The Chieftain: Victorian True Crime Through The Eyes of a Scotland Yard Detective (49 page)

Sir Edmund Henderson was knighted in 1878 but his term as Metropolitan Police Commissioner came to an end in February 1886. After almost twenty years without riotous public demonstrations in London, Henderson had been lulled into a false sense of security. When riots occurred in Trafalgar Square which were not adequately controlled by the police, his resignation was accepted. He died on 8 December 1896, leaving £7,273 3
s
3
d
.
¹³⁷

George Clarke’s pension provided a modest income, though he had to recover from the legal costs he had incurred. For some years Clarke became a publican at the Bulls Head, Hyde Street, Oxford Street, and appeared once more at the Old Bailey as a prosecution witness in the trial of a customer accused of trying to pass counterfeit money; she was convicted and sentenced to five years’ penal servitude.
¹³⁸
However, between 1884 and 1891 he returned to the trade he knew best and advertised his services as a private inquiry agent, a business in which he was joined by his son Harry (Henry John Clarke).
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His activities did not hit the newspaper headlines again in his remaining lifetime, though in 1886 the
Northern Echo
’s London correspondent mentioned: ‘I saw Clarke the other day looking pink, healthy, and contented.’
¹⁴⁰
By June 1890 his health was failing and he resigned his membership of the Freemasons.
¹⁴¹
On 31 January 1891, he died at his home in Great College Street, aged 72. As central London’s graveyards had been full for many years, his body was transported by the London Necropolis Company to Brookwood cemetery near Woking, where he was cremated and his remains buried. In his will, he left everything, £949 2
s
6
d
, to his wife Elizabeth.

Clarke’s private inquiry business continued, after his death, to be marketed under the name ‘George Clarke’, by his son Harry. Little is known of the clientele that requested the company’s services. However, in October 1892, Harry found himself in the witness box at the Old Bailey, giving evidence in the trial of the serial poisoner Thomas Neill Cream.
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Cream, who was convicted and subsequently executed for poisoning several prostitutes in Lambeth, also had the bizarre habit of sending anonymous letters to the police and to others (of which ‘George Clarke Private Inquiry Agents’ was one), claiming to have identified the murderer as being a young medical student at St Thomas’ Hospital.
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Harry’s evidence was simply to confirm that he had received such a letter. Three years later Harry was back at the Old Bailey, but this time in the dock, which he shared with a colleague, Ellen Lyon. Both were charged with keeping a brothel, and specifically with ‘unlawfully conspiring by false representations to procure Gertrude Alexandra Barrett, not being a common prostitute, to have carnal connection with Charles Wilson’. During the trial it became clear that much of Harry’s business, like that of many private detectives, involved divorce cases. He and his colleague had been unlawfully providing their clients with a service in which they would arrange for adultery to be proved, if necessary by offering themselves or hiring others for that purpose. Harry Clarke and Ellen Lyon were found guilty and sentenced to two years’ hard labour and twelve months’ hard labour, respectively.
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By then, Elizabeth Clarke had moved to live with her daughter Emily and family in East Dulwich, where she spent her time conversing with her grandchildren, visiting relatives and friends, and playing cribbage. When she died, in April 1907, Harry was to find that his criminal behaviour had tested his mother’s patience too far; he had been excluded from her will.

EPILOGUE

We often hear (almost invariably, however, from superficial observers) that guilt can look like innocence. I believe it to be infinitely the truer axiom of the two that innocence can look like guilt.

Wilkie Collins
¹

George Clarke’s career with the London Metropolitan Police spanned a period of great technological and social change. Improvements in transport and communications allowed Clarke and his colleagues to pursue criminals from the meanest streets and tenements of mid-Victorian London to continental Europe, America and beyond. Crime and its detection were already international in their scope. The detectives also had to adapt to the social changes being engineered by increasingly moralistic attitudes and legislation to restrict betting, to moderate drinking and to reduce infanticide. With limited resources, Clarke and other members of the very small team in the Scotland Yard Detective Department individually tackled a diverse range of investigations: on one day hunting down a vicious murderer; another day functioning almost as a ‘social worker’ following tip-offs about farmed-out children; spending half the day or night undertaking surveillance of suspected criminals, before travelling to the racecourses of Epsom, Newmarket, Sandown Park or Goodwood to catch the ‘swell mob’ in action; and then returning to the office to sift through the reports for a court appearance the following day. Taken together with the long working hours, it is indeed little wonder that the principal medical reason for early retirement amongst the police was being ‘worn out’. Indeed, with such pressures, what drove George Clarke to spend thirty-eight years in the service? What type of person was he?

It has been reasonably straightforward to locate sources of information on the Scotland Yard career of George Clarke, but it has proved less easy to obtain other information about the man himself. None of his colleagues made direct reference to Clarke by name when they wrote about their experiences at Scotland Yard (e.g. Cavanagh, Greenham, Lansdowne, Littlechild and Meiklejohn). Perhaps they were seeking to distance themselves from (or in Meiklejohn’s case, to forget) any association with the events of 1877. A similar reticence and embarrassment may also explain why I did not inherit any information about George Clarke from my ancestral connections.

In terms of his private life, there is enough information to suggest that, despite the intensity of his job, Clarke took his family responsibilities seriously; not least in helping to support his mother, wife and children financially. As he had no other source of income, like most of us he needed a job. In all ways he seems to have lived within his means, even frugally. When time permitted, he was no different to the majority of Victorian men in a similar financial position in enjoying company (predominantly male company) through his membership of the Freemasons, visits to the local public house with friends and colleagues, and the occasional visit to the music hall.

