The Chieftain: Victorian True Crime Through The Eyes of a Scotland Yard Detective (47 page)

Other prosecution witnesses who yielded a positive outcome when cross-examined were Superintendent Williamson and William Pollard (Clarke’s principal point of contact over many years at the Treasury Solicitor’s office). On the subject of whether a telegram or letter should have been sent to Glasgow police on 3 October 1876, Williamson confirmed that telegrams were only sent where essential and that ‘if information had to be sent after bank hours with a view of stopping notes on the following day a letter would answer the same purpose as a telegram’. Pollard confirmed that he had never had the slightest reason to suspect Clarke.
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When it came to the defence witnesses for Clarke, those previously examined at the Bow Street hearings re-appeared. Their number was also added to by Clarke’s daughter Emily, and by Commissioner Henderson. Emily described the excursion that she had taken to the Isle of Wight in August 1875, during which her father had left her in Shanklin for half an hour while meeting Benson (a meeting that Clarke had never denied having).
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Commissioner Edmund Henderson’s evidence was consistent with the considerable trust placed in Clarke by his superiors:

I am the Chief Commissioner of Police – besides my having the superintendence and command of all the ordinary police business, there is business of a special and confidential character in my case relating to personages of State upon which reports come directly to me – in that sort of business I have for some years employed Inspector Clarke; he has been employed and trusted in matters of the most confidential character, and has been in the habit of making to me personal reports which would not pass into ordinary police work – so far as I have been able to form an opinion I have found him thoroughly trustworthy – I have never had the least cause to suspect either the information connected with his work or his want of faithfulness in any way at all – on 18th Oct., 1876, I had some communication with him with regard to a threatened attempt on the person of the Prince of Wales – the reports with regard to that matter were made on the following day, the 19th…
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When it came to Edward Clarke’s closing speech for Clarke’s defence, he has provided his own perspective:

My speech for Clarke was the most elaborately prepared of all my forensic speeches … My scheme was to throw all my strength into an exordium which might make the jury feel that such an accusation made against a man of stainless reputation and long-continued public service was really incredible. Then, when I came to deal, discreetly and not in too great detail, with the serious evidence against him, each of the twelve minds which it was my duty to influence would be predisposed, and even eager, to reject or explain away, or wholly to ignore, facts which were inconsistent with the conclusion at which it had already, if unconsciously arrived. The peroration was intended to sweep away any lingering doubts by the confidence of its rhetorical appeal for an acquittal.
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The advocate’s strategy was therefore similar to that earlier adopted by Montagu Williams for his client, Meiklejohn, which had contributed to Clarke finding himself in the dock in the first place. Would it now prove to be his salvation?

The last tense day of the trial was vividly described in the
Daily Telegraph
:

