27th June 1887
Reference Numbert18870627-721
VerdictNot Guilty > unknown

Related Material

ActionsCite this text | Print-friendly version | Report an error
Navigation< Previous text (trial account) | Next text (trial account) >

721. FRANZ SCHULTZ (32) was indicted for, and also charged on the Coroner's lnquisition with, the wilful murder of Emily Pottle.


PETER ALDOPH BULSTRODE . I am a cutler by trade—I am now in the 4th batallion of the Middlesex Militia—on Whit Sunday night I was sleeping at 29, Great Windmill Street, Haymarket—I had been living there for some years past—during the last ten months the prisoner had been living there with a woman who I knew as Mrs. Schultz—I slept in a bedroom behind the shop on the ground-floor, the prisoner and deceased occupied three rooms on the first floor, two were bedrooms, one they used at the back—I heard them quarrelling several times, and I have heard the woman come downstairs and go into the yard, on some occasions he followed her—on Whit Sunday night about 1.30 I was awoke by a noise overhead of quarrelling and a moving of furniture, and prisoner use some expression in German which I could not understand, and immediately afterwards I heard the fail of a lamp and the breaking of glass; on that I rose mf self up in bed and looked out of window into the yard, and I saw the woman enveloped in flames lying on the ground between the door and the dustbin, and about 4 feet from my window—she appeared to have a night dress on—the prisoner seemed to be scrambling by her side in a sort of kneeling posture; he was in his shirt; he seemed to be trying to extinguish the flames—he then ok her up in his arms and carried her down into the basement, and I

heard the running of water—I saw them come up again into the passage—I heard the woman say "I am dying, take me to the hospital; I will say that I did it myself"—on that the prisoner went to the door and called out; the witness Darter came, and shortly afterwards a cab and the three drove away—I saw nothing more of the prisoner till about 11 next morning; I opened the door to him, he was with two male companious—he said "Halloa, Peter, I did not know that you were there"—he said "The missus is dead, "and then he passed upstairs; he returned shortly afterwards with the same two companions—I asked what hospital the woman was in—one of his companions said "Middlesex; "the prisoner seemed to nudge him and said "No, Charing Cross"—after that, on going into the yard, I discovered these two pieces of a lamp and stand, they were lying about 2 feet from where I had seen the woman the night before; pieces of glass were strewn about the yard, and some paraffin on the stones, it smelt very strong—I afterwards went down into the basement, and I found the tap running; I also found there some burnt fragments of red flannel and white linen.

Cross-examined. I was first awoke by the noise of moving furniture, it was a great noise, and there was a lot of jumping about—I did not do anything, I laid in bed—I also heard very loud quarrelling—I did not go to see what was the matter, I was so used to hearing the quarrelling, I did not think it was anything serious—my window and door were shut—the words the woman used were, "I will say I did it myself," not "I did it myself, and I will say so"—while they were in the basement I went to the door and called for the police—when the prisoner saw me next morning he seemed taken aback, he gave a start and a look of surprise—I gave the pieces of lamp to the poliçe.

GEORGE DARTER . I am a pastrycook and confectioner, of 22, Lexington Street, Golden square—about 2 o'clock in the morning of 30th May I was in Great Windmill Street, I heard screams of "Murder! "and "Police" in a female voice, and cries of "Cab!" in a male voice—I went in the direction of the cries, and went into the passage of No. 29—I there saw the woman, and the prisoner supporting her against the wall—I said, "Good God, what is the matter?"—he said, "We burn, we burn," in broken English—the woman said, "Fetch me a cab, I am dying, I am dying"—I said, "Oh no, you are not, madam, I will see after you, I will get you a cab"—she was completely nude—I said, "Put something round her"—she said, "Take me to the hospital"—I got a Hansom cab and brought it to the door—the prisoner was still supporting her, he had got some articles of bedding round her—I lifted her into the cab, and the man as well, and I got up behind the cab, and told the man to drive to the Middlesex Hospital—we got her Out there and the doctor saw her—I saw that the prisoner's hands were injured—I asked him how it happened—he said, "She threw the lamp at me"—the doctor said, How is it that that is burnt a good deal more than you are? you are not burnt at all compared to what she is"—he shook his head but made no reply—I said, "Did you take it up and throw it back at her?"—he said, "No"—her hair was all burnt, and her face and body, in fact the whole front from the crown of the head to her toes.

Cross-examined. I never saw the prisoner before—he was doing all he could for her—he had one arm round her supporting her.

HERBERT BLUNDELL . I am out-patient porter at the Middlesex Hospital—the

deceased was brought there about 20 minutes past 2 o'clock on the morning of 30th May—the prisoner and last witness came with her; the prisoner was dressed—I lifted the woman out of the cab, and the witness brought in some things from the cab which were wrapped round her—I saw she was burnt very much in the head and face; she was in great pain, and screamed—I took her into the infirmary and the nurse fetched the doctor—I came out and spoke to the prisoner; he was very excited, and seemed frightened—both his hands were burnt, the right hand most—I asked him how it occurred, he said "She threw the lamp over me"—I said it seemed strange that she was burnt the most and he was not burnt quite so much—he said "She will tell you it you ask her."

