THE EXTRAORDINARY MURDER DT SYDNEY.

Southland Times, Volume III, Issue 225, 7 March 1866, Page 3

THE EXTRAORDINARY MURDER DT SYDNEY.

(Abridged from the Sydney Morning Herald of February 11th.) At the Central Criminal Court, on Wednesday, the 10th February, Henry Louis Bertrand was tried before His Honor the Chief Justice, on the charge of murdering Henry Kinder, at St. 1 Leonards, in the district of Sydney. Henry Kinder, a native of London, thirty-five years of age, had been married five years, his family consisting of two children. Whilst in New -Zealand he was connected with the Union Bank and Bank of New Zealand. On leaving that country about two years ago he came to Sydney, and when the City Bank opened, some twelve months afterwards he was appointed chief teller in that establishment. Within about two months from this time Bertrand met with Mrs. Kinder in his practice as a surgeon-dentist. A mutual regard led to further interviews, and Bertrand, having introduced his wife at Kinder's house, the families became on visiting terms. There was no further evidence given than what has already appeared of any moment. The Attorney General gave a rapid narrative of the meeting of Bertrand and Mrs. Kinder, the progress of their infidelity and finally crime of murder. Some small amount of fresh matter may be extracted from the latter part of the trial which will be found in the following letterf : — You, of course, could not see that you were spoilt — spoilt by a heartless world. What did they care for your happiness, for your future ; all they did was to amuse themselves for the time being, and bo they flattered and pampered you, gave you your own way until you scorned and despised instead of respecting those who ought to have been a guidance to you. It was thus I found you, and my own love discovered at a glance what was wanting. I, under the circumstances of the case, considered it my duty, as I loved you, to do all in my power to destroy the influence and evil aeeuuniiuted by years of neglect. . . You, iuy love, are, doubtless, after your arduous journey, fast asleep. Pleasant dreams to thee, my own love. Dream of .the future, for in that do we both look forward to repent our sins and made peace with our God. lam sure He will help us to be good if we try with all our heart, with all our strength (28th). I knew you would be anxious to hear from me, and that you would not be contented with a cold everyday letter such as you could show your mamma; so, my love, I send you that half-sheet for your own dear eyes to peruse. ... lam now alone with thy spirit. "Tis 12 o'clock. Thou art perhaps asleep, or thinking of your own dear, loving Louis — thinking of the time when we shall meet to part only in death. When will that time arrive ? It approaches surely, but with slow steps — but it will come — believe me it will come, as you believe there is a God. I have said it. . . . (29th). Oh! dear Ellen, what would life be without thee, or even the hope of possessing thee ; that .alone is food for the heart and mind. I talk incessantly oi thee, I speak of thy gentle ways, of thy abilities, what thou canst do, what thy favorite airs ; all, all that recalls thy dear name has a charm for me . . , (31.) You have many times doubted my love, . . . but as years roll on thou wilt see — for there is a, veil before thine eyes — what steadfast true love I have for thee, my life ; when I have accomplished all I promised, then, and only then, you, my darling Ellen, will understand what I have done for thee, for our loves. I look back at the past, and am myself astonished at what I have dared and successfully executed. Can you, will you say after that, that you have not faith in me ; that I am changeable, and could care for others beside thee, darling. . . ■Oh ! my own one, try to be good — very good; to atone for thy past follies, for they were nought else. . . . But it is not too late ; no, if you pray to God with a true repentant heart to help you, love, I am sure He will. Oh, I dare not lift up my voice yet. I feel that I dare not as yet ask His forgiveness. So, Ellen, my dear wife, pray^ also for your husband. Supplicate our Saviour that He may soften my heart, and that He will suffer me to approach the Throne of Grace. I shall strive hard to be a good man. I want to be good, for I feel that if I do not I shall become entirely enslaved to the devil — that soon there" would be no hope for me either now or hereafter. . . I speak a great deal of affairs to my sister. . . She is favorable to pur divorce, and thinks that under all the circumstances it is the most kind thing I can do for Jane, and in fact for all concerned. . . . (November 2nd.) Harriet awoke me this morning by placing a letter before my eyes, ... I felt by instinct, before I saw the writing, that it was from my love. 3lv «kar Ellen commences to feel how hard j ovm-lv is to bare. . . I have jny difficulties, and I feel them the more thatlr^uixeßociucb, , , Ccmragebotb,

