9

nearly to the centre of the throat. Along half the length, however, it was accompanied by another one, which reached around under the other ear, making a wide and horrible hole, and nearly severing the head from the body.

The ghastliness of the cut, however, paled into insignificance alongside the other.

No murder was ever more ferociously or more brutally done.

The knife, which must have been a sharp one, was jobbed into the deceased at the lower part of the abdomen, and then drawn upwards, not once, but twice.

The first cut veered to the right, slitting up the

10

groin and passing over the right hip, but the second cut went through upward along the centre of the body and reaching to the breast-bone.

"Such horrible work," said the doctor, "can only be the deed of a maniac."

Two other constables now came up with a stretcher, and the body was removed to the mortuary.

Dr. Llewellyn, of course, pronounced life to be extinct, but death had not long taken place, because the extremities were still warm

It was not until the clothes were removed here that the full extent of the injuries and the horrible nature of the attack which had been made upon her was fully revealed.

The instrument with which the wounds were inflicted must have been as sharp as a razor, and used with the utmost ferocity.

When the hours of business came and men and women began to move about the streets the news spread.

Another awful and demoniacal outrage had been perpetrated.

The effect on the popular mind was more like stupor than anything else.

Incredulity was the first phrase, and then rage and a boiling spirit of revenge.

Who and what was this hideous man-monster among them, dealing death and desolation around?

The outcry against the police was something terrible. All the blame was laid to them.

Doubtless but for certain restrictions the criminal might have been discovered there and then.

A cordon of police with full power to search without warrant might have caught the ferocious criminal, a maniac, red-handed.

But the force did not possess the power.

The common lodging-houses of the district were the haunts of the lowest and vilest criminals and of their abandoned female associates.

Nests of thieves and prostitutes in most cases.

The office of the lodging-house inspector is sanitary, not detective or repressive.

Further, he can only enter at certain times, even for the enforcement of sanitary regulations requisite or forced, without special permission.

It is thus possible for many more persons to occupy the houses than are allowed by the licence.

Single men, single women, and "doubles" may occupy one house by permission of the Commissioners of Police, and the whole moral atmosphere is foul in the extreme.

Casual labourers become tramps and beggars, and then thieves; and the women who, in their destitution, enter these portals, usually leave hope behind.

But unless in hot pursuit of a criminal the ordinary policeman may not enter, nor may the detective, without a warrant, if the keeper objects.

Doubtless the murderer had sought shelter until nightfall in some den of this Alsatia of the West.

The police of Whitechapel and Spitalfields were practically powerless to deal with the ruffianly population crowding the long, narrow streets, where nine out of ten men are the policeman�s natural enemies.

CHAPTER V.

DETECTIVE DICK.

RICHARD RYDER was a well-known detective. He was not a man who had ever brought himself into very prominent notice.

But he was known and hailed by his superiors as having unravelled several difficult cases when others had failed.

Richard Ryder preferred to