THE CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT;--THE OLD BAILEY
CURRENT TRIALS.
At the corner of Newgate and Old Bailey streets, near Fleet street
and not far from Ludgate Hill, stands a modern building, officially
known as the Central Criminal Court, but popularly called "the Old
Bailey." It occupies the site of the ancient Newgate Gaol and Fleet
Prison, where, for nearly seven centuries the criminals of London
expiated their crimes. There they were tried and, if convicted,
hanged on the premises, or--a scarcely better fate--thrown into
Newgate Prison, which, from time immemorial, was so overcrowded, so
ill-ventilated and so poorly supplied with water that it was the
hot-bed of diseases designated as "prison fever." At a single
session of court the fever had been known to carry off fifty human
beings; not only prisoners, but such august personages as judges,
mayors, aldermen and sheriffs.
The present fine structure is exclusively a court house to which
prisoners are brought for trial and confined in sanitary cells
beneath the court rooms only while awaiting the call of their cases.
There are three courts: two presided over by judges called,
respectively, the Common Serjeant and the Recorder, together with
the Lord Chief Justice of England, or such other judge of the High
Court as may be designated for the month, who comes from his civil
work in the Strand Law Courts to try criminal cases at the Old
Bailey. Each month, also, two or three Aldermen and Sheriffs of the
City of London are scheduled for the complimentary duty of attending
their Lordships and entertaining them at luncheon.
The court rooms are rather small and nearly square. Like every
London court, they have oak panelled walls, and excellent
illumination from above by skylights; they are arranged with a high
dais--on which are the chairs and desks for the presiding judge, the
sheriffs, or for any guest--and they have the usual steep upward
slope of the benches for barristers on the one side and for the jury
on the other. Only the solicitors' table is at the floor level. This
arrangement brings all the participants in a trial more nearly
together than if they were distributed over a flat floor. At the
end of the room farthest from the judge is the prisoners' dock, a
large square box, elevated almost to the judge's level. This the
prisoner reaches by a stairway from the cells below (invisible
because of the sides of the dock), accompanied by officers, and he
stands throughout the trial--unless invited by the judge to be
seated--completely isolated from his barrister and from his
solicitor and can only communicate with his defenders by scrawling a
lead pencil note and passing it to an officer. A small area of
sloping benches, together with a very inadequate gallery, are the
only accommodations for the public.
If the visitor happens to be a guest of the Court, he will be
ushered in by a door leading to the raised dais and will sit at a
desk beside the judge. His eye will first be arrested by a small
heap on his desk of dried aromatic herbs and rose leaves and, while
speculating as to the purpose of these, he will discover similar
little piles on the desks of the presiding judge and sheriffs. He
will also observe that the carpet of the dais is thickly strewn with
the same litter. Vaguely it is suggested that the court room has
been used over night for some kind of a horticultural exhibition and
that the sweeping has been overlooked. Later, his astonishment,
however, is redoubled when enter the sheriffs and the judge each
carrying a bright colored bouquet of roses or sweet peas bound up in
an old-fashioned, stiff, perforated paper holder. The visitor
ventures to whisper his curiosity and he is then informed that, in
the former times, these herbs, and the perfume of fresh flowers,
were supposed to prevent the contagion of prison fever; and that the
ancient custom has survived the use of disinfectants and the modern
sanitation of prisoners and cells.
The opening of court in the morning and after luncheon is a curious
ceremony. The Bar and audience rise and, through a door
corresponding to the one by which the visitor has reached the
dais, enter the two sheriffs gowned in flowing dark blue robes
trimmed with fur. Then comes the under-sheriff in a very smart black
velvet knee breeches suit, white ruffled shirt, white stockings,
silver buckled shoes, cocked hat under arm and sword at side. The
sheriffs bow in ushering to his seat the judge, who is arrayed in
wig and robe, which, in the case of the Lord Chief Justice, or one
of the judges of the High Court, is of brilliant scarlet with a dark
blue sash over one shoulder, or in the case of the Common Sergeant,
is of sombre black. Each member of the court carries the bouquet
referred to and the whole group afford a dash of color strong in
contrast with the dark setting. The judge, having seated himself in
a chair--so cumbersome as to require a little track to roll it
forward sufficiently close to the desk--the sheriffs dispose
themselves in the seats not occupied by the judge or his guest, and,
later, they quietly withdraw. They have no part in the proceedings,
their only function being to usher in and out the judges, and to
entertain them at luncheon--the judges being by custom their guests.
