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The Strange Case of Everet vs. Williams: When Two Highwaymen Took Each Other To Court

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In 1725, one of the most peculiar cases in British legal history was brought before the Court of Exchequer. John Everet (or Everitt) and Joseph Williams, who had gone into business together, made an oral agreement to divide all the costs and profits of their enterprise equally. But after one particularly lucrative transaction went awry, Everet became suspicious that Williams was taking more than his fair share—so he took his partner to court.

Ordinarily that wouldn’t make for such an unusual case, and indeed, the official court documents seem to suggest that nothing in the pair’s dealings was out of the ordinary: In entering into their partnership, the records show that the pair had quite rightly agreed to share the cost of all the equipment their enterprise would require, “such as horses, bridles, saddles, assistants and servants,” they were merely involved “in dealing and in buying and selling several sorts of commodities.”

But as above board as all that sounds, Everet and Williams were both highwaymen—and their “business” amounted to nothing more than robbing unsuspecting gentlemen in and around north London and the surrounding countryside.

How the case even ended up in court at all is unclear, although one account claims that it was, in fact, Williams who made the first move: After a quarrel over the value of a gold watch they had acquired in a recent robbery, Williams sued Everet for £200. When Everet failed to show up to court (perhaps understandably, given the true nature of their business, although Everet would claim he was in prison), the action against him went undefended, and Williams won not only the case but Everet’s share of the spoils as well. In response, Everet—presumably aggrieved that Williams had won the case—then raised his own case against Williams. He took the unusual step of hiring a pair of solicitors, William Wreathock and William White, to represent him. Wreathock and White, in turn, hired legal counsel, a barrister by the name of Jonathan Collins, who drew up an official complaint and took the highwaymen’s case to the Court of Exchequer.

The bill Collins compiled—which requested that Williams account for the value of the goods in question, and repay any money owed to the plaintiff—is a masterclass in legalese. At no point are the criminal aspects of Everet and Williams’s business alluded to, and instead Collins merely wrote that:

"… pursuant to the said agreement, [Everet] and the said Joseph Williams went on and proceeded jointly in the said dealing with great success on Hounslow Heath, where they dealt with a gentleman for a gold watch … [Williams informed Everet that] Finchley was a good and convenient place to deal in, and so they dealt there with several gentlemen or divers watches, rings, swords, canes, hats, cloaks, horses, bridles and other things to the value of £200 and upwards."

According to Collins’s statement, after this “deal” had been concluded, Williams took charge of all the goods the pair had acquired, but Everet became suspicious when Williams “began to shuffle with him,” and refused to give him any kind of account or inventory of the items involved.

In explaining why the dispute was being brought to court—and seemingly unaware of the irony of what he was doing—Collins declared:

"My client, John Everet, is relievable only in a Court of Equity before Your Honours, where just discoveries are made, frauds detected, and just accounts settled."

In fact, it is presumed that in bringing the case to court, Collins’s plan was to force Williams’s hand and compel him to agree to an out-of-court settlement before the case ever came before a judge. He hadn’t banked, however, on Williams holding his nerve: Collins’s bill was presented in October of 1725, and a month later, the case was officially heard in court. The court was far from impressed.

Faced with resolving a dispute between two criminals and doling out the stolen profits of an illegal enterprise, the court dismissed the case as “scandalous and impertinent”—but the judges weren’t done yet. An order was issued for the arrest of Wreathock and White, Everet’s solicitors, on a charge of contempt of court for even bringing the case to the court’s attention at all. And for his part in the fiasco, barrister Jonathan Collins was ordered to pay all the costs himself—earning him a unique place in British legal history as the only barrister ordered to pay the costs of a failed case.

With the authorities now fully aware of Everet and Williams’s activities (not to mention the precise locations they liked to ply their trade), both men were eventually apprehended and tried: Williams was hanged at Maidstone in Kent in 1727, while Everet was hanged at Tyburn in London in 1730. In one final bizarre twist, William Wreathock was found guilty of robbery five years later and sentenced to transportation in 1735.