THERESA MARSHALL (Interpreted). I am a single woman, and live at 29, Great Windmill Street—I have lived there about three years—I occupied the second-floor front, the prisoner and deceased had three rooms on the first floor—I had known them living there for 9 or 10 months—the prisoner did no work that I know of; the woman went out into the street to earn her living; she used to bring home men—on Whit Sunday afternoon I was at home about 5 o'clock; I went down, hearing some noise, and saw the prisoner and a chair broken—I asked why he had done that, he said "You don't know what I have done; I have broken the door open and turned out a man who was there"—I asked why he had done that, he said "She is a dirty beast, he has only given 10s. "—I said "That is better than nothing; why have you broken the chair?"—the deceased came into the room and said to the prisoner "You shall not break any more of my furniture, it belongs to me, I paid for it," upon which he threw her on the bed, and took up the back of a chair as if to strike her; I snatched it away from him and threw it under the table—after that he was quiet and I went up to my room—I went to bed, and heard nothing in the night, but about 4 o'clock in the morning I heard the bell ring and went down and opened the door, and saw the prisoner with his hands bandaged—I said "What have you done?"—he said "Emily is dead, burnt, at the hospital"—I said "Then it is you that has done it"—he said "Yes, she threw the lamp on me, and I threw it on her, and in the act of trying to save her from being burnt, I burnt my own hands"—I said "Why didn't you take a blanket and throw over her to save her?"—he said "It is done"—he said he was afraid the police would come and fetch him for manslaughter, and asked whether he could come into my room to sit down I said "Certainly not, you have two beds in your own room"—I afterwards went into his room, and there saw a small kitchen lamp with no glass on it—the deceased was about 20 years of age—her name was Emily Pottle, but she passed by the name of Schultz.

Cross-examined. I work for my living, being a servant in place—I was friendly with these people; I never told anyone that I would try and do my worst for the prisoner—the man who gave the 10s. was a regular friend of the woman's, and came every Sunday—I never asked the prisoner to give me the wearing apparel belonging to the deceased—I have never been arrested by the police.

EMMA MITCHELL . I now live at No. 9, Hop Gardens, St. Martin's Lane—my husband rented a part of the shop at 29, Great Windmill Street for about 18 months—I was not living in that house, but I used to go to the shop from time to time—I knew the prisoner and deceased;

I have sometimes heard them quarreling, and when they were she would always run down into the yard—on Monday morning, the 11th, the prisoner came round to me at Hop Gardens, and asked me if I would lend him the key of the street door as he could not get in—I saw that his hands were bandaged, and I asked him what was the matter with them—he said they were burnt—I asked how—he said "The missus is dead"—I said "Dead, what did she die of? was it sudden, or what?"—he said "She was burnt"—I asked "How did she do that?"—he said "She upset the paraffin lamp over her on the bed"—I said "Is the bed burnt or the pillow?"—he said "No"—I asked if she was lying at home—he said "No, she is at the Middlesex Hospital"—I went there and saw her.

EDMUND BURKE (Police Inspector C). On the afternoon of Monday, 30th May, I went to the Middlesex Hospital about 20 minutes to 4, and while I was there the prisoner came in—I stopped him, and said "Frank Schultz"—he said "Yes"—I said "I shall take you in custody for violently assaulting a woman by throwing a lighted lamp at her at 29, Windmill Street, this morning"—I cautioned him as to anything he might say—he said "Very well, is she dead?"—I took him to the station, where he was charged—he said nothing—I went to 29, Windmill Street, and saw the witness Darter, and received from him the broken pieces of this lamp—I saw broken pieces of glass in the yard, and smelt paraffin—the back yard is very small; 2 yards by 3—I went into the back bed-room first floor; I saw no signs of burning there, or any appearances of a lamp having been upset—I found in the basement some pieces of burnt rag and flannel—on the 16th June, after the woman was dead, I charged the prisoner with manslaughter—he made no reply.

HEDLEY BARTLETT . I was casualty house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital when the woman was brought there at 2.25 a.m.—she had no clothes on, but was wrapped round by a blanket—she was very severely burnt from head to foot—her hair was singed—the burns were worst on the chest—the extremities were burnt also—she was in great pain, and very collapsed—I considered her in a very dangerous state—I got the assistance of Mr. Brown to help dress her—she never rallied—she died at 10 o'clock on Monday night from the burns—I dressed the prisoner's right hand after attending to the patient—the palm of the right hand was burnt rather severely; the left hand was slightly burnt—he was sober—I asked him how it happened—he said she had thrown the lamp at him—I said "I believe you must have thrown it at her," but he still maintained that she had thrown the lamp at him—the deceased said she thought she was dying, and she told me that she had thrown the lamp at him—she kept saying that she was dying.


View as XML