Andrzej Kowerski, now known as Andrew Kennedy, who was living in Brussels. Her intention was to travel to Belgium the very next day. It was some time before 10.30pm by the time she got back to the hotel.

  Josef Taduesz Kojdecki was one of the hall porters in the hotel and he was on duty that night. He heard someone coming into the hotel and, looking around, saw that it was Christine. He heard her running up the stairs, and, just two or three minutes later, saw a man enter the hotel. He would later identify this man as Dennis Muldowney.

  Kojdecki went into the office for a minute or so and, when he came out, he saw that Christine had come back downstairs and was in the hallway, talking to Muldowney. Their conversation was none of Kojdecki’s business so he carried out with his work.

  In the hallway, Christine had found Muldowney waiting for her. He stood in front of her, blocking her way, and asked if she would give him back the letters he had written to her. Christine said she was unable to do so, as she had burned them all. She then repeated that she did not want anything more to do with him, and asked him to leave her alone. She then went on to say that she was leaving Britain the following day. Muldowney asked her how long she would be away and she replied that she would be gone at least two years. Without a further word, Muldowney took out the new shiny knife he had purchased, and plunged it into Christine’s chest.

  Christine’s dying scream brought two of the hotel porters rushing to her aid. One, Kojdecki, seized Muldowney and held him fast whilst his companion, Michal Perlak, telephoned for the police. It was all too late for Christine. The heroine of the Second World War lay dead on the floor of the Shelbourne Hotel.

  Having heard all this commotion, the hotel manager, Bronislaw Antoni Hryniewicz, came to see what all the noise was about. He saw Christine, lying on the floor, with a knife embedded in her chest, up to the hilt of the handle. Bronislaw took the knife out and threw it onto the ground. He also brought some water and tried to get Christine to take some but it was clear that she was dead.

  By the time Inspector Leonard Pearcey arrived at the hotel, it was 10.40pm. He found Muldowney being held, on the stairs, by Kojdecki and Perlak. Pearcey was with Constable Priest and Constable George Yarnold and the three officers escorted Muldowney into the lounge of the hotel. Having examined the scene and determining that Christine was dead, Pearcey said to Muldowney, ‘The lady is dead. What happened?’ Muldowney replied, ‘That’s the idea. I did kill her. She drove me to it. It is my knife.’

  A few minutes after this, Constable Yarnold was guarding the prisoner when he saw Muldowney take a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and put it to his lips. There was a glint behind the material and Yarnold saw that Muldowney was trying to take some white powder from a bottle. The officer knocked Muldowney’s hand away, and confiscated the bottle.

  Muldowney was held at the hotel for some time, while the police examined the scene. It was not until 2.45am on 16 June that Chief Inspector George Jennings arrived, to take charge of the prisoner. Told that he would be charged, Muldowney would only reply, ‘I killed her. Let’s get away from here and get it over quickly.’

  Muldowney was escorted to the police station and charged with murder. The following day, 16 June, Dr Francis Edward Camps performed the post-mortem on Christine, at Kensington mortuary. He reported a single stab wound, some five-eights-of-an-inch long, below the top of the breast bone. The wound was five inches deep and had cut the heart itself. Christine would have been dead before her body hit the floor of the foyer.

  Forty-one-year-old Dennis Muldowney faced his murder trial on 10 September 1952, before Mr Justice Donovan. The case for the prosecution was due to be led by Mr Christmas Humphreys but, in the event, his services were not required. Asked how he wished to plead to the charge, Muldowney replied, ‘Guilty.’

  The learned judge asked Muldowney if he were fully aware of the consequences of such a plea and advised him to seek legal representation. Muldowney said that he knew precisely what the consequences were, and confirmed that he did wish to plead guilty. Given every chance, to at least try to save himself, Muldowney persisted in saying he was guilty. He was then sentenced to death and as the judge intoned the final words, ‘…and may the Lord have mercy on your soul’. Muldowney replied, ‘He will.’ The entire trial had lasted just three minutes.

  Afterwards, the newspapers of the day were able to reveal something of the history of Dennis Muldowney. Born in Wigan, he had apparently had parents who were rather too fond of drink. There was no suggestion that they had mistreated their children, but Dennis had grown into a weak boy, who was frightened of the dark and of being alone. He had married in 1929 and had one son, but his wife divorced him in 1947 on the grounds of his cruelty. Apparently his sexual demands were too great, with Dennis often demanding sex three or more times each day. The wife had since remarried and her son, now twelve, knew nothing of his real father.

