“They thought they were safe, but I think you put a scare into them when you told Eva about our continuing investigation. They decided to flee the country together, but not until they got rid of you.”
Mark frowned. “I still can’t accept it — a girl like that — a rector’s daughter, a nurse—”
“And Pedachenko was a barber’s assistant.” Abberline halted. “But you can’t go by outward appearances. In the light of evidence they were two of a kind. She was Jill the Ripper.”
“If only the house hadn’t burned,” Mark said. “At least we’d have proof to present.”
“There’ll be no presentation.” The inspector spoke slowly. “As it stands, two unidentified persons lost their lives as the result of an accidental fire. One died in an upstairs bedroom, the other was killed leaping from a window to escape the flames. And that’s the end of it.”
Mark stared at him. “You mean you don’t intend to tell anyone the truth?”
“The truth is that the Ripper is dead. And that I’m committing an act of conspiracy with you, God help me. But what’s to gain by speaking out? You’d be incriminated for withholding information, and the scandal would ruin Gull, to say nothing of Eddy.” He turned, staring into the fire. “I prefer to think I’m acting out of my own feelings of loyalty to the Crown, but more likely it’s only cowardice. If the Yard ever learned of my own involvement—”
“You’re right.” Mark sighed deeply. “The important thing is that it’s finished.” He looked up quickly as Abberline gasped. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. This damned stomach of mine acts up now and then.”
“So you told me. Eructation, borborygmus, gastric distress.”
The inspector shrugged. “I know it’s nerves. I try to watch my diet, but nothing helps.”
“You forget I’m a physician.” Mark took a pad and paper from his jacket pocket. He scribbled hastily, then tore off the sheet and handed it to Abberline. “Here, take this prescription to your chemist. I believe it should relieve your symptoms.”
“Thanks.” The older man grinned. “I’ll probably need a bit of relief in times to come. It won’t be all that easy to live with a bad conscience and I can never risk the truth, even if I write my memoirs.” He paused, sobering. “And what about you?”
“I’ve already made up my mind,” Mark told him. “I’m going back to the States. At least we have less violence to fear there.”
Abberline shook his head. “America is young yet,” he said. “Wait and see.”
Mark rose and the inspector led him to the door. After a subdued farewell he took his leave.
When he started down the walk outside Mark found himself pondering Abberline’s words. Was there truth in his cynical prophecy? Were there others lying in wait all over the world, smiling their secret smiles, doing their secret deeds? Why do human beings behave with such inhumanity; why do they enjoy inflicting pain, delight in death?
If he persisted in his determination to study the mind and seek a solution he might eventually find an answer. Then again, maybe he would never know; all he could do was try.
As Mark moved into the sunlit street beyond he saw the youngsters skipping rope — children at play, chanting their age-old rhyme.
He thought of Pedachenko and Eva. Thank God it was over with now.
Perhaps…
A NOTE TO THE GENTLE READER
FROM THE GENTLE AUTHOR
Certain liberties have been taken regarding some of the real-life characters involved in this work of fiction, but the details of Jack the Ripper’s handiwork come straight from the actual records.
It would be comforting to believe that this sort of activity came to an end in 1888, but such a conclusion is difficult to accept. And while the author is fully accountable for any imaginary violence in these pages he is, regrettably, not responsible for the nightly news.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Since the publication of his first short story fifty years ago, ROBERT BLOCH has written two dozen novels and hundreds of short stories, including many which are now considered among the masterpieces of modern mystery and horror. His most famous novel, Psycho, was made into Hitchcock’s unforgettable film. His scenarios include several classic episodes of the “Thriller” and “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” television series. The most recent novel of his long and distinguished career was the bestselling Psycho II. Mr. Bloch is a past president of the Mystery Writers of America and makes his home in Los Angeles.