The Edlingham Burglary, or circumstantial evidence

Preface

. On November 14th, 1888, the Home Secretar3r stated in the House of Commons that the circumstances of the Edlingham Burglary case are ,f most singular and unprecedented." In the following pages I have endeavoured to give a truthful representation of those circumstances. In every material point I believe the facts and conversations are substantially correct. At first I had intended to publish the book under a nom de fflume, and therefore have spoken of myself throughout in the third person. But at the earnest request of my publishers, I have consented to avow the authorship. As far, therefore, as I can give it; the public have my guarantee of the correctness of the narrative in all its main points. Jevon J. Muschamp Perry, February, COPY OF THE PARDON". Victoria Reg. Whereas Peter Murphy was convicted of Burglar}* at the Northumberland Assizes, held at Newcastle on-Tyne, on the 22nd of April, 1879, and was sentenced to Penal Servitude for the Term of his Natural Life.

We, in consideration of some Cir cumstances Humbly Represented unto Us, are graciously pleased to extend Our Grace and Mercy uuto him, and to grant to him Our Free Pardon for the Crime of which he was convicted. Our Will and Pleasure, therefore, is that you take due Notice hereof. Given at our Court at St. James, this 26th day of November, in the fifty-second year of Our Reign. Henry Matthews. By Her Majesty's command. *#* Brannagan's pardon was in precisely the same terms, the name being altered. The Royal Seal was attached, and the Queen's sign manual is written at the top of each document.

Chapter I

" Who's there ? " Such was the exclamation uttered by a lady standing at the top of the staircase at Edlingham Vicarage, about one o'clock on the morning of February 7th, 1879. She had just emerged from her bedroom, aud was in her night-dress. In appearance she was rather above medium height, about thirty years of age, with dark hair and deep brown eyes, and the set of her countenance, and the lines of her mouth showed unmistakably that she was not a person to be trifled with. She had heard a noise in the lower regions. At first she thought it was a rat, and stamped with her foot ; for a moment the noise ceased, but then went on again more vigor ously than before. There were men in the house. She listened again, and was convinced that they were trying to force open the drawing-room door, which was locked from the outside.

The only occu pants of the house, besides herself, were her father, the Vicar of Edlingham, the Rev. M. H. O. Buckle, a venerable old gentleman of seventy-seven, his wife, an invalid, the cook, Jane Brown, and two or three other women servants. Entering her father's room, she shook him by the shoulder, and woke him up. "Father, father, get up, there are men in tht house, and they are trying to break open the drawing-room door." B '■Eh, what? " said the old gentleman. " There are men in the house, I tell you, and they are trying to break open the drawing-room door." Up he jumped without the loss of a moment. Lighting a candle that was by his side, he slipped on a dressing-gown. " Where's my sword ? " said he. " Surely, father, you are not going down?" '■Oh, but I am," he replied. "You go and lock yourself in your room, or stay here by your mother."

" No, no," she said, " if you go, I will go with you." The discussion waxed hot and furious, but go she would, so he let her have her own way. Taking his sword in one hand, and a candle in the other, he then proceeded to descend the stairs, followed by his daughter. Meanwhile the burglars had succeeded in opening the drawing-room door, and had proceeded into the dining-room. The two rooms were separated only by a wall, the doors being close together, and both opening into the room. They directly communicated with a passage which led to the front door, and the bottom of the stairs was nearly opposite the dining room door. The stairs themselves were divided by a small, square landing, the lower stairs being at right angles to the upper, and it is only when this landing is reached that a fair view into the dininc room, with the door open, can be obtained.

Arrived at the landing, the old gentleman peered into the dining-room, and there he saw, standing, as he afterwards declared, "like soldiers in a line," between the door and the dining-table, two men one of them having either a single-barrelled gun, or an iron bar, held slantingly across his legs. The man with the gun, for such it was, had a candle in his left hand, but the instant he saw Mr. Buckle's licdit on the stairs, he blew it out, and threw it under the table. " Who are you ? " said the brave old vicar, still descending the stairs, and followed hard by his daughter. There was an ominous silence, and the door of the room, which, till then, was pretty wide open, was partially closed. The vicar still pressed on, and was on the point of entering the room, within two or three feet of the door, when there was a loud explo sion and the candle fell from his hand with the shock, and they were left in total darkness.

