circumstance but that of hope. When he stood in the dock at the Old Bailey to hear the reading of the indictments against him he was thought by many to be a man of handsome appearance.
The scene of the day of the trial, consequently much exaggerated by Grub Street hacks, is best described by reading from the eminently respectable Morning Post of the following day.
…shortly, after the opening of the Courts, every avenue leading to the New Court, in which the case was appointed for trial, was thronged almost to suffocation. The decided majority of the crowd seeking admittance was evidently the descendants of the patriarchs. As was but naturally expected the utmost anxiety was evidenced on the part of all those of the Jewish persuasion to catch a glimpse of the person and the features of the prisoner. At 8 a.m. the Common Sergeant took his seat on the bench and shortly afterwards Ikey was placed at the bar. In the Newgate Calendar he was described as a dealer and the age given as 45. He did not, however, appear nearly so old. During the time the indictments were read, he frequently and piercingly surveyed the persons in the body of the Court as if he were prepared to find an accuser in everyone his eyes rested upon.
Five of the eight indictments read out in court carried with them capital offences and Ikey, it was supposed, could not bring himself to hope that he might escape them all and so save his neck from the gallows. It was often enough reported that since his arrival in this country he had suffered considerable dejection of the mind, but there was no sign of this in court. When the indictments were completed and the prisoner allowed to answer them he spoke calmly and in a voice devoid of despair.
'Your honour, it is my modest hope that the jury will find me innocent and that under all circumstances His Majesty's Government will be induced to spare my life, and permit me to join my wife and family who are still residing in Van Diemen's Land.'
This little speech, short and sweet, when picked apart seems somewhat confused. It claims his innocence, then asks to be spared the rope under all circumstances so that he be allowed to go free to join his wife and family. It is most doubtful that there existed in court, or anywhere in England, a person unaware of the notorious Hannah Solomon. Yet Ikey spoke of his wife as if she were some contented colonial settler's spouse waiting patiently for her loving husband to return home having been exonerated of all crimes by a just and benign English legal system.
The overcrowded court and the mayhem in the streets outside had delayed proceedings, but Mr Phillips, Ikey's barrister, was crisp on the uptake and the first two charges, neither of which were capital offences, were dealt with in a summary manner. Ikey, who naturally denied everything, was found not guilty by the jury.
Then three of the capital charges were heard and disposed of with equal speed. Thus in the process of one morning five of the charges against Ikey were dismissed. Mr Phillips had proved himself an able defender of his celebrated client and Ikey, standing in the dock, appeared almost nonchalant. He did not evince the slightest pleasure at the 'not guilty' verdict. It was as if he had not been possessed of the smallest doubt as to the outcome of each hearing. Though it was always allowed that the first five cases were weak in point of proof, three of them were also invalidated by the ruling that a person could not be called upon to account for the possession of goods found in his custody three months after they had been stolen.
However, the noose was not yet removed from Ikey's scrawny neck. The court was adjourned to the 12th of July, when the remaining three indictments would be heard. Two of these were capital charges and the evidence available for the prosecution was most compelling. All of London was ablaze with gossip and every tavern and chop house produced any amount of boisterous speculation. Customers with not a scintilla of knowledge of the law turned into street lawyers who waxed more wise with each jug of ale or snifter of brandy. A great deal of money was laid in bets as to whether the eventual outcome would be the rope or the boat. Only the most foolishly optimistic accepted the odds of a hundred to one on Ikey's ability to beat the rap entirely.
When Ikey returned to the Old Bailey the crush of people wishing to get in was even greater than on the first occasion. A near riot occurred when the court attendants attempted to close the doors to the New Court, there being not room enough for a dormouse to squeeze into the public gallery. Ikey was brought back to the bar of the court to face the final three charges against him.
The first charge to be heard, the only one of the three that was not a capital offence, was the one brought against him by the Bank of England and involved the forgery of banknotes of five pounds denomination. Sir Reginald Cunningham, a Scot and a barrister of the highest repute, led the prosecution. He proceeded to lay out in chapter and verse the story of Abraham Van Esselyn who was in partnership and under the influence of the notorious Ikey Solomon. Finally he had shown in evidence the result produced by Ikey and his Belgian partner. Sir Reginald then asked that he might present the two fake five pound notes to the judge together with two of legitimate currency, with the further request that the jury might be allowed to examine them thereafter.
In a dramatic gesture Sir Reginald handed the judge a large magnifying glass and begged him to choose the fake from the real. While the judge examined the banknotes Sir Reginald, in a further dramatic thrust, asked the judge to examine the watermarks on all of the notes, pointing out that they were all identical in nature, the paper used being the very same as was employed by the Treasury. The great barrister paused and waited for complete silence, then he added in a stentorian voice, 'I need hardly remind this court that the theft of paper used in the manufacture of banknotes is a crime against the Crown and the Treasury and therefore punishable by death!'
There was a murmur of astonishment from the public gallery, for in one stroke the Bank of England's case had been turned into a capital crime and Ikey seemed certain to hang.
'I should remind the prosecution that the decision as to whether a crime is a capital offence most fortunately does not rest with the prosecution but with this bench. If it did not I fear that the least of crimes would earn the ultimate sentence!' It was plain that the judge was not pleased with Sir Reginald's final remark. He then caused the notes to be handed to the jury, and it might have been supposed that Ikey had, in the truest sense of the words, finally met his Waterloo. With the exception of his last statement, Sir Reginald appeared not to have put a foot wrong.
The noose was drawn tight and it seemed the trap door had all but sprung as Sir Reginald Cunningham retrieved the banknotes from the jury and held up two of them.
'These are the five pound notes on the person of the accused! They were printed from a five pound etched copper plate discovered in the Bell Alley basement premises owned by the accused.' He paused and then ended with a flourish. 'They were printed on the very same printing press also lodged at that address!'
Ikey's barrister, Mr Phillips, now rose to his feet. 'Can my learned friend please tell us how these two particular notes were discovered and by whom?'
'Your honour, we request permission to call up a witness, Mr George Smith, senior constable at the Lambeth Street watchhouse who will answer my learned friend's question.' Sir Reginald was well pleased with himself and his tone was most accommodating.
The clerk of the court stood up and called upon Senior Constable George Smith to take his place in the witness box.
'Mr Smith, is it not true that you go by another even more familiar name?' asked Mr Phillips.
The senior constable looked confused. 'Beg pardon, sir? I don't rightly know what you mean.'
'Let me put the question another way then. Is it true that you are referred to with the sobriquet, 'The Reamer', in criminal circles?'
George Smith cleared his throat. 'I can't rightly say what the criminal classes calls me.' There was a buzz of amusement from the court and the policeman seemed to gain confidence from this for he grinned and added, 'And I don't think I cares that much neither.'
There was further laughter and the judge banged his gavel.
'Then let us suppose that the name 'The Reamer', which you state is of no consequence to you, is in fact the name used by what you refer to as 'the criminal classes''. Can you venture to guess how this name came about?' His hand rose to prevent George Smith from answering. 'Before you answer, would you agree that a reamer is a sharp object placed into a narrow aperture which is used to scrape it clean of impediment?'
George Smith shrugged. 'If you say so, sir.'
'Mr Smith, would you kindly hold up the forefinger of your right hand.'
The policeman looked at the judge. 'Must I do this, your honour?'
'Is this request important to your line of enquiry, Mr Phillips?' the judge asked. 'I must say it doesn't seem to be leading anywhere.'
'Your honour, I intend to show that this witness is not accustomed to acting within the rules of the law and cannot be relied upon to act in the best interest of the truth.'