  Muldowney refused to enter an appeal or to petition for the death sentence to be lifted. Nor did he show any remorse for what he had done. In a final letter, dated 11 September, Muldowne
y wrote to his brother James, who lived at 64 Caunce Street, Wigan. In that letter he said, ‘She asked for what she got.’

  In the condemned cell, Muldowney could not have been described as a model prisoner. He showed contempt for his jailers, thinking them beneath him. He refused to get out of bed in the mornings, and often had to be forcibly dressed by the guards. He refused to go out on exercise, and complained that the food was of low quality.

  On Tuesday, 30 September 1952, Dennis George Muldowney was hanged at Pentonville by Albert Pierrepoint, assisted by Herbert Smith. He had been given a drop of seven feet, three inches. In fact, this was a double execution, Muldowney being hanged alongside Raymond John Cull, who had murdered his wife, Jean Frances Cull, in Northolt, Middlesex, on 29 June.

  Andrzej Kowerski, the man Christine had been planning to go to when she was killed, lived until 1968. He never married and, when he died, was cremated and his ashes were scattered near Christine’s, in London, at the Catholic St Mary’s cemetery. Finally, they were together.

  Chapter 36

  Kenneth Gilbert and Ian Arthur Grant

  1954

  There were two senior porters at the Aban Court Hotel, situated at 25 Harrington Gardens, in Kensington, and these two men took turns to do the night-shift. The first of these, John David Downey, was on the day-shift during the week beginning Monday, 8 March 1954 and he finished work, each evening, at 8.30pm. It was then that the other porter, fifty-five-year-old George Smart took over.

  Mary Magennis, a chambermaid, had worked at the Aban Court for the past two years. On 9 March, she had the afternoon off, but arrived back at the hotel at 10.45pm. As she went up to her quarters, she greeted George, who was sitting at the reception desk, reading a newspaper.

  A few minutes after this, at 10.50pm, the manageress of the hotel, Ethel Maud Robertson Bryston, also saw George at the reception desk. She too bade him a warm goodnight before going up to her rooms.

  On that particular Monday, the other porter, Downey, who also lived in at the hotel, decided that he would go out for a few drinks, after he had finished his shift. He returned to the hotel at 12.58am on Tuesday, 9 March, by which time, as was usual, all the doors were locked. Downey rang the front door bell and was admitted by George Smart. The two men exchanged goodnights and Downey then went up to his bed.

  Mary Magennis’s alarm clock went off at 7.00am on the morning of 9 March. She got dressed quickly and was downstairs at some time between 7.15am and 7.30am. She went straight into an area known as the servery and noticed, to her surprise, that the lights were still off. She quickly snapped them on and the sight that greeted her put all thoughts of work from her mind. There, on the floor, lay the bloody body of George Smart.

  The manageress, Ethel Bryston, was called for and, after seeing the awful scene for herself, rang for the police. Later, acting on police instructions, Ethel made a careful inventory of items that were missing and, during the period that she was making her notes, she found a man’s cap in the porch behind the front door. That cap did not belong to any of the hotel staff.

  Two police officers arrived at the hotel together. Constable Harold Roumph and Constable Mace took charge of the scene, until more senior officers could arrive. They noted that all the hotel doors were still locked.

  The police investigation soon showed that George Smart had opened the front door to a female guest at approximately midnight on 8 March. Of course, he had been seen alive almost one hour later, by John Downey, so it was obvious that the attack upon him had taken place after that time. It also became clear that the killer, whoever he was, had gained access by forcing a door into the coal cellar. The presumption was that Smart had disturbed the would-be thief and been battered to silence him. He had then been tied up and gagged and later, a post-mortem would show that the actual cause of death was asphyxia.

  Though theft had been the motive, the thief had not been a very successful one. A large quantity of cigarettes had been taken, but there was only £2 1s 9d in cash, which had been inside a drawer, and this had been forced open by means of a screwdriver. All the areas around the murder scene were dusted for prints but nothing was found, apart from prints that were to be expected to be there, such as the other members of staff. It looked like this might be a difficult case for the police to solve.

  In fact, it turned out to be nothing of the sort. Later that same day, a man named Donald Stuart Chapman walked into Waltham Green police station, with a left-luggage ticket. Chapman explained that he was working at Olympia, in connection with the forthcoming Ideal Home Exhibition. The ticket had been given to him by two men, who also worked there. They had confessed that they had robbed a hotel, killed a man and put the cigarettes they had taken into the left luggage office at Victoria station. They had asked Chapman to pick the cigarettes up and keep them at his house until the weekend. Chapman had agreed, but had then gone straight to the police instead. Finally, he gave the names of his two co-workers: Kenneth Gilbert and Ian Arthur Grant.

