OLD BAILEY DRAMA

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 4230, 15 October 1935, Page 7

OLD BAILEY DRAMA

MEN FIGHT IN DOCK FAMOUS HERMIT MURDER RECALLED When two murderers stand side by side in the dock the world is usually given a revealing glimpse of the real, not the romantic, ethics of crime, writes .) Donald Hall, in the ‘ Yorkshire Weekly Post,’ wlien recalling famous cases with which the late Mr Justice Avory was associated In fiction, on the stage or screen, the criminal who refuses to “ squeal ” has been glorified almost into a hero.

Mr Justice Avory knew more clearly than any judge how false this legend is. He recognised as a familiar experience the spectacle of two prisoners who might be strong and brutal enough in the passionate moment of crime, but yet would turn, one against the other, in the bleak atmosphere of the Assize Dock The late Mr Justice Avory tried many couples on the capital accusation and used his fine brain to clarify the conflicting legal issues which always arise when two prisoners are indicted on the one grave charge. No trial ever revealed his capacity for marshalling awkward evidence more clearly than “ the Muswell Hill Murder,” in which he was entrusted as junior counsel, with the difficult task of steering a complex case for the prosecution. The case attracted a great deal of attention. Here are the facts as they were outlined by the then Mr Horace Avory, both in the police court and at the Old Bailey.

AN OLD MISER’S HOME. Henry Smith was a bit of a miser. He lived in Muswell Lodge, London, a big enough house, through which he shuffled, a pale old spectre of 79. The Lodge was big enough for a retinue of servants, but Henry Smith would have none. Grudgingly ( he employed a gardener, but even this man was not allowed to sleep at the Lodge. The old man was terrified of burglars, and had fixed spring guns in the garden Comforted by this precaution he would sleep alone after the gardener had gone One day in February, two men, typical ne’er-do-wells, got together and began to speculate on the fortune which old Henry Smith might have hidden in his Muswell Hill home. One of these men was named Henry Fowler. He was a brutal character with an evil face, stamped with the worst kind of human passion. His associate was Milsom. He was smaller, more cunning, shifty even in his friendship with Fowler. They decided upon February 13 —an ominous date! —as the night on which they would attempt to break into Smith’s house. It was Fowler who did most of the rough work in entering the house. The two men crept round the back, removed the flower pots from the window sill, and Fowler opened the window with a chisel. He climbed inside and stealthily moved around. Milsom. watching intently, suddenly started as he saw a shaft of light wavering beneath the door. Someone was coming dowrf the stairs. i

THE FATAL NIGHT. “ Out you come, Bunny,” he whispered fiercely to Fowler. “ There’s somebody coming!” Fowler did not move. He stood still as a statue while a key grated into the lock and the door slowly opened. The old man stood revealed. His eyes widened. His mouth opened to shout. And then Fowler fell on him with the ferocity of a tiger. He was helpless beneath the storm of blows. The old man of nearly 80 cried: “Police!’ and “Murder!” Then he collapsed Fowler did not cease his attack until Henry Smith was dead. Now, there is a divergence of stories. For, whereas Milsom insisted that he had dashed away when the struggle began and only returned after the old man was dead, Fowler swore that Milsom had been present all the while and had in fact, helped to kill Smith. However, the two men stood face to face over the body. And there can be little doubt that Milsom, .the weaker of the two, first lost his nerve. Then they both went upstairs and searched in the dead man’s trouser pockets until they found the key of the safe In the safe they discovered—not the treasure they almost certainly imagined, but only £ll2 in a bag, some silver, and a few articles of jewellery. They did not touch the iewellery because they feared it might lead to their detection. Fowler went to the kitchen, washed himself, and tried to rub the blood from his coat with a towel.

A DEADLY CLUE. They fled through the back of the house and into the blackness of Coldfall Woods. They were the clumsiest of criminals, for they left behind them in the kitchen sink, at Muswell Lodge, a tobacco box and a dark lantern. This lantern was fitted with a strip of flannelette as a wick, .lust a flimsy piece of material—yet it was to grow into a hempen rope. This is an almost unbelievable blunder when it is remembered that they two murderers had been careful enough to remove the wire from a spring-gun before they entered the house.