On a professional level, Clarke displayed considerable dedication to his job. His ability to survive the physical and mental pressures of his long service suggests a remarkable resilience, displayed when dealing with the ‘roughs’ and ‘swell mob’ at the racecourse, and when he found himself in the dock at the Old Bailey. He was a survivor. He was not an ‘inspirational’ detective in the sense that the fictional Sherlock Holmes would be regarded, but there seems to have been little need for such at Scotland Yard, as the Victorian criminal (with at least two notable exceptions) was rarely astute. What was needed was someone who could assemble evidence and build a convincing case for the prosecutor to secure a conviction. Throughout his career at Scotland Yard this seems to have been George Clarke’s great strength. From 1870 onwards he was also deployed to tackle issues that were politically sensitive. As a result he acquired a reputation of trust and responsibility. But did he deserve that trust and was he innocent of corruption?

As far as the Old Bailey jury was concerned in 1877, Clarke was innocent of the conspiracy charges laid against him, or at worst was given the benefit of any doubt. The contemporary press coverage of the trial verdicts, such as that in
The Times
’ leader column, was essentially content with the outcome: ‘The conduct of Clarke in keeping up acquaintance with Benson after he had told the authorities at Scotland-yard that the latter was a “blackguard” may be regarded as indiscreet [sic], but it must be remembered that it is an ordinary duty of detectives to cultivate the intimacy of persons whom they suspect of crime.’
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Though there must have been some ‘there’s no smoke without fire’ conversations at the time (in which Home Secretary Cross appears to have joined in), it is interesting to note that Clarke’s son, Harry, continued to run his private inquiry agency, even after his father’s death, under the name ‘George Clarke’. So his name cannot have been bad for business, although the nature of Harry’s clients and ‘inquiries’ left something to be desired.

The revisionist view regarding George Clarke’s innocence or guilt emerged in the twentieth century. This was first expressed by Dilnot in 1928, and subsequently reported by others: ‘Although Clarke got off there can be small doubt that he was seriously mixed up with the conspirators.’
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At the heart of this statement were comments made in the 1914 autobiography of Clarke’s counsel, Edward Clarke, at the trial:

It will be realised that my task in defending my client was a very difficult one. It would, indeed, in my opinion have been practically impossible to obtain an acquittal if at that time the law had permitted accused persons to be called as witnesses. The strange rule which then prevailed by which neither a prisoner nor his wife was a competent witness, a rule which was the worst example of judge-made law which I have ever known, often operated cruelly against an innocent person, but in nine times out of ten it was of advantage to the guilty.
⁴

Setting aside the implausibility of the statistics that Edward Clarke cited, Dilnot and others have interpreted Edward Clarke’s comments to mean that George Clarke was guilty in the eyes of his counsel. However, Edward Clarke had also written in the same autobiography that he believed George Clarke when the latter had proclaimed himself innocent of the charges!
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I do nevertheless agree with the wider implications of Edward Clarke’s statement. The case for the defence would undoubtedly have been a lot more difficult to manage if accused persons had been eligible to be called as witnesses, not least because there were five men in the dock, each charged with the same offence, each of whom might have given a different representation of their part in the events.

In view of the gratitude that George Clarke expressed to Edward Clarke in December 1877, it now seems somewhat churlish to question the advocate’s autobiographical comments. However, his recollections do strongly accentuate the positive aspects of his career (of which there were many), and omit reference to some events which he probably wished to forget.
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He was also unusual in expressing so frankly his reasons for writing his autobiography:

No one will doubt that vanity, the only universal weakness has something to do with my desire to leave a record of the events of my life … I think if I tell it myself simply and briefly it will be more likely to do good than if I leave material from which, when I am dead, someone might compile a larger and more elaborate biography.
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Has Edward Clarke’s role in Clarke’s acquittal been exaggerated? Maybe. Were Edward Clarke’s comments misinterpreted by Dilnot? Probably.

The most recently published analysis of the turf fraud and the Trial of the Detectives is that by Richard Stewart – a well-researched, cogently argued and beautifully written book.
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Stewart’s analysis leaves the reader with little doubt that he regards Clarke as being guilty of conspiracy. However, both Dilnot’s and Stewart’s retrospective analyses of the trial demonstrate little awareness of Clarke’s fifteen-year track record as a detective; a record which would have been known to the 1877 trial jury. In addition, I find it difficult to place as much faith, as Stewart and Dilnot appear to have done, in the otherwise uncorroborated evidence against Clarke of two highly plausible fraudsters. Indeed, it is possible that they may have allowed themselves to be swayed, from beyond the grave, by the undoubted guile of Harry Benson and the audaciousness of William Kurr.

Nonetheless, I do think it appropriate that some questions remain about George Clarke’s innocence. My reasons for saying this relate to that period at Scotland Yard during the turf fraud inquiries when, in October 1876, Clarke was inspector in charge. During that time Druscovich was generating descriptions of the men believed to have been involved in the fraud. One of these was ‘Jacob Francis’, a small man who was possibly French, lame and walked with two sticks. Did Druscovich show this description to Clarke? If so, why did Clarke fail to identify this description as the Mr Yonge (Harry Benson) that he had met on several occasions? Why did it have to wait until 8 November, when the Shanklin postmaster responded to a reward poster with these details? Perhaps Druscovich kept the information to himself? Perhaps Clarke was simply too busy with his own cases? With such questions remaining unanswered, Clarke’s innocence or guilt, to my mind, remains unconfirmed. However, whether he was innocent or not he proved astute enough to escape the worst consequences of the attempt by two unscrupulous criminals to compromise him.