“I hope your visit to the East End was productive,” continued Alice, as though throwing celery were a perfectly normal part of her everyday activity.
“I’m afraid we didn’t learn much,” said William, “though we had one intriguing interview with a woman who knew the second victim, Polly Nichols. She said that Polly used to visit a gentleman a few times a week in the area.”
“But isn’t that what such women do?”
William cleared his throat; his sister’s directness still embarrassed him. “Not insofar as Polly told our witness that she was being paid to do something else.”
“And what was that?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t know.”
Alice looked annoyed. “Then you ought to find out, hadn’t you?”
Before more could be said, Sally entered the room with a large casserole dish containing the oysters with mushrooms, and some time was spent ladling out portions.
As they were being served, Alice turned to Henry. “Did you write anything interesting this afternoon?” she asked politely.
“As a matter of fact,” said Henry, pleased to expound, “I have begun a new project, the dramatization of one of my works.”
William made a slight choking sound, and Alice shot him a look. “A play, how nice.” She nodded. They ate without speaking for a few moments, until finally, Alice broke the silence, speaking to William of what clearly interested her most. “I assume you spent your afternoon at Scotland Yard examining the letters. Did you bring them for me to look at?”
William put down his fork and took a sip of wine. As he did so, he touched his jacket pocket in a reflexive gesture.
“You have them!” exclaimed Alice. “They’ve let you borrow them!”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” said William, bringing his napkin to his lips and opening his eyes in mock innocence.
“You see how he gives himself away?” Alice directed herself to Henry. “He can’t lie. He’s afraid he’ll go to hell if he does.”
Henry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it. He tries to lie, except he’s bad at it. It’s why he could never write fiction—and doesn’t appreciate mine.”
“Enough!” interrupted William. “I admit I have the letters, or at least a few of them. Abberline’s men went through the lot and identified those they felt to be authentic. I’ve been given permission to examine them at my leisure. Obviously they’re confidential.”
“Phooey,” said Alice, waving her hand. “Let me see them!”
“I really can’t do that. The letters were released to me as a special consultant to the police commissioner.”
“And I am a special consultant to you,” declared Alice, “and a highly sensitive one. If you don’t show me the letters, I’m sure to get a headache and have a fainting spell.”
William gave his sister a withering look. “That’s…beneath you!”
“No, it’s not!”
He paused and, still glaring at her, took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it over. There was silence for a few minutes as Alice perused the letters while Henry peered over her shoulder. There were a dozen or so assorted sheets, some on full pieces of vellum, some on scraps of paper or postcards.
“Why do you assume these are authentic?” Alice finally asked.
“It’s not a definitive assumption. There are a hundred or so letters received at Scotland Yard and the Central News Agency alleged to be from Jack the Ripper, and more come in each day. Abberline has confided that at times he wonders if any are genuine. But the experts he has employed believe that these, at least, have a claim to validity by virtue of their content and style.” He leaned forward, extracting a sheet from the group. “This one, for example, dated September 25 and postmarked September 27, was addressed to the Central News Agency, forwarded to Abberline, and not published until October 3.”
Alice took the letter from him. It read as follows:
Dear Boss
I keep on hearing the police
have caught me but they wont fix
me just yet. I have laughed when
they look so clever and talk about
being on the right track. That joke
about Leather Apron gave me real
fits. I am down on whores and
I shant quit ripping them till I
do get buckled. Grand work the last
job was. I gave the lady no time to
squeal. How can they catch me now.
I love my work and want to start
again. You will soon hear of me
with my funny little games. I
saved some of the proper red stuff in
a ginger beer bottle over the last job
to write with but it went thick
like glue and I cant use it. Red
ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha.
The next job I do I shall clip
the lady’s ears off and send to the
police officers just for jolly wouldn’t
you. Keep this letter back till I
do a bit more work then give
it out straight. My knife’s so nice
and sharp I want to get to work
right away if I get a chance.
Good luck.
Yours truly
Jack the Ripper
Don’t mind me giving the trade name.
And at a right angle to the note was written at the bottom:
wasn’t good enough
to post this before
I got all the red
ink off my hands
curse it.
No luck yet. They
say I’m a doctor
now ha ha.
“The reference to Leather Apron is to a criminal with that nickname who was associated with the murders but has since been cleared,” explained William. “It’s a reference that warrants additional looking into,” he noted, more to himself than to the others.
Alice glanced through the remaining sheets. “Here’s the postcard that they printed in the papers,” she said, holding it up so William could see what she was referring to, and then peering at it more closely. It read:
I wasn’t codding
dear old Boss when
I gave you the tip.
Youll hear about
saucy Jackys work
tomorrow double
event this time
number one squealed
a bit couldn’t
finish straight
off. had not time
to get ears for
police thanks for
keeping last letter
back till I got
to work again.
Jack the Ripper.
William again provided the commentary. “That was also sent to Central News and was postmarked October 1. The reference is to the double murder of September 30. Elizabeth Stride, throat cut, but no further violence done her, followed a few hours later by the extensive stabbings to Catherine Eddowes. It is true that one of the latter’s ears was partially severed, suggesting that the murderer was attempting to follow his intention in the former letter.”