The judge having taken his seat, the Bar and public do the same and
the business begins. There are usually two such courts sitting at
the Old Bailey--sometimes three of them.
At lunch time the sheriffs again escort the judges from their seats,
and all the judges, sheriffs and under-sheriffs, and any guests they
may invite, assemble in the dining-room of the court house for an
excellent, substantial luncheon served by butler and footman in blue
liveries with brass buttons, knee breeches and white stockings. The
luncheon table looks odd with the varied costumes, the rich blues,
the bright scarlets and the wigs of the party, who, no longer on
duty, relax into jolly sociability. Indeed one can not escape the
impression that he has in some way joined a group of "supes" from
the opera who are snatching a light supper between the choruses.
These are some of the picturesque features of the Old Bailey which,
at the same time, is the theatre of the most sensible and
enlightened application of law to the every day affairs of the
largest aggregation of human beings the world has ever seen.
While enjoying a cigar after luncheon with one of the
under-sheriffs, the voice of the Common Serjeant or Recorder is
heard at the door of the smoking room. Robed and armed with his
bouquet, he smilingly inquires if there are no sheriffs to escort
him into court. A hasty buckling on of sword, a snatching up of his
bouquet and a little dusting of cigar ashes from his velvet knee
breeches, prepares the under-sheriff for the function, and, preceded
by the sheriffs in their blue gowns, his Lordship bringing up the
rear, the little procession starts along the corridor and enters the
door leading to the judges' dais. The under-sheriff shortly returns
to finish his cigar but the guest tarries beside the judge.
The first case was a minor one--a charge of breaking and entering a
shop and stealing some goods. His name having been called, the
prisoner suddenly popped up into the dock at the far end of the
room with police officers on either side of him. Asked if he
objected to any of the jurors already seated in the box, he replied
in the negative and the trial began. The junior barrister opened
very briefly, merely stating the name, date, locality and nature of
the charge. Following him the senior barrister gave the details at
much greater length. These barristers were not, as with us, district
attorneys or state prosecutors. They are either retained by the
Treasury or, as the case may be, represent private prosecutors. The
judge was fully conversant with the evidence, as he had before him
the depositions taken at the Magistrate's Court.
In an English court, when counsel has finished the direct
examination of a witness, he does not say, as we do, "cross-examine"
or "the witness is yours", he simply resumes his seat as the signal
for the other side to cross-examine. Sometimes, a pause of the voice
simultaneously with a stooping of the barrister's head for a word of
suggestion from the solicitor below, leads his opponent to believe
he is seating himself and to begin to cross-examine prematurely.
Although in this case the plea was "not guilty," the charge was
practically undefended, and a prompt verdict of "guilty" followed.
Then came the important query from the judge to the police as to
whether the prisoner "is known"--was there a record of former
convictions? Learning that there was not, a sentence to eighteen
calendar months at hard labor followed a caution that if he should
be brought again before the court, he would be sent to penal
servitude. With a servile "If your Lordship pleases" he turned to
dive down the stairs, and, as he did so, with a grinning leer,
seized his left hand in his right and cordially shook hands with
himself--a bit of a gesticular slang which led one to think that the
police were not very well informed as to his previous experiences.
The next was a more important case. A clever but sinister-looking
Belgian, the master of several languages, was charged with obtaining
a valuable pair of diamond earrings by an ingenious swindle. Having
a slight acquaintance with a dealer in stones, he telephoned that a
friend of his was coming over to London from Paris to join his wife
and desired to present her with a pair of earrings. If the dealer
had suitable stones and would allow a commission, the Belgian said
he would try to effect a sale for him. He, therefore, arranged that
the dealer, at a fixed hour the following day, should bring the
stones to his lodgings for the Frenchman's inspection. The
appointment was kept and the two men waited for some time for the
Frenchman. Finally the latter's wife appeared and explained to the
Belgian in French--which the Englishman did not understand--that her
husband had been detained but would come by a later train, whereupon
she withdrew, and the conversation was interpreted to the
disappointed dealer.