A moment after, and the dining-room door was closed in his face. " Are you hurt, papa ? " exclaimed Miss Buckle, rushing forward to his side. "Merely grazed," he replied. He had scarcely uttered the words when the dining-room door stealthily opened, and a figure, bare-headed and crouching low, tried to rush past them. " You scoundrel ! " shouted Miss Buclile, seizing him by the hair. The old gentleman made a lunge at him with his sword, but, in the darkness and excitement, either missed him, or passed his weapon between the man's arm and his body. " Hold on to him ! " said her father, at the same time making a grab at him with his left hand. " Oh, I can't, he's gone ! " she exclaimed, as the man shook her off, and bolted into the drawing room. She had just time to see him disappearing through the half-open window the burglars had broken in by, and then, returning into the passage, she pinioned her father's arms from behind, and held him in her powerful grasp, as he was about to rush at the other burglar in the dining-room. • " Let me go !

" he shouted ; " let me go and tackle that fellow ! " " No, father, no. He'll kill you ; he's got the gun. Go upstairs ! ." b " I won't, I tell you. Let me go, I order, I com mand you, as your father ; let me go and run the villain through the body before he has time to load again." Thus shouting and struggling with each other, "whirling round and round in the darkness," as he afterwards described it, she holding him back, and he struggling to be free, father and daughter, — both bleeding from their wounds, as it turned out, with the remaining burglar hard by in the dining-room, stamping about and making furious but futile efforts to open the shutters of the windows, — had about as strange a tussle in that dark passage in the small hours of the morning as ever fell to the lot of the chronicler to record.

Strange it may appear, but literally true ; and the end of it was that he had his way, and forced her to release him and go upstairs herself. Having thus got rid of his incubus, the old man, with marvellous courage, entered, alone and single-handed, into the pitchy darkness of the dining room, to settle matters, if possible, with the man who had fired the shot. He made several lunges with his sword, and succeeded in piercing only his own dining-room table-cloth. Once or twice he touched the burglar, but never wounded him ; and little he knew for years afterwards, how, for the second time that night, he had been as near as any mortal man approached to the jaws of death. Once and again the burglar, unseen in the darkness, clubbed his gun and raised it to dash the vicar's brains out. O^ice and again he lowered it, hesitating to take life.

Had the brave old man persisted, aud blocked the bur glar's escape, doubtless the gun would have been raised again in grim earnest and savage fury, to lay him dead upon the floor of his own dinino--r0o'm ■ for little though he knew it at the time, he was really in the hands of a brute so powerful and savage that the whole neighbourhood stood in terror of his name. Fortunately for the old man, he desisted in time, and left the room and went upstairs. Out then rushed the burglar from the dining-room into tho drawing room, and, with a clean jump through the open window, he fell on his hands and knees on the soft mould of the garden, and was up and off as hard as he could tear. Let me now explain how all this came about, The previous evening two men, Charles Richard son and George Egdell, left Alnwick on a poaching expedition.

They were both well known to the police. The convictions against Egdell were not of a very serious character, but he had been fined several times for poaching. In that art he had obtained a considerable reputation. He was also a well-known runner, and many scores of pounds he had won in village foot-races in the neighbourhood. On one occasion he was summoned for poaching in Earl Grey's woods at Howick, some six or seven miles to the north-east of Alnwick, and the defence he had set up was an alibi. He had covered the distance in so marvellously short a time, after being seen by the keepers, and shown himself in Alnwick, that he argued it was impossible to have been at Howick at the time alleged by the keepers, and to have been at Alnwick at the time he met and spoke to people there. However, the keepers said they had plenty more evidence if the magistrates would remand the case for a week.

This was done, but when the case came on again for hearing, no Egdell appeared. He knew he must be convicted, and he knew also that all the Howick keepers would be at Alnwick to give evidence. So he enjoyed a day's sport in quietly raiding the Howick preserves in their absence, to provide the wherewithal to pay his fine — which he did — with a handsome margin into the bargain. He was a spare, thin man, about five feet eight in height, with only a slight moustache. Richardson, on the other hand, was a man of a totally different build. Nearly six feet high, and broad in proportion, he had all the massive strength of a bull. His head and shoulders might well be compared to those of a bison. There are, I believe, at the Alnwick Police Station, three foolscap sheets crammed with convictions against him.

He was arrested for the murder of P. C. Gray at Eglingham a year or two before the events I am relating occurred, but w*as discharged for want of legal proof. In one poaching affray he had had his leg gnawed so that it presented the appearance of a shin of beef, by a large retriever dog, and his head split open by a keeper with his own gun, which was broken clean off between the stock and the barrel by the force of the blow. When caught by a policeman with hares in his possession as he came into Alnwick from his favourite pastime, he raised his gun and threatened to do for him as he had done for the other d d brute. All round the country side his name was a terror. Hinds and gamekeepers kept dogs and went armed at night as a protection against him. For many years he had done no work, but lived at other people's expense, either by depredations on society when at large, or by the contributions ofthe rate payers when in jail.