For forty-eight days, at Bow-street and at the Old Bailey, the trial of the detectives has dragged its slow length along, with the inevitable recurrence of the same facts, the same witnesses, the same arguments; and at the opening of the court yesterday – the last day of the trial – it really looked as if the excitement had exhausted itself. Everyone who possessed a curious mind or whose strange idiosyncrasy it was to watch the long mental agony of five of their fellow-creatures – unfortunate, however guilty; miserable, however innocent – had made himself or herself familiar with the features, the nervousness, the stolidity, or the anxiety, as the case might be, of the four police officers and the solicitor. Students of physiognomy have remarked on the undisturbed gloom which made Meiklejohn’s features a placid mask; had noticed the quick nervous changes playing over the lively face of the foreigner Druscovich; had likened the tall figure of Palmer to some well-drilled, non-commissioned officer in a line regiment; had watched the colour coming and going as Froggatt’s name was mentioned incidentally or directly; and had expended pity on the venerable look and gray hair of Clarke … At ten o’clock in the morning when the doors were undisturbed, when the passages leading to the court were comparatively free, when the barrister’s benches were half empty, and when it was possible to conduct the business of the court in order and silence, every seat allotted to the ladies had been secured. Ladies well-known in fashionable society, ladies related to the bench and the bar, ladies celebrated in art, had evidently postponed until the last moment their visit to a court of justice during a celebrated criminal trial. Though the very circumstances of the case prevented any idea of novelty or excitement during the summing-up, and though the plan of the learned judge was to deal with the evidence in order of witnesses, instead of in personal or chronological order, still it was clear that the ladies anticipated sufficient interest to reward them for sitting in the same seat for six or seven hours. The summing-up was anything but interesting even to the judicial mind. The evidence was wearisome from repetition, and the judge’s system necessitated constant allusion to the same circumstances. However, there were the prisoners exposed to the public gaze, and subjected to determined scrutiny. Whenever Druscovich stood up, whenever Froggatt sat down, whenever Clarke leaned upon his elbow, whenever Meiklejohn scrunched up a pen in his strong fingers, whenever a note was passed down from the dock to the barristers or solicitors, each one of these facts was duly recorded and whispered about by the unprofessional spectators in court. But as the lengthy list of witnesses was wearily exhausted, on one face only was seen a sign of expectancy or a ray of hope, and that was the face of Inspector Clarke. Anxiety seemed to fade from him as the end drew near. Meiklejohn never stood for a second. His features never relaxed their gloom. Druscovich and Froggatt were nervously anxious and apprehensively fidgety, were often whispering and constantly writing during the early morning hours. But Clarke’s face was comparatively cheerful and illumined with hope. When the hour for the adjournment came the case of the detectives was summed up and finished. The jury was fully charged as far as four of the prisoners were concerned. Froggatt’s was purposely kept apart by the judge all through, and this was taken after luncheon. And so without much solemnity, and with scarcely any deviation from an even and unruffled course, the jury retired to consider their verdict at twenty-five minutes past three.