Then the Belgian suggested that, if the dealer cared to leave the
stones, he would give a receipt for them and would either return
them or the money by half-past four. The dealer replied that
although he was quite willing to do so, he had partners whose
interest he must consult. The Belgian then produced a certificate of
stock in some Newfoundland Company, saying that it was worth as much
as the diamonds. The dealer consented to receive this as security
and he then left. Just before half-past four he was called up on the
telephone and told by the Belgian that he had made the sale and had
received the money in French notes which he would have changed into
English money. The dealer told him to bring the French notes, which
would be acceptable to him. That, of course, was the last he ever
saw of the money, the diamonds or the swindler, until the latter
was arrested some months later.
The leading nature of the direct examination, so marked in all
English courts, was conspicuous in such questions as the following:
_Q_: "Did the defendant telephone you about 4.15?"
_A_: "Yes, sir."
_Q_: "Did you recognize his voice?"
_A_: "Yes, sir."
_Q_: "Did you send an assistant to the defendant's flat
with a letter and was it returned to you unopened?"
_A_: "Yes, sir."
The Secretary of the Newfoundland Company having been called,
was asked: "Were the shares in defendant's name formerly in the name
of John Smith?" _A_: "Yes." _Q_: "Was there an order of court
forbidding their transfer?" _A_: "Yes."
Two pawnbrokers testified that, shortly after four o'clock, the
prisoner had brought the earrings to their shops and asked how much
would be loaned upon them and that, the sum offered being apparently
unsatisfactory, the Belgian took the earrings away.
_Defendant's barrister_: "My Lord, I submit, I've no case
to answer."
_The Court_: "Oh, yes, you have."
_Barrister_: "Well, if your Lordship thinks so."
The defence was cleverer than the original swindle in that it did
not attempt to deny the overwhelming evidence, but merely made the
story tally with an ostensibly innocent explanation. The Belgian
averred that he had himself been robbed by the Frenchman, with whom
he had but a slight acquaintance gained at the Paris races. He said
that the Frenchman had kept the deferred appointment and, though he
admired the stones, he thought them hardly worth the price,
whereupon the two had set off in a cab to obtain an opinion as to
their value. If thus assured, he was to make the purchase and
together they were to take them to his wife in a hotel near
Piccadilly. As it was late in the day, they failed to find a
French-speaking jeweller whom they sought, and it was suggested
that, as pawnbrokers were very cautious in loaning, two opinions of
that fraternity should be had. On stopping at the pawnbrokers'
shops, the Frenchman, being ignorant of English, said there was no
use of his going in as he would have to rely upon his companion's
interpretation and might as well sit in the cab. Thus, the visits
by the Belgian alone to the two pawnshops and the inquiry as to the
amount procurable as a loan, were duly accounted for.
According to the prisoner's story, the Frenchman, being satisfied,
proposed to pay in French notes and the Belgian entered a public
telephone booth to enquire of his principal if that would be
satisfactory, leaving the jewels with the Frenchman in the cab. When
he returned the cab was gone.
His intention having been to leave for the Continent the following
day, the Belgian said he had already notified the landlord of his
flat--which was apparently true--and had dispatched his effects in
advance. So, supposing that the Frenchman had gone to Paris, he
immediately followed on the evening train in the hope of identifying
him en route, or of finding him somewhere in that city. He swore he
did find him a few days later and caused his arrest, and that the
French magistrate declined to hold him because the crime had been
committed in England where there was no warrant out, and, hence, no
demand for extradition.
The weakest point in this ingenious fabrication was the prisoner's
failure to communicate with the owner of the diamonds during the
ensuing five months. This, and other discrepancies, having been
easily laid bare on cross-examination, a verdict of guilty was
quickly rendered.
The judge had hardly uttered the usual query whether the prisoner
was known, before an alert police inspector replied, "He is an
international swindler, well-known all over the Continent, wanted in
Berlin for a job of 20,000 marks, in Paris for another of 30,000
francs and elsewhere."
_Judge_: "Suppose we give him a few months and allow the
foreign police to apply for extradition?"
_Inspector_: "Well, Your Lordship, the trouble is that he
claims to have been born in Paris of English parents and
that he is, therefore, a British subject, and the French
police will jolly well accept his statement."
_Judge_: "That's very awkward. We'll give him twelve
calendar months and see what transpires."