It is doubtful whether at any time during this century the town of Alnwick had seen his equal for strength, ferocity, arid despera tion. Such, then, were the two men — Richardson armed with his favourite single-barrelled gun — who wended their way westward, and across the Alnwick Moor, on the evening of Thursday, February 6th, 1879. They were out for a night's poaching, but the subject of breaking into the Rev. Mr. Buckle's vicarage had often been talked over by them before. Some seven years previously Egdell had been employed for a season as a gardener there, and therefore* knew the house and the premises. Richardson often reminded him of this, and proposed to make use of his local knowledge for their joint advantage. Egdell's mother had died only the month before, and during her lifetime he would not do it.

In crossing the moor they avoided the main road, and kept over the freemen's acres, and so, by Glcnallan aud Over thwarts, to Birsley AVood, which lies about balsa mile to the north of Edlingham vicarage. On their way they had stolen an old potato or guano bag from an outhouse to carry their game in. Arrived at Birsley Wood, they commenced a search for pheasants. They were singularly unfortunate. The moon was shining brightly, but they could find none. " Weel, Charlie, man," says Egdell, after they had searched the wood in vain, " we maun just gae hame empty." "Blessed if I will," replies the amiable Charles, " let's gae to Buckle's, and see what we can get there. You auld man canna dae onything, and, besides him, there's only a lot of weemen folk in tho hoose." And so they made it up. They were clumsy burglars, and their work would have disgraced any city cracksman, but before reaching the house they had the sense to muffle their feet by tearing into strips the old bag they had stolen, and tying three or four of the strips securely round their feet to guard against any identification of their footmarks.

Thus prepared they came round to the front of the house and reconnoitered. One of the windows of the drawing room is just to the left of the front door, as you face it, and looks towards the east, and by this window they determined to make their attempt. But they thought it safer to allow a little more time for the inmates to get into a sound sleep, so they went round to the back of the house, aud put off a little time. In one of the outhouses they found an old chisel, and this Richardson possessed himself of. Then they went into the little plantation at the back of the house, and sat down for a while. Shortly before one o'clock they went round again to the front of the house, and commenced operations. The window was a low one, and to open it was an easy task. They had only to insert the chisel between the two sashes, and shove back the hasp, and the thing was done.

The shutters presented little more difficulty. A steady push by both men caused the fastenings to give way, but it was probably the noise of this that first awakened Miss Buckle— although she may not have been aware of it. Richardson was the first to enter the room, and, after he had lighted a candle, Egdell came in. Opposite the window by which they had entered was a davenport, with some small drawers in it. They ransacked the desk and drawers thoroughly. " Hi, Charlie," said Egdell, " here's some five pound notes," producing two papers he took out of a drawer. " You big fool," said Richardson, looking at the papers, " can you no see the difference atween five pun notes, and dog licences ? " Egdell turned away in disgust, and his eve roamed round the room for plunder. Presently lie saw a lady's gold watch, hanging on a brass tripod on the mantelpiece.

" That's for me," said he, making a rush for it. " Na, I'm for that," said his burly partner, giving him a push and making a grab at it. Egdell had just time to see that it had a short chain with large links, and a seal, or trinket, of some kind attached to the chain, before it disappeared into his companion's pocket. The drawing-room had yielded little. The bank notes turned out to be dog licences, and only a few coppers and two or three threepenny pieces resulted from the riding of the desk. There was a pair of opera glasses which Egdell *vas inclined to take, but, by Richardson's advice, he left them. On trying the door they found it was locked from the outside, on discovering which Richardson leaned his gun against the wall, and proceeded to open it by cutting away the woodwork with his chisel and forcing back the lock. It was while they were engaged in this opera tion that Miss Buckle called out, " Who's there ?"

Chapter II

On leaving the house, after Miss Buckle had had a pull at his hair, and Mr. Buckle a poke at him with his sword, George Egdell made his way, with all speed, to his home at Alnwick. Of course he avoided the roads. He was not an experienced burglar, but he was far too " fly " to leave his foot marks behind him. For a mile and a half or two miles after leaving the vicarage he kept the canvas on his feet. The roads were in a particularly soft condition. A sudden thaw had set in after a hard frost. There were patches of old snow under the dykes, but otherwise the country was clear. He took a straight line across country, over the grass fields and heather, which told no tales. Passing Rugley, he soon found himself at Greensfield, where was a narrow lane that led to his home in Clayport. That part of this lane which lies at the back of Clayport is flanked on one side with houses, and on the other with a high wall, besides which it is flagged, so that the footstep is particularly resonant, The entrance to his house lay about half-way down this flagged lane, in one ofthe passages which lead from it into the broad street of Clayport.

