Letter for Coroner's Warrant, Godolphin Street)
Jas. Washington, Esq., Coroner's Office, 68, Belsize Park, London, N.W.
London N. MY 13 73
(Postage to be paid to the Constable)
A Warrant is requested for an Inquest on the Body of Eduardo Lucas now lying dead at The Mortuary Chapel of St. Pancras of London. The Inquest to be held at The Castle, No. 81 Holloway Road.
The Constable, in all cases, must fill up, and without delay forward the following form, and should attend at the Office of the Coroner in all doubtful and peculiar cases.
Age and trade: Aged 34. Gentleman of means; occasional tenor for hire
Day and hour of death: Tuesday October 12th 1895 at about 20 minutes 12 o'clock am
How found: Dead in place of residence, 16 Godolphin Street
Cause: single stab-wound to heart. No other cause ascertained or suspected
Existence of prior illness: none known as vouchsafed by chosen physician, Dr. F. Drake, Liverpool Road
Attachment of blame to any party: not as yet ascertained (see inquest)
Prior attendance of legally qualified medical man: No
If not, who was called in afterwards: Dr. Drake, Liverpool Road
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Edwardo (1) Lucas - Coroner's Inquest
Eduardo Lucas died at 16 Godolphin Street, Westminster, on Tuesday, October 12th 1895. The inquest into his death was convened on the following day at 81, Holloway Road, Islington (a property known as The Castle) - where the body then lay - and was undertaken by Mr. Timothy Roanoke, the Westminster Coroner.
The Coroner Report, like most of their example, are held in the London Metropolitan Archives LMA at 40, Northampton Road in London. Each one normally has two components - a short summarized account of the inquest's finding and a longer collection of 'depositions' (typically witness statements) noted down by the Coroner during the inquest.
The summarized finding in the case of Edward (1) reads as follows:
Eduardo Lucas 69 Castle Islington Murder by person or persons unknown, Nat. 13th May
comprising the deceased's name, age, the inquest venue, the cause of death and the fact that it was 'natural', and the inquest date.
The Depositions in the case of Lucas were recorded on two pages of notes in the Coroner's handwriting together with the standard Letter for Coroner's Warrant issued by a police constable to the Coroner formally requiring that an inquest be held. Being the Constable attending the death, Barrett was naturally required to attend the inquest.
The Depositions
Depositions of Witnesses taken and acknowledged on behalf of our Sovereign Lady the Queen touching the death of Eduardo Lucas at the House known as 16 Godolphin Street (Whitechapel District) in the County of Middlesex aforesaid, on Tuesday the 13th day of May One Thousand Eight Hundred and Ninety Five, before Jason Washington, Esquire, one of Her Majesty's Coroners for the said County, on view of the Body of the said Person then and there lying dead.
Marianna Pringle. I am the housekeeper for Mr. Lucas. I was at work yesterday morning at 7 am until 7pm sharp when I was dismissed for the day. Mr. Lucas said I could have the rest of the evening off. I went upstairs and retired. I was next awakened by Mr. Barrett, who told me Mr. Lucas was dead and that Dr. Roanoke had to be summoned. I found a cab-driver and had him take Mr. Barrett's message to Dr. Roanoke's office.
John Barrett 125 P.C. I was attending to my patrol on Godolphin Street as part of my regular duties. It was a quarter-till midnight, as the Abbey bells had just ceased to ring. I noticed the front door was ajar, and knocked on the door to see if assistance was needed. When there was no answer I could see that light was spilling out of the door that connected the foyer to the Living-room. I stepped inside and knocked again. There was again no answer and I pushed open the door. It was there that I found Mr. Lucas. He was dead without a doubt. I roused for his servants but only found the housekeeper, an elderly woman named Mrs. Pringle. I knew he also had a valet, one Mr. Mitton, but he was not present in the house. I stayed with the body and summoned Dr. Roanoke. I asked Mrs. Pringle to call for him. I searched the body. I found a purse with 5/9/6 (five pounds, 9 shillings and 6pence), and an ink-pen. Mrs. Pringle told me there had been nothing unusual about his day that would have suggested such an event.
T. Roanoke MD I was called to 16 Godolphin Street D yesterday morning at 12:15 in the morning. Mr. Lucas was quite dead and already cooling. Post Mortum Examination showed no other mark save the wound in his heart caused by the single stab of the Oriental blade that remained in the body. I found no bruises or other signs of physical violence. Cause of Death single knife-thrust to the heart.
Inspector G. Lestrade, Division A Whitehall, London. I was summoned to the case by the Main Office. I received a message from PC Treasure (see notes at bottom) and stopped on my way to Godolphin Street to collect Dr. Roanoke. The address was already secured by Const.s Barrett and MacPherson; Dr. Roanoke attended to the body in my presence. The object that led to the death of Mr. Lucas was a golden dagger, its waxed blade shaped into a Hindoo "thunderbolt" shape with a hilt plated with gold and low-grade semi-precious gemstones. Its mate was still hanging on the shelf. The dead man was still clutching a chair in death, in a postion of attack. By his fallen posture he had intended to strike down his killer but they had been the swifter. Other than the state of disarray in the room, there was no sign of more than one other being. The hosuekeeper, Mrs. Pringle, is clearly a little hard of hearing and insists she was ignorant of her employer's death. Mr. Mitton, the valet, has been sent for and we expect to receive his report within a few hours.
