Evan Hunter - Lizzie

I said, “Yes. You needn’t lock the door, I’ll be out around here. But you can lock it if you want to. I can get the water in the barn.” She made no reply to that, but she didn’t hook the door. I don’t know where she went then. I went to the barn to get the handle for the brush. It was in the barn, right in one of the stalls. On the first floor of the barn. Before I started to wash the windows, as I had the water and brush, Mrs. Kelly’s girl appeared, and I was talking to her at the fence...

My name is Abraham G. Hart. I am treasurer of the Union Savings Bank in Fall River. The bank is situated in what is sometimes called Market Square, North Main Street, a few rods from the City Hall. Upon the east side of North Main Street, just north of City Hall.

Mr. Borden was president of the bank for four or five years before he died. I was acquainted with him for forty years or more. On the morning of the homicides, Mr. Borden came into the bank as was his usual custom in the morning, about half-past nine. It wouldn’t vary but a few minutes from that time, I think, though I don’t think I looked at any timepiece. To my sight that morning, Mr. Borden did not seem in the usual health. I think he was under the weather, as we say. He did not look as well as usual. He remained there about five minutes, no more than seven. There’s another bank in the same building. The National Union Bank, a separate organization from the savings bank.

My name is John T. Burrill, my occupation is cashier of the National Union Bank, in the same building as the Union Savings Bank. Mr. Borden was a stockholder and depositor at my bank. On the morning of August fourth, I saw him in the bank, in front of the counter where I work. I saw him in conversation with Mr. Hart and a colored man who was there in regard to a loan. That is Mr. Abraham Hart, the last witness. I think it must have been between quarter-past nine and quarter-to ten.

My name is Everett Cook, I’m cashier of the First National Bank of Fall River. The bank is situated on North Main Street, between the Union Savings Bank and the Mellen House, on the other side of the street from the Union Savings Bank. The Trust Company is in the same building, behind the same counter. Mr. Borden was a director of the Trust Company, and Miss Lizzie A. Borden had an account there at the time. On August fourth, 1892, her balance was $172.75.

I transacted some business with Mr. Borden that morning. He came into the bank at about a quarter of ten. There was a clock, and I should say about that time I had the right of way on the counter, that morning, and I glanced at the clock, and I should fix the time about quarter of ten.

“It is agreed, if Your Honors please,” Knowlton said, “to save calling a number of witnesses...”

“I’ll state what we agreed to,” Robinson said. “For the purposes of this trial, Your Honors, the defendant having no knowledge in regard to a will or otherwise — so far as is now ascertained — it is agreed that the deceased was intestate. Also, without any further inquiries, that the amount of the property in the name of Andrew J. Borden at the time of his death may be taken to be from two hundred and fifty to three hundred thousand dollars.”

“That is agreeable to us,” Knowlton said. “That saves calling a number of witnesses.”

My name is Delia S. Manley, I live in Fall River. At 203 Second Street. Lived there for four years, and am familiar with the premises about the Borden House, though I did not know Mr. Borden while he was alive. But I do know where he lived. And I know the Kelly house, too. My sister-in-law occupies that house at this time. I happened to pass by the Borden house on the morning of the murders. This was either at a quarter of ten, or ten minutes of ten.

A man was standing in the north gateway, dressed in light clothes. I should say he was a young man. I didn’t look at him sufficient to describe his features at all. He was standing in the gateway, leaning his left arm on the gatepost. The man was not Andrew J. Borden. Nor was it John Morse, who I saw in the District Court below. It was not as old a man as that. I’d never seen this man before. He was standing there, seeming to be looking at us, and taking in what we were talking about, I should judge. By us, I mean, Mrs. Hart of Tiverton, she was with me. We were both going down the street together. We stopped there to see some pond lilies that a young fellow had in a carriage. The carriage had stopped between the two houses — between the Borden house and the Churchill house. A little nearer the Borden house than the Churchill house.

I first noticed the man when I was coming from the street back onto the sidewalk. The team stopped, and I went back of the team to see those pond lilies, and as I was coming back on the sidewalk, that was when I saw this man. Standing in this gateway, resting his arm upon this gatepost. And of course, as I stepped back from the carriage onto the sidewalk, I came nearly face to face with him, not exactly.

I couldn’t say how long the man stood there, for all I saw of him was just — I stepped onto the sidewalk and saw him, and I went right away. The first I saw of him, he was standing there. And the last I saw of him, he was standing there. Quietly. In full view of everybody. And looking right toward me. I didn’t know who he was. I should say he was a man about thirty, as near as I could judge. I noticed nothing out of the way about him. He had nothing in his hand that I noticed.

My name is Sarah R. Hart, I live in Tiverton, near Adamsville. Live on a farm there, but I used to live in Fall River, ten years ago. I lived there for fifteen or twenty years. On Second Street most of the time, so that I’m very familiar with Second Street. I knew Andrew J. Borden by sight when he was alive, but I wasn’t particularly acquainted with him.

I was on Second Street the day of the murders.

I passed by the Borden house near ten o’clock. I think somewhere near ten minutes to ten. I was with my sister, Mrs. Delia Manley. We had occasion to stop near the gate of the Borden house, the north gate. I stopped to speak to my nephew, who was in a carriage. I stepped from the sidewalk to the back of the carriage to get some pond lilies. The pond lilies were in a tub in the back of the carriage. I noticed someone in the gateway, I should judge he was somewhere near thirty years of age. He was not Mr. Borden. He was standing, resting his head on his left elbow, and his elbow on the south post of the gateway. He was looking at me, as I thought, and then turned and looked at the street as though he were uneasy trying to pry into my business. I was there five minutes, and he was there when I went away, down toward Borden Street. From there onto Main, in time to catch the ten o’clock car for the north. It comes down Main Street and stops there by the City Hall. It left City Hall as the clock was striking ten. I can fix the time as of ten minutes of ten when I saw him because I took the horsecar at ten o’clock.

My name is George A. Pettee. I’ve lived in Fall River for fifty-four years. I knew Andrew Borden since I was a young boy. I used to live in the Borden house. Twenty-two years ago last March. Lived in the upper part. I was the tenant, or one of the tenants, preceding Mr. Borden.

On the morning of the fourth of August last year, I was passing the house sometime, I should think, about ten o’clock. Bridget Sullivan stood in front of the house, nearly opposite the front door. She had a pail and dipper and brush with her. I thought she had been washing windows.

My full name is Jonathan Clegg. My business is hatter and gents’ furnishings. On August fourth, 1892, my place of business was at Number 6 North Main Street. With reference to the Union Savings Bank, it might have been fifty yards, the opposite side of the street. I saw Mr. Borden on the opposite side of the street that morning, and called him into the store. I wished to see him that morning. I was wanting to see him specially that morning.