THE PIMLICO MURDER.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 827, 15 February 1877, Page 3

THE PIMLICO MURDER.

[From the Times , December SOih.j Yesterday a verdict of “Wilful Murder” was returned by a coroner's jury against Frederick Treadaway, on the inquiry into the cause of the death of the late Mr Oollins, of Stanley street, Pimlico, and it may now be stated that the prisoner paid 12s 6d for the revolver out of a sovereign which he had borrowed of a friend. He was twenty-one years of age last Februaiy, and is one of nine children. He gave the idea, both to Mrs Collins and to the police, that he had “ tramped ” about for two nights, on the night before the death of Mr Collins, and on the night after, but it has since been ascertained that he slept on both nights at the of a friend, Mrs Milton, in Castle road, Kentish town, and changed/ his clothes at this house after what he terms “ the affair,” When he was at Pimlico on Friday he jwore a deerstalker hat, but when taken into custody he wore a tall hat, this having been obtained at his friend’s house in Castle road, where, too. he cut off the little whiskers he had and otherwise changed his appearance between the time of his disappearance at Pimlico and his speedy arrest at Isleworth ; and for the rapidity of this arrest the greatest praise is due to Mr Foynett, the divisional inspector of Westminster, Inspector Sayer, and Sergeant Butcher, of Scotland yard. It was owing to the exertions of the officers that a complete network was in a few hours drawn round the metro* polis, and the steps of the accused man were not only followed but actually anticipated —this, too, without his family knowing more than what appeared in the public prints of Saturday. The Westminster coroner, Mr Bedford, held the inquest upon the deceased man, John Collins, at the Vestry Hall, Pimlico road. After the jury had been sworn in they went to 99 Stanley street, where the poor man met his death, to view the body. On their return the widow of the deceased, suffering deep physical and mental pain, was brought into Court, attended by Dr Folwell. She was sworn. She deposed, speaking with great difficulty and emotion ; ■—My name is Elizabeth Oollins, and I live at 99 Stanley street. My lat* husband, John Collins, was fifty-seven years of age, and was a builder. 1 was at home on Friday morning last, and my husband went out at halfpast 10 o’clock on that morning. Frederick Treadaway, whom I knew as “ Fred,” called directly after my husband had gone out. I knew Frederick Treadaway from his having called times before. I knew him quite well. He said, “Is Mr Oollins at home? I want to speak to him.” I said, “He is not in ; will you come in and wait ?” Frederick Treadaway came in, and 1 asked him to take a seat by the fire in the front kitchen, and I gave him a couple of cushions that be might try and get a doze before my husband came in, as he said he was tired. 1 then asked him if he had got a letter which was sent to him on the day before by my niece, and he replied, “ No; I have not been home all night ; I have been walking about.” Soon after that Mr Collins came, and ho asked Frederick Treadaway after wishing him “ Good morning,” if he had had his breakfast, to which Treadaway replied that ho had had bis breakfast. This was in the front kitchen, and I went in and out several times. My husband said the youg man would perhaps stop to dinner, and asked me to make haste and get it. I went to the back kitchen to fetch what I wanted to prepare the dinner. At dinner time I took in some broth, and my husband asked Treadaway if he was a “ good hand at broth." Treadaway replied that he was not hungry. Treadaway had some ale, and afterwards my husband carved some meat for him. The two were in conversation, and I continued to go in and out of the front kitchen where they were sitting, and I went to get a pan, when—oh !

The witness was here overpowered by her recollections, and nearly fainted. After attention by Dr Folwell, the witness recovered the consciousness she had partially lost, and locked about with a fearful gaze, the doctor consoling her by saying “ He is not here,” The doctor explained to the Court that the poor woman was fearful of seeing the accused. After a little time the witness continued:—l had just gone for the pan when I beard (the witness shuddered, and continued, after a pause) I heard a shot, a sharp noise, and I turned out of the back kitchen, into the passage leading to the front kitchen, and I met Treadaway in the doorway of -the front kitchen, I said, ‘5 What is that ?” He said, “ I don’t know and directly after saying the words he fired at me. (“ Oh dear, what shall I do?” the poor woman ejaculated, and nearly fainted.) She continued :—I saw the flash of the pistol, and felt something like a blow, and then Treadaway went along the passage to the area door. I wont after him. I was going to cry “ Murder !” and he put bis hand into oay mouth as I opened my mouth to cry, and he took hold of rqy neck tight, Oh dear ! (Xb<3 witness neecM restoratives here again.)