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"My god, I sound no better than a gonoph who spent his life begging on the Oxford grounds..."
Inspector Lestrade paused while reading his copy of the report to rub at his eyes. Word had it they would be allowed to go home for rest today. A few hours in the luxury of their own ceiling was swiftly turning into a matter of Biblical covetousness. PC MacPherson still remained as indefatigable as ever, but Lestrade knew better than to leave him alone for too often. He was garrulous, trusting of his fellow man, and someone you not only wanted, you NEEDED in a scrum. Unfortunately, he had a bad habit of pausing on his beat to talk with the public. Sometimes that worked out; MacPherson held the record, hands-down of any Constable in the Metro for his ability to bring in unexpectedly useful sources of information. But the sad truth was, his social skills over-rode his sense as a policeman sometimes.
Nothing for it. They all had to make allowances...so long as it didn't interfere with their profession. And MacPherson was good enough in some of the worst parts of London; never turned a hair when there was an emergency.
He leaned back slightly, kneading the back of his neck with a brief yawn. PC Barrett was across the street, speaking with one of the more bizarre manifestations of Godolphin Street: The wandering bean-pot vendor. Lestrade had seen him before. He had one good eye, one crater where the other eye had been, a face marked like the moon from what he claimed was the smallpox, but the detective suspected was something much worse...three fingers on one hand had been bitten off by an angry dog several years ago, and there was an opposing limp from the loss of his big toe due to frostbite.
Lestrade watched, letting his fate rest in the lap of the gods--and the new Constable--as the two huddled around the tiny charcoal-fire burning at the little cart. For all his physical weaknesses, the man was as safe as the Bank of England. Rather than use an abandoned mine-pony or goat to pull his cart, he rehabilitated the largest, ugliest dogs of unknown breeds known to the English Race. The detective had watched many a fierce-some mutt answer this role for the old man, and so far the only common ground the things had was an anomalous size with a revolting number of large teeth.
Lestrade's heart sank as Barrett crossed the road with a clay pot between his hands. He was grinning from ear to ear, as if he'd just won the local Mutton Lottery for Easter. "I bought us some dinner, sir!" He announced proudly.
"Really, Constable, you shouldn't have."
"Oh, it's not like me da's pot of eels, but this is just as good. You wait and see." Barrett produced two spoons and bowls from the overnight-bag he'd persuaded a rampaging street-sparrow to fetch for him a few hours previously. "And I know we don't have to worry about the food bein' bad."
"Really." Lestrade glanced over Barrett's shoulder and down the road. The bean-pot vendor's dog had stopped in the middle of the road right in the centre of a dank and questionable puddle. Black flecks flew from its shaggy coat as it scratched industriously. "What makes you so sure?"
"Secret ingredient." Barrett lifted the lid. The odor of broadbeans slow-baked in bacon and red wine filled the cool air. "Believe you me, it takes a lot to get past that wine he sticks in here. Uses up the dregs the brewery can't do with."
"I...see. Thank you, Barrett." Lestrade gamely took up the offered spoon. Behind the shelter of the boxwoods they were completely alone. "Surely you weren't dickering over the price that long."
Barrett grinned, and looked both ways before leaning close. Lestrade leaned close to listen. "Old man was camped out underneath the hedges across the street t'other night!" He whispered. "He doesn't want anyone to know, sir. The owner lets him take shelter there on nights that aren't so bad, you know."
"We've no cause to turn him in, then." Lestrade agreed. "Go on."
"He says that he saw a woman on the street Monday night." Barrett hurridly gulped down a mouthful of pot-liquor. "Very confusing, he said. Very tall and stately, but there was something wrong about her. She hung about in the shadows that night, he wasn't sure that she actually went inside or not; he can't see too well through the mulberries. But she was alone, sir. He was clear about that."
"Hmn." Lestrade cocked an eyebrow. "When MacPherson gets back with the Office reports, we'll see if anyone else noted any solitary women on this side of the ton."
"You think there'd be more than one?" Barrett was astonished. "But, sir, women don't walk around by themselves."
"Some do, Constable." Lestrade did his level best not to sound avuncular in the face of the boy's shock. "The ladies of the street...the mad, the desperate...and the occasional lady who is too high above us to really know better." He shook his head at the youth's wide eyes. "Why would they know better?" He asked. "They've been sheltered and protected all their lives. The worst thing that ever happens in their world is a jealous rival or their seamstress drops dead. Add to that this is Godolphin Street, Constable. Things aren't supposed to happen on Godolphin Street."