  A record check showed that both Gilbert and Grant were already known to the police. Grant, who had been born on 9 May 1932, had four previous convictions for larceny, shopbreaking, stealing and assault. Gilbert, born on 30 December 1929, had just one conviction, for stealing a car.

  After officers had collected the stolen property from Victoria, and checked out Chapman’s story, they decided to make the necessary arrests. At 1.00pm on 10 March, Detective Superintendent William Judge, Detective Inspector Victor Massey, and a number of uniformed officers, travelled to Olympia. The first person they found was Gilbert who, when told that he would be arrested on a charge of murdering George Smart replied, ‘I don’t know anything about it.’ Very soon afterwards, the officers approached Grant who, to the same charge retorted, ‘I don’t know what this is all about.’ Both men were then taken to Chelsea police station where, later that day, both made statements incriminating the other.

  The trial of Gilbert and Grant took place on 10 May 1954, before Mr Justice Glyn-Jones. Mr Christmas Humphreys and Mr Mervyn Griffiths-Jones detailed the case for the prosecution. Gilbert’s defence lay in the hands of Mr John Hazan, whilst Grant was defended by Mr Peter Crowder. The proceedings would last until 12 May and, in addition to murder, both men were charged with larceny.

  Dick Harness was a kitchen hand at the hotel. Part of his job was to clean up the servery area and he had done this on 8 March, during which time he left a kitchen cloth on a shelf in the room. After the murder, and once George Smart’s body had been moved, Harness cleaned the servery again. By now the cloth was missing. Later medical reports would show that this cloth was the one forced into Smart’s mouth, to silence him.

  John Woodward was the head porter at the Aban Court and had been there for six and a half years. He had checked the petty cash box and saw that there were some odd coppers scattered on the floor, close to the now empty box. In all, once this money had been taken into account, there was the sum of £2 1s 9d missing.

  Margaret Helen Edwards was the hotel’s head receptionist and part of her duty was to maintain stocks of cigarettes. On the morning of 8 March, she had checked the stock. There were two unopened packs of 200; one of Weights and one of Piccadilly. There were also packets of Players, Capstan and Churchman and, in all, some 700 cigarettes were missing by 9 March.

  Dr Jacob Arthur Gorsey had been called to the hotel at 8.10am on 9 March. He confirmed that George Smart was dead and, from temperature comparisons, calculated that the time of death had been at around 2.00am.

  William Edward Winkley was a cab driver and he was on duty during the early hours of 9 March. At some time after 2.00am, Winkley was on the cab rank outside the Buckingham Hotel in Cornwall Road, when two men walked up to his cab from the direction of the Aban Court.

  One of the men asked him to drive them to Kings Road. Winkley did as he was asked, dropping them just over the Stanley Bridge. One of the men got out immediately and walked off in the direction of Harwoods Road. The other paid the fare wit
h two half crowns before running after his companion. Having heard of the murder, Winkley had approached the police and had since made a positive identification of Gilbert and Grant.

  Harry Walter Humphrey, was a leading porter at Victoria station and, on 9 March, was working in the left luggage office from 6.00am until 2.00pm. Very soon after he had come on duty, a man had left a small wooden case with him. He had given the name Grant, and this name had been written on his ticket. Humphrey also made a positive identification of Grant as the man he had seen. He was present when police officers opened the box and saw that it contained a lot of cigarettes, including two unopened packs of 200.

  One of the most important witnesses was Donald Chapman, the fellow worker Gilbert and Grant had confided in. The first man to approach him was Grant who early on 9 March admitted that he and Gilbert had ‘done a job’ in a hotel and got themselves a few cigarettes. Later that morning, Gilbert had approached him, with the Star newspaper. He showed Chapman the article on the murder and said, ‘Don, what do you think I’ve done? I’ve done somebody in. I didn’t mean to do it. What shall I do?’

  For the rest of the morning, both Gilbert and Grant spoke to him a number of times about the robbery. Then, at around noon, one of them mentioned that the cigarettes were at Victoria station. Grant handed over the ticket and asked him to go to Victoria and collect the cigarettes. Chapman had, of course, taken that ticket to the police.

  After telling the court about the arrests, Detective Superintendent Judge spoke of events at Chelsea police station. He had interviewed Grant, who at one stage said, ‘I told Gilbert not to keep hitting him. When he showed me the paper and I saw the old man had died, I realised what we’d done.’

  At the same time, Inspector Massey was interviewing Gilbert. Massey told the court that right at the beginning of the interview, Gilbert had said, ‘I suppose he’s down there talking his bloody head off. I never should have taken him with me. You can get your pen out and start writing. I’ll make a statement and it will be the truth.’