Then he threw me down; He struck my head against the pavement. In the struggle I caught hold of his clothes somehow, and regained my feet. I ran up the steps. I don’t know how, and I called out to the people to stop Treadaway, to call the police and the doctor, for that he had murdered my husband and shot me. When I came from down the area to the front kitchen—

The poor woman was here again so distressed by her recollections of the sight she then evidently had brought to her mind that she was again completely overcome. After attention from Dr Folwell, she proceeded—l saw my husband lying down on the floor. I knelt by his side, and I—Oh dear !—I saw that ha was dead. I knew that he was dead, for while I knelt by him I saw his li? quiver, and I knew—that—that he was gone. There was no one else in the house except a very aged lady, and she was in bed. My husband had had no quarrel with Treadaway. Treadaway had only seen my husband twice before—on the day before the Thursday, and some months ago. At the request of Mr Bossiter, a solicitor who attended for the friends of deceased, the coroner put some more questions, and the witness said—My husband wore a belt, but he only kept money in that when he went into the country, and then he used to put notes and gold in the belt. Treadaway did not know it from me or my husband of this habit of wearing a belt. My husband always kept sufficient money in the house for his wants. My niece, to whom Treadaway was engaged, did not live with me, and had not lived with me. Treadaway has never asked me to lend him money, and Ido not know of his asking my husband to lend him a sum of money. My husband did not keep a banking account that I know of. Thomas Wort, police constable, proved the arrest of the prisoner, and that he found hanging to his brace, inside of his trousers, a six-chambered revolver. He also had two handkerchiefs, a tobacco pouch, a pair of gloves, two bunches of keys, a pair of spectacles, a jet collar stud, but not a farthing of money. There were also two or three other little things, and papers relating to civil service examinations.

Inspector Foynett was called, and said— On Saturday I went to Isleworth with Inspector Sayer, of Scotland yard. Finding that the prisoner was only charged with the murder of Mr Collins, I had him further charged with the attempted murder of Mrs Collins. When the additional charge was read, the prisoner evidently did not hear — was apparently stupified—and I repeated it, and he said, “ I don’t know how I came to do it ; it seems a blank to me.” We brought the prisoner to London, and on the way the prisoner, being told that his father had said that “ Frederick never had a revolver in his life,” said, “ No, I bought it in the Seven Sisters' road, Holloway, on Thursday. Things were miserable at home, and I was out of employ. I did not know what I was doing, or where I was going, and to-day (Saturday) I walked through Finchley and St Alban’s, thence retraced my steps and went to Isleworth, as I thought I should like to see Mrs Wiggius once again before I was apprehended. I found a pair of spectacles in Kentish Town, and wore them through Kensington and Hammersmith. When I started in the morning I only had twopence, and I expended a penny on a paper to read an account 'of the affair.’ The account was all wrong, for I never took a csb. I bad no money, and I never went to Victoria to try and get away to Dover. I had been out all the previous night—or at least from about four o’clock the previous morning, and I had stayed at the bouse of a friend, Mrs Milton, Castle street, Kentish Town, After ‘tho affair ’ I went across Hyde Park, and made my way to Mrs Milton’s house, where I arrived at half-past four and stayed there until ten the next morning. On Sunday the prisoner was visited by his parents, and in answer to some question by his father, he said, “ I do not know what made me do it; I must have been mad to do it ; I do not think I did do it.’ We knew of Mrs Milton’s acquaintance with the prisoner. I saw her for the first time last night; The prisoner wanted to write to her to tell why he cut his whiskers off in her house, and on my telling him that she knew the reason of that already he did not write. Some further evidence was given, and the jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against Frederick Treadaway.