of us. "What is our love if the mere calamities of casual affairs upset us thus I should feel ashamed of my love, of what I have done for it, if it were not different from that of others ; that is our only excuse on earth or in heaven for what we have accomplished Dear one how glad am I that you suffer as I do from our separation. . . . (3rd) Received a nice letter from my dear Ellen. . . . The dear girl almost asks me to look after some sort of a situation (for her) near or in Sydney. . . . . I will try hard to get something for her to do. I trust I may succeed. Oh, is it not hard that through me my sweet Ellen is thus placed. . . . Adieu my Ellen, dream, my love that we are looked in each other's arms once more. . . . (sth) Slept as usual, late. Jane is very good, and tries to make me as happy and comfortable as she can. . . . We took Harriet, it being her first trip, to Manly Beach, to the Fairy Bower we went. ... I met on board the steamer Mr. Bellhouse, an old acquaintance of mine before marriage. I asked him to come to tea tomorrow, and spend the evening with us. . . . (Bth.) Thank God another day gone. What a weary time. How ever will twelve months pass ? God only j knows. My heart grows sick and faint when I look into the future. Oh, God, is this thy retribution for our sins. Did I flatter myself that the Almighty would let me — a wretch like me — go unpunished; but I tell thee, fate, I defy thee. What do 1 care for aught only that I am with my Ellen. Oh, sweet angel, why art thou not near to soothe my anguish ? I do feel as if my heart was rent in pieces. Crushed ; and then dark thoughts obtrude themselves before me ; fiends rise and mock me ; they point to a gate, a portal, througn which I feel half inclined to go, but not yet. . . . ]S T o matter what thou hast been, my child, I hold thee up as a true virtuous wife to me. ... (10th.) While dressing, Mr. Wood (father of Mrs. Kinder) came ; he walked down with me to the North Shore ferry. I felt very strange. I went over in the Kirribilli. [ It brought a crowd of ideas, that I thought were buried for ever, back to my memory. This is the first time I have been to the North Shore since poor Harry's funeral. I am standing on the deck, my face turned towards the little house with the two chimneys, as I used to do when on wings of love I flew to the arms of my beloved. Oh, my heart sinks within me when I recal, our happy meetings alone, and none by to interrupt us. Those were happy moments, but indeed alloyed with bitter thoughts. How horribly jealous I was. 1 was mad. How could I bear to know that my Ellen, my own dear love, belonged to someone who had the legal right to do or say anything he liked with her. It drove me raving mad, and I am what I am. I looked around me, and saw people coming and going as they use to do; and, racked by these thoughts, surely there can no worse hell than our own consciences. . . . Mr. Defines, when I went out with him, spoke to me about our affair. He said he knew more about us than we imagined — that he had watched us all along, and that he thought it his duty to speak to me on the subject. What I imagine is this, that either Mrs. Eobertson or Jane have hinted something to him of what they know. I thought it best to hear what he had to say, so that I might be on my guard. He knows the truth of my love for dear Ellen, and also that she loves me ; he also knows that I intend getting a divorce. He begged of me, almost on his knees, to try and love my wife. He said that Ellen only cared for me for what use she could put me to, and that she had said so openly — that he could tell me things that would astound me — sufficient to make me give up Ellen altogether, and never see her again. I listened attentively to all he had to say, and when he had finished, he said he felt for me as if he was my brother— exhorted ; me, if I cared for my happiness in this world, and my eternal welfare in the next, not to be tempted by the devil. . . . (12th) Took a waterman's boat over to North Shore, and made for Defries' house on foot, going through the bush the road I went through on one occasion with my darling Ellen I once more faneied she, the loved darling of my heart, was by my side. . . . Oh ! Grod, what I suffer." This love is terrible ; it will kill me. . . What excruciating agony, intense bitterness of the past ; all that I possess of brain, nerve, and soul, is~devoted to this one object of my life. When shall the end arrive? If need be, I will sell my soul to Satan for thee, oh ! my dear one. What is the future to me, or my salvation ? I do not want it unless my Ellen share it with me. ... I glory in ruining both body and soul for the idol I worship and adore. . . . Dear, sweet Ellen, the more they oppose us, the more will be my power of resistance. Poor fools, to try and thwart my will. I tell thee thou hast need of God's help indeed, if thou hast me for an enemy I who value human life as I value weapons to be used when required, and then thrown away or destroyed, some, of course, being kept for future use, if necessary." After she left, Bertrand also kept up a correspondence with Mrs. Kinder, but only one of his letters to her was found, find that written with a view to its being seen by her mother contained nothing of interest. Early one morning about the end of October Bertrand went into his sister's bedroom, and whilst she was dressing the baby, asked her to sit on the side of the bed, as he had something to say to her, and then he told her that he shot Kinder. She expressed her discredit of the statement, and when he repeated it emphatically, she hid her face and wept. " Don't cry," he said, " I don't regret what I have done, I would do the same to any man who stood in my way." He admitted that after shooting him, he put a pistol in his hand and a pipe in his mouth, and threw the pistol with which he was shot into the harbor. They had planned it well, be added, and if ever it came before tfce public, it wou!4