He occupied an upper room in atenemented house here. In this house there are four rooms, each occupied by a different tenant. On the ground floor, on the right, as }*ou enter, there lived a dressmaker, unmarried, by name Mary Ann Crooks. Up the stairs, and imme diately above her, lived Egdell and his wife and children. In the room on the ground floor, on the left, lived Egdell's father and mother, a niece of his named Margaret Mills, and a nephew of his named John Egdell. Both of the latter were grown up. In the room above this, up the stairs on the left, there lived a man of the name of Thomas White, a roadman, and his wife, and the window of White's room looked into the flagged lane already mentioned. White's door and Egdell's door were immediately opposite each other on the same stair-head, only separated by a narrow landing.

It is necessary to bear in mind this disposition of the house, and the occupants of the different rooms ; and it should be added that the house itself is of the poorest description, with rickety stairs, and so unsubstantial that whatever goes on in one of the upper rooms can mostly be heard in the next, and in the room below, in the silence of the night. *' Maggie, wummun, what's that ? " said White to his wife, about half-past three that morning. " It's a mon comin' doon the back lane," replied Maggie, as the sound of footfalls fell on her ear. " It'll likely be Geordie Egdell," said Tom ; " I'll warrant he's been oot the nicht. He's just aye poachin', and I'm thinkin' he'd better be at hame." And Geordie Egdell sure enough it was. They heard him enter the passage, ascend the rickety stairs, go into his own room, and lock the door.

Directly he entered his wife rose, and by the dim light of the fire she saw there was something wrong. He was very pale., and trembled violently. "Why, Geordie," said she, "what's the matter?" " Oh, Alice," he said, " we've been to Buckle's, and Richardson fired a shot." " And is it murder ? " asked his wife. " I don't know," said he, " I hope not." And man and wife threw their arms round each other's neck, and had a good cry. Their youngest child — little Maria — who was afterwards to play an important part in this narrative, was then lying in the bed, only three months old. But they knew there was no time to lose. First they made up the fire, and dried his trowsers. He had hid his jacket in his garden. Then they put his boots under the bed, and placed a dry pair near the fire, and Alice went down to Margaret Mills below, and made her promise that if the police came and asked for George, she was to say that he had not been out that night.

Then they went to bed. The expected visit was not very long deferred. About half-past five, two sets of heavy footsteps were heard ascending the rickety stairs, and a knock at Egdell's door told him that the expected but un welcome visitors had arrived. " Who's there ? " cried Mrs. Egdell. " Police," a voice answered ; " open the door." " Get up, Geordie," said Alice, " it's the poliss." Geordie obeyed, put on a pair of trousers, and leisurely opened the door. In walked two stalwart policemen. " Let's see your boots," said one. The boots were produced, and, being dry, seemed to give satisfaction. Next his trousers were exa mined, and these also were found to be dry. "You can go to bed again," said the policeman, "it's all right," " But what's the matter ? " inquired Mrs. Egdell. " Oh, never mind," was the reply, "you'll know in the morning."

And with this the officers of the law took their departure, quite satisfied that they would have to search elsewhere for the culprits. That morning Egdell and his wife tore his jacket to strips. The last we saw of Richardson was when that lamb-like creature was rising from his hands and knees, after his sprawling leap out of Mr. Buckle's drawing-room window. He also thought it advis able — without making tracks — to make the best of his way to Alnwick. The route he chose was some what different to the line taken by Egdell. Of course he kept to the fields and avoided the road, but, on leaving the vicarage, he kept almost due north to Overthwarts, and thence round the hill by Lemmington Hall to Lemmington Bank Top, where he joined the Red Road, leading to Rugley, and thence across country to the Parish quarries near the top of Clayport.

Here he hid his gun and powderflask, together with the watch and chain he had so uncere moniously appropriated to himself. From there he made across the moor to the Forest Lodge, and thence through the gardens to the west of Canongate into his own room, in one of the slums of that unsavoury locality. In order, however, to. destroy any tell-tale footmarks near his home, he had taken the precau tion of taking off his boots and walking through the gardens in his stockinged feet. The only inmates of his house besides himself were his two children, the eldest being only nine, and these were fast asleep when he came home, shortly before four in the morning. His first operation was to make up the fire, and to place thereon his boots, trousers, and stockings. Having, as far as possible, reduced them to ashes, he next put another pair of boots and clogs under the table in full view of any one entering, sought out another pair of trousers, and went to be! to await the inevitable visit of the " Poliss."