As the curious case of Everet vs. Williams—or “The Highwayman’s Case,” as it has become known—drifted into obscurity, for many years the unlikely tale of two highwaymen taking each other to court to resolve their dispute was believed to be a myth, until a law journal found a supposed reprinting of the case, and was able to verify key information. Since then, the case has gained an understandable reputation as one of the strangest in legal history, and is frequently cited as an example of the legal principle ex dolo malo non oritur action—“no right of action can have its origin in fraud.” Or, in other words: You can’t expect the law to help when what you’re doing is illegal in the first place.

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History
Mata Hari: Famous Spy or Creative Storyteller?
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Nearly everyone has heard of Mata Hari, one of the most cunning and seductive spies of all time. Except that statement isn't entirely true. Cunning and seductive, yes. Spy? Probably not. 

Margaretha Geertruida Zelle was the eldest daughter of a hat store owner who was quite wealthy thanks to some savvy oil investments.  When her mother died, her father remarried and shuffled his children off to various relatives. To escape, an 18-year-old Margaretha answered an ad in the paper that might have read something like this: "Dutch Colonial Army Captain Seeks Wife. Compatibility not important. Must not mind blatant infidelity or occasional beatings."

She had two children with Captain Rudolf MacLeod, but they did nothing to improve the marriage. He brazenly kept a mistress and a concubine; she moved in with another officer. Again, probably looking to escape her miserable existence, Margaretha spent her time in Java (where the family had relocated for Captain MacLeod's job) becoming part of the culture, learning all about the dance and even earning a dance name bestowed upon her by the locals—"Mata Hari," which meant "eye of the day" or "sun."

Her son died after being poisoned by an angry servant (so the MacLeods believed).

Margaretha divorced her husband, lost custody of her daughter and moved to Paris to start a new life for herself in 1903. Calling upon the dance skills she had learned in Java, the newly restyled Mata Hari became a performer, starting with the circus and eventually working her way up to exotic dancer. 

To make herself seem more mysterious and interesting, Mata Hari told people her mother was a Javanese princess who taught her everything she knew about the sacred religious dances she performed. The dances were almost entirely in the nude.

Thanks to her mostly-nude dancing and tantalizing background story, she was a hot commodity all over Europe. During WWI, this caught the attention of British Intelligence, who brought her in and demanded to know why she was constantly traipsing across the continent. Under interrogation, she apparently told them she was a spy for France—that she used her job as an exotic dancer to coerce German officers to give her information, which she then supplied back to French spymaster Georges Ladoux. No one could verify these claims and Mata Hari was released.

Not too long afterward, French intelligence intercepted messages that mentioned H-21, a spy who was performing remarkably well. Something in the messages reminded the French officers of Mata Hari's tale and they arrested her at her hotel in Paris on February 13, 1917, under suspicion of being a double agent.

Mata Hari repeatedly denied all involvement in any spying for either side. Her captors didn't believe her story, and perhaps wanting to make an example of her, sentenced her to death by firing squad. She was shot to death 100 years ago today, on October 15, 1917.

In 1985, one of her biographers convinced the French government to open their files on Mata Hari. He says the files contained not one shred of evidence that she was spying for anyone, let alone the enemy. Whether the story she originally told British intelligence was made up by them or by her to further her sophisticated and exotic background is anyone's guess. 

Or maybe she really was the ultimate spy and simply left no evidence in her wake.

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German Police Tried to Fine Someone $1000 for Farting at Them
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In Berlin, passing gas can cost you. Quite a lot, actually, in the case of a man accused of disrespecting police officers by releasing a pair of noxious farts while being detained by the police. As CityLab reports, Berlin’s police force has recently been rocked by a scandal hinging on the two farts of one man who was asked to show his ID to police officers while partying on an evening in February 2016.

The man in question was accused of disrespecting the officers involved by aiming his flatulence at a policewoman, and was eventually slapped with a fine of 900 euros ($1066) in what local media called the "Irrer-Pups Prozess," or "Crazy Toot Trial." The errant farter was compelled to show up for court in September after refusing to pay the fine. A judge dismissed the case in less than 10 minutes.

But the smelly situation sparked a political scandal over the police resources wasted over the non-crime. It involved 18 months, 23 public officials, and 17 hours of official time—on the taxpayers’ dime. Officials estimate that those two minor toots cost taxpayers more than $100, which is chump change in terms of city budgets, but could have been used to deal with more pressing criminal issues.

[h/t CityLab]

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