not be believed. He cautioned her not to let bis wife know he had told her this, and in his presence the wife never said anything about it. In the first week of November he invited to his house a former acquaintance named Bellhouse, and when he came next day told him he was sorry for Kinder, but that he wanted him out of the way. He also told him that he was going to get a divorce from his wife, and being a powerful mesmerist, he had great influence over her. One evening Mrs. Bertrand drank some brandy and water given to her by her husband ; came out of the room, and with Mrs. Kerr retired to the bedchamber they both usually occupied. When she entered the room she sank into a chair quite exhausted, and, to the astonishment of her companion, immediately fell fast asleep. Mrs. Robertson, with whom the Bertrands were on visiting terms, was also told by Bertrand that he shot Kinder, and on the evening of the 35fch of November he, with his "wife and Mrs. Kerr, were at Mrs. Robertson's house, where they remained all night. After Mrs. Kerr had retired, and Mr. and Mrs. Bertrand had partaken of suppeJ, he took a small card from hi* portmonnaie, threw it on the table, and ordered his wife to take it up. She hesitated and turned pale, but he insisted upon her taking it, and afterwards said it was the card Kinder had in his hand when he was shot. That evening, as they went into the drawingroom, he was excited, calling for Ellen, for Jane, and for Alfred (his assistant). He cried out, " Bring the milk and mix the poison." I say, Ellen, you give it to him. I say you are to give it to him. Don't wring your hands ; he feels nothing now." In the dining-room of Bertand's house, one evening, whilst Mrs. Bertraud was lying on a sofa in a state more like stupor than natural sleep, again reverting to his proposed union with Mrs. Kinder, he said to Mrs. Kerr, " I don't want to kill Jane ; but if I cannot get a divorce, I shall get up an adultry case with some respectable married woman, and then Jane can sue me for a divorce." That Mrs. Kinder was a bad woman he said he knew; but it was because she was wicked that he must marry her ; he would make her a female poisoner — she was a second Lueretia. Pausing a little, and leaning ! over his sister, he hissed through his teeth. "Kinder did not -die by the shot — we poisoned him. She (pointing to his wife, who still lay on the sofa) mixed the poison." He said it would never 'be detected. Frequently he talked about seeing the ghost of Kinder, and when he saw jam on the table he made some allusion to blood. It was not unlikely he also said that before Mrs. Kinder went to Brisbane (as she was then about to do) she would see his wife's funeral. Whilst at the house of Mr. Defries, North Shore, one evening, he acted in a most extraord nary manner, threatened to raise the ghost of Kinder, pretended to be the devil, and put on hideous grimaces, and made horrible noises. When he got back home that night, he went out with Mrs Robertson's leghorn hat on to get a lobster. He professed to have great mesmeric power, and said Mrs. Kinder was the best medium he ever knew. Another strange statement he made was that a dead man was in the house, and that was the reason there were so many flies about. Often he threatened to murder his wife, and to say that Mrs. Kerr did it. Since Kinder's death, Mrs, Eobertson was a frequent visitor at Bertrand's house, and he at her's. On several occasions when, late in the evenings, he acccompanied Mrs. Robertson to her house, he alluded to his shooting Kinder, and also told her that it had been Mrs. Kinder's wish that Kinder should be shot whilst Jackson was in the house, so that he might be blamed for it. She at length became terrified by his recitals of the circumstances, and disliked to bear them. Haviug voluntarily made her cognisant of the crime, he admitted he then threatened to kill her. On this ground, and being afraid of him, she sought the protection of the authorities, who, in default of his finding sureties to keep the peace, committed him to fourteen days' imprisonment, which sentence he was serving when the charge of murder was brought against him. The body was exhumed at the beginning of December (two months after death), and examined by Dr. Eichler, J)r. Alloway, and Dr. Alleyne. Besides the injuries discovered I by Dr. Eichler before the inquest, it was found that the ascending portion of the lower jawbone was broken. Dr. Alloway was of opinion that this must have been produced by a bullet, or by some other hard substance. The direction of the wound too he held to be from behind forward, and from below upward, thus again differing from Dr. Eichler, who asserted the direction to be from the maxillary angle up towards the temple. Again, Dr. Eichler was of opinion that gunpowder and wadding, or paper fired from a pistol close to the face, would be sufficient to cause the wound ; whilst Dr Alloway held that the maxillary bone could not have been so injured without the use of a bullet or some hard substance. Dr Alleyne, though less decided in this view, substantially agreed with Dr. Alloway in his conclusions. Dr. Eichler still retained the impression that Kinder inflicted the wound upon himself, but so far joined in the conclusions of Dr. Alloway and Dr. Alleyne as to admit the possibility of the shot being fired by some one else, and also as to the possible use of a bullet. Dr. Alloway, however, maintained that the position must hare been a most extraordinary one if Kinder inflicted the wound himself. That the wound was one that might or might not cause death, and that the patient's condition on the sth October (as stated in evidence) indicated a probable recovery, was concurred in by all three of these professional gentlemen. Dr. Eichler could not assign any visible cause or matter of fact to which he could attribute death on the 6th, and Dr Alloway would not have expected death on that day after the favorable change said to have been exhibited the day before. Mr, Watt, the analytical chemist, who (2b fa wntmtfy)