The court was now full to overflowing. There were more people present – many more – than when the Penge convicts were sentenced to death. At the entrance to the bench there was not standing room. Barristers struggled to their seats with difficulty. Every avenue was blocked, and there were almost as many visitors standing as sitting. The counsel connected with the case returned to their seats, and all was anxiety, crowd, confusion, intolerable heat and expectancy. The jury only asked, through their foreman, for some documents to verify the handwriting of Palmer, and then they retired. At this moment there was – naturally perhaps – some little hesitation on the part of Clarke and Froggatt in following the other prisoners down the stairs into the gaol. Hitherto they had been on bail and up to this moment they were free men. Going down those stairs accompanied by the warders, certainly looked like going to prison, and both Clarke and Froggatt hesitated. They did more: they looked appealingly to Mr. Sidney Smith [Governor of Newgate Prison], who was in his old painful corner in the wide dock, as if to ask protection from this first step to gaol. But it could not be, and it was far better as it was; for who would willingly expose himself to the cruel gaze of a crowded court during those dread moments, when the jury is deciding the fate of prisoners? For then, when the judge is absent, when formality is comparatively at an end, the long pent up silence gives way to a period of what looks like heartless animation. There is a buzz of conversation, the usher indignantly calls to some daring personage instantly to remove his hat, the ladies are escorted into inner apartments for consoling cups of tea, there is an in-coming and out-going of City magnates in purple robes and chains of office. Anything but solemnity prevails while the jury deliberate in their room, and the prisoners wait below with visions of the treadmill and oakum-picking before their eyes. The more crowded the court the greater the gossiping; and if in a murder case actual levity is not restrained, how much less can silence be expected when it is whispered about that ‘after all they can only get two years’. Painters have given to us scenes of intense dramatic effect as conveying the horror and despair of those who ‘are waiting for the verdict’. But they are ideal. They do not occur at the Old Bailey when the rope is dangling in mid-air, and they are not expected when the ultimate doom will only be the crank and cropped hair. The prophets were true who anticipated that the deliberation would not be long. There had been plenty of time to consider the case in all its bearings before this, and there is one consolation in a long trial. It means a short deliberation. So the five o’clock tea was curtailed and the fashionable gossip was cut short by the arrival of the usher, who, fighting his way through a desperate crowd, announced that the jury would be back in three minutes. Back came the ladies, off went the obstinate hats, silence was emphatically pronounced, and at seventeen minutes past four the jury had returned, preceded by the young foreman, who held in his hand an ominous paper. This was the verdict. He had not returned to ask any questions as some asserted. The fate of the prisoners was now in the foreman’s hands. But now there was a painful interval. The prisoners were arranged in front of the dock, all terribly distressed and nervous. But the judge had not returned. It seemed a long time this delay to all in court. It must have seemed hours to the accused. The longer the delay, the more the whispering, and once more, when the red curtains were parted and the judge appeared, it was necessary to command silence authoritatively. At last the names of the jurymen are called over, and the Clerk of the Arraigns asks the dread question in order and in deep silence. Meiklejohn? Guilty. Druscovich? Guilty. Palmer? There is an anxious hesitation, and the young foreman, who is terribly nervous, wishes to go back and recommend Druscovich to mercy. So Palmer’s fate hangs in the balance, and the presentment of the jury is made commending Druscovich to clemency. Once more the questioning begins again. Palmer? Guilty. Once more there is some hesitation. Clarke? No; the foreman wishes to do everything in order, and goes back instantly to Palmer. He, too, is recommended to mercy, because he was not bribed. And now comes Clarke’s turn, and apparently the most anxious moment of all, for the silence deepens. Clarke? Not guilty. The words were scarcely uttered before a burst of cheering rang through the court – not from one corner. Not from gallery alone, not merely the delighted relief of friends; but a sudden, strong, sympathetic cheer. The authorities of the court tried vainly to silence the noise, and it required the firm, indignant voice of the judge to restore silence. The court was to be instantly cleared if such indecent exhibitions of sentiment were heard again. Instantly Clarke appreciated his position and fell back from the rank with a smile on his face. He looked young again, and beamed, as he stood back with folded arms, almost a free man. Froggatt, terribly agitated with all this delay and excitement, closes up, and bows his head as the question is asked. Froggatt? Guilty.
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Druscovich, Palmer, Meiklejohn and Froggatt were sentenced to two years’ imprisonment with hard labour, the maximum allowed for the offence committed, and inadequate punishment in the view of Judge Baron Sir Charles Pollock. As the jury had been charged with reaching a verdict on only part of the indictment, Clarke was released on his own recognisance of £100 to appear, if called upon, to answer other counts.

The Aftermath

By 13 December 1877, the decision had been made not to pursue any further charges against Clarke. His first task was to write to Edward Clarke:

I have much pleasure in informing you that all accusations against me have been withdrawn and I am now fully reinstated in my former position. I beg to thank you very much for the very able manner in which you conducted my defence. The Solicitor to the Treasury has been most grossly deceived by the woman, Mrs. Avis, as I most solemnly declare I never received a letter in her handwriting, the drafts of which she produced. I am informed by her own family that she was entirely a creature of the convict Benson, and would perjure herself to any extent to serve him. As to the evidence of the convicts, Kurr and Benson, I can only give it my solemn denial that ever I received even one penny at their hands, or ever gave them the slightest information.

Again thanking you most heartily.
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Clarke’s next task was to try to get his legal costs refunded, and he sent a memorandum to Commissioner Henderson, which was duly forwarded to the Home Office with Henderson’s support:

Having been acquitted of the serious charges preferred against me by the Solicitor to the Treasury, and being reinstated in my former position as Chief Inspector with full pay during my suspension: I beg in accordance with the recognised custom of the Service, to ask that Colonel Henderson will be kind enough to submit my application to the Home Office, that Mr. Secretary Cross may be pleased to authorize my legal expenses being paid out of the Police Funds.
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