The lantern was proved to belong to Milsom’s sixteen-year-old brother-in-law who had inserted the flannelette as a wick and had looked in vain for his lantern on the night of the murder. FTe asked Milsom what had happened to it, and Milsom, revealing again his almost idiotic shortsightedness, replied: “ Ft pretty well caught us on fire.” “ What do you mean?” asked the brother-in-law. “ Where did it catch you on fire?” Milsom shook his Head. “ If anybody asks you where that lantern is,” he said, “ say you broke it and chucked it in the dusthole.”

THE TRUTH ALONE. Mr Horace Avory marshalled his facts like a regiment of soldiers at the police court hearing. He knew that if he presented the case fairly, two cowardly murderers could not escape the gallows. Ho had seized upon the fact, as part of his case, that a woman’s leg in gold had been among the articles of jewellery which the dead man had possessed. That article was pawned in Swindon some time after the murder. Mr Avory said he would prove Fowler pawned it.

And then the millionth chance intervened Police inquiries elicited the fact that this golden leg belonged to

someone else. Fowler had nothing to do with it. At once Mr Horace Avory went out of his nay to clear the ers of all responsibility. The truth-, and the truth alone, would be enough to hang them. He did notT bank on unproved probabilities. The two men stood side by side in the dock. Until that moment they were seemingly united in a common silence, determined to fight togethei against the gallons. But. although Fowler did not Know it, when the police court hear,ng began Milsom had turned Queen’s evidence and had made a statement hrowing the entire blame upon Fowler!

betrayed: It must have been a fearful monent . neii Fowler first knew of his beayal. All the passion that had led .dm to the crime boiled up within him. ine court swam about him. He colapsed in the dock and fell in a heap, is hands still in the steel cuffs.

When the hearing continued, it was mvious that Fowler’s rage was slowly simmering against his associate. He ..eterruined to be revenged. And he • uade the following statement: —

“ My pai, the dirty dog, has turned Queen’s evidence . . . but 1 can tell a tale as well as he. There was £ll2 in the bag in the safe, and 1 gave him £5-‘l and some odd shillings, which was an equal share of the money, after what 1 had spent. Is it likely that 1 should give that to a man who stood outside? He put his foot on the old man’s neck until he made sure that he was dead, and then we went upstairs—he first—and found the old man’s trousers, with the keys of the safe in the pocket. But thieves will cut one another’s throats for half a loaf.” The men were sent to the Old Bailey for trial. So skilfully had Horace Avory conducted the preliminary prosecution that he was made junior to Mr C. F. Gill, who prosecuted.

PANDEMONIUM. Mr Justice Hawkins delivered a summing-up which could lead to only one verdict. “ You will retire and consider your verdict,” he ended, and left the bench. There was a moment’s pause. Then pandemonium broke loose. For Fowler, whose rage had been slowly boiling all these hours, jumped up in his place and threw himself at the man who had betraved him.

His sudden dive was so unexpected that the warders were taken by surprise. Fowler’s clutching hand entwined itself in Milsom’s hair. A chair crashed, and Milsom, shouting with fear, fell heavily to the floor of the dock. Then the constables and warders closed in.

Milsom was hustled beyond the reach of his raging associate and taken to the cells. Fowler, seeing the man escape, gave a hoarse cry of fury and hurled himself like a madman after him Six warders could hardly check the furious energy of his rush. The knot of men in the dock struggled like a Rugby team. There was a splintering crash as the glass panels around the dock fell to pieces. People in the public gallery were on their feet shouting with excitement.

Sixteen minutes later the court was calm. The two men stood once again side by side. Four warders huddled about Fowler, watchful of his slightest movement. Three others guarded Milsom.

The verdict was “ Guilty.” Mr Justice Hawkins sentenced the two men to death.