Between five and six they came, duly inspected, at Mr. Richardson's invitation, the trousers, boots, and clogs, but omitted to rake out the ashes of the fire, and told that gentleman to "go to bed again," as "it was all right;" and, to his surprised inquiry of, "What's the matter?" they returned the same answer which they had given to Mrs. Egdell, that he " would know in the morning." Meanwhile, the inmates of the vicarage had not been idle. The first thing that claimed attention was Mr. Buckle's wound. He was found to have been shot in the right shoulder, although not very seriously. An examination of the marks made by the shot showed afterwards that part of tho charge had struck the jamb of the dining-room door, and cut out almost a clean, small hole. The muzzle of the gun, therefore, must have been within two or three feet of the jamb, or the shots would have been more scattered.

These shots having struck the jamb, glanced, and some of them struck Mr. Buckle's shoulder. Others struck the wall of the staircase, and one of them struck Miss Buckle in the lower part of the body, and inflicted what might have turned out a very dangerous wound. The rest of the charge, which did not strike the jamb of the door, must have passed within a very few inches of Mr. Buckle's head, and made a hole in the wall of of the passage leading to the front door. The wounded shoulder having been bathed, the next thing to do was to alarm the village, and send into Alnwick to summon the police and a doctor. Again Miss Buckle's courage came to the front. She had followed her father down-stairs to encounter the burglars, and now she would go out to despatch a messenger to Alnwick. Accordingly, hurrying on some clothes, down she sped through the garden to a little farm-house by the side of the burn, some five hundred yards aw*ay, occupied by Mr. Mordue.

Soon the little household w*as aroused, and the events of that fearful night narrated in their astonished ears. "And are you afraid, John," said she, addressing the farmer's son, a young man of five-and-twenty, -" and are you afraid to mount your horse and ride into Alnwick, and call the police and Dr. Wilson ? " "Not I, ma'am," replied John, "I'll go. The burglars will be kind o' skeered themselves, I dare say, and will not be waiting for me." " All right, then. Saddle your horse as quickly as you can, and send out Dr. Wilson and the police." No fleeter steed could be found than one of the farm-horses, and John could not make very rapid progress. Edlingham lies about six miles nearly south-west of Alnwick, on the Rothbury Road, over one of the wildest of the Northumbrian moors. It was about two o'clock when John started, and, the road being very heavy, he could make little better than a walking pace.

The full moon was shining brightly, and a strong westerly breeze sent the scud flying over the face of the moon. John could not altogether repress the thought, every now and then, at a turn of the road, that the burglars might be waiting for him, and put a shot into him from behind a hedge, but he pressed on as best he could, and reached Alnwick safely about half-past three. His first care was to summon Dr. Robert Wilson, a well-known and very able practitioner then living in Alnwick. That duty performed, he made his way to the police office in the Greenbat, and immediately informed Superintendent Harkes of what had occurred. Whatever may be thought afterwards of the superintendent, he was certainly a most energetic officer. His first step was to send men to the different poachers' houses, and see who was in, and who was out.

Then he planted men at all the entrances to the town, with orders to stop and search any suspicious characters who might "come in. These were very proper measures to take, but, unfortunately, as we have seen, they were too late. Next, he got out his dog-cart, and drove as quickly as he could over to Edlingham. He arrived there about the same time as the doctor, shortly after 5 a.m. The village of Edlingham contains but very few houses, and before the superintendent arrived, nearly the whole population were assembled at the vicarage, some in, some out of the house, inspecting, with eager curiosity, the scene of the late events. Meanwhile, Miss Buckle had returned from des patching John Mordue to Alnwick, and revealed the fact that she herself was wounded. Her night dress was much stained with blood.

She was promptly put to bed, and then the vicar and his servants proceeded to examine the rooms. The cook, Jane Brown, displayed great activity. In the dining-room she found a chisel. She went into the drawing-room with Mr. Buckle, and they found everything in confusion : there was the still open window through which the burglars had entered, the upper shutters were still fastened, but the lower ones had been burst open. The whole room had been ransacked, and the papers and letters which were in the desk and its drawers, lay scattered about the room. Presently the vicar and his cook were joined in their search by a valuable auxiliary. This was no less a personage than William Sanderson, then a farm-labourer at Edlingham, but who had formerly been a policeman. He made a grand discovery. This was a piece of newspaper which he found just outside the dining-room door.