you get a chance to look at this map?
None at all. I just walked past him.
It was behind the cupboard door?
Yes.
A street map?
As well as I could judge, yes.
Would you recognise a map of Whitechapel if you saw it?
I don’t know. I might. I suppose it could have been Whitechapel. I suppose Carlotte told you about this cranky idea about Jack the Ripper he has?
The man said gloomily: Yes.
He closed the notebook, and returned it to his pocket. He said: Well, I suppose that’s all.
Sorme said: Is it a secret, or can you tell me what it’s all about?
Just a routine check-up over the Whitechapel murders. Somebody reported him as a suspicious character. We’ve got to check.
What are these Whitechapel murders?
Don’t you read the papers?
Not unless I have to. And I don’t often have to!
The policeman lit a cigarette, and stood up, looking for an ash-tray. He said: You’re a lucky man. Have a look in today’s papers. You’ll find all about it.
How were they committed? What weapon, I mean?
Several. Hammer, scissors, a knife.
And how many have there been so far?
Four.
Sorme said: But what makes you suppose they were all committed by the same person? If the weapons were different, surely. . .
The policeman interrupted him, smiling: Look here, it’s no good asking me. Have a look at your paper. I’m not in charge of the case. I’m just doing a routine check.
Who is in charge?
Inspector Macmurdo, Scotland Yard.
A doorbell rang suddenly in the flat. The man said:
Ah, that’ll be the ambulance.
He went to the door; before he could reach it, they heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs. He opened the door and stood there, listening. Sorme said:
You know, it’s very odd. . .
What?
Well, the way he went on today. He seemed to think you wanted to arrest him.
Very odd. I’d like to know why.
I think he’s a little insane.
I’d better be going. Thanks for the help. . . and the beer.
Not at all.
He found the morning paper on the kitchen table. The headline on the inside page read: Biggest Manhunt Ever. He took it into the living-room, and sat in the armchair to read it. The front page carried the picture of a plump, thick-lipped girl. The text read:
‘The hunt for London’s maniac killer continues. Yesterday, every available police officer was diverted on to the biggest Metropolitan manhunt yet for the murderer who has now struck four times in eleven months. Late on Saturday night, Detective-Inspector Macmurdo, in charge of the case, told reporters that the police now have reason to believe that the killer of Gretchen Widman, the forty-five-year-old ex-model found stabbed to death on Saturday morning, was also the man who claimed the lives of Martha Turner (January 6 th ), Juanita Miller (April 3 rd ), and Catherine Eddowes (August 17 th ).
‘Martha Turner was killed by a hammer-blow in George Street, Spitalfields. Juanita Miller was stabbed with a pair of scissors. Catherine Eddowes, like Gretchen Widman, was stabbed with a knife.
‘The police are now almost certain they are hunting a maniac sadist, with a recurring urge to kill. Since Saturday morning, police have been conducting door-to-door enquiries throughout Whitechapel.
‘Stallholders in Petticoat Lane Market were questioned about a man who carries a razor-blade and slashes female underwear that is hung up for sale.
‘Yesterday afternoon the telephone room at the Yard received over two hundred calls from people who thought that they might have information about the killer.
‘Late last night, Detective Inspector Macmurdo said:
‘ “There has been no further development. The police are still hoping to make an early arrest.” ‘
The girl came in as he finished reading. She said:
Your room’s empty now.
He stood up, saying: Oh, thank you.
Would you like a cup of tea?
Thank you very much. Yes.
She called from the kitchen:
The policemen told me you did very well.
He said, laughing: It’s not often I get so
None at all. I just walked past him.
It was behind the cupboard door?
Yes.
A street map?
As well as I could judge, yes.
Would you recognise a map of Whitechapel if you saw it?
I don’t know. I might. I suppose it could have been Whitechapel. I suppose Carlotte told you about this cranky idea about Jack the Ripper he has?
The man said gloomily: Yes.
He closed the notebook, and returned it to his pocket. He said: Well, I suppose that’s all.
Sorme said: Is it a secret, or can you tell me what it’s all about?
Just a routine check-up over the Whitechapel murders. Somebody reported him as a suspicious character. We’ve got to check.
What are these Whitechapel murders?
Don’t you read the papers?
Not unless I have to. And I don’t often have to!
The policeman lit a cigarette, and stood up, looking for an ash-tray. He said: You’re a lucky man. Have a look in today’s papers. You’ll find all about it.
How were they committed? What weapon, I mean?
Several. Hammer, scissors, a knife.
And how many have there been so far?
Four.
Sorme said: But what makes you suppose they were all committed by the same person? If the weapons were different, surely. . .
The policeman interrupted him, smiling: Look here, it’s no good asking me. Have a look at your paper. I’m not in charge of the case. I’m just doing a routine check.
Who is in charge?
Inspector Macmurdo, Scotland Yard.
A doorbell rang suddenly in the flat. The man said:
Ah, that’ll be the ambulance.
He went to the door; before he could reach it, they heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs. He opened the door and stood there, listening. Sorme said:
You know, it’s very odd. . .
What?
Well, the way he went on today. He seemed to think you wanted to arrest him.
Very odd. I’d like to know why.
I think he’s a little insane.
I’d better be going. Thanks for the help. . . and the beer.
Not at all.
He found the morning paper on the kitchen table. The headline on the inside page read: Biggest Manhunt Ever. He took it into the living-room, and sat in the armchair to read it. The front page carried the picture of a plump, thick-lipped girl. The text read:
‘The hunt for London’s maniac killer continues. Yesterday, every available police officer was diverted on to the biggest Metropolitan manhunt yet for the murderer who has now struck four times in eleven months. Late on Saturday night, Detective-Inspector Macmurdo, in charge of the case, told reporters that the police now have reason to believe that the killer of Gretchen Widman, the forty-five-year-old ex-model found stabbed to death on Saturday morning, was also the man who claimed the lives of Martha Turner (January 6 th ), Juanita Miller (April 3 rd ), and Catherine Eddowes (August 17 th ).
‘Martha Turner was killed by a hammer-blow in George Street, Spitalfields. Juanita Miller was stabbed with a pair of scissors. Catherine Eddowes, like Gretchen Widman, was stabbed with a knife.
‘The police are now almost certain they are hunting a maniac sadist, with a recurring urge to kill. Since Saturday morning, police have been conducting door-to-door enquiries throughout Whitechapel.
‘Stallholders in Petticoat Lane Market were questioned about a man who carries a razor-blade and slashes female underwear that is hung up for sale.
‘Yesterday afternoon the telephone room at the Yard received over two hundred calls from people who thought that they might have information about the killer.
‘Late last night, Detective Inspector Macmurdo said:
‘ “There has been no further development. The police are still hoping to make an early arrest.” ‘
The girl came in as he finished reading. She said:
Your room’s empty now.
He stood up, saying: Oh, thank you.
Would you like a cup of tea?
Thank you very much. Yes.
She called from the kitchen:
The policemen told me you did very well.
He said, laughing: It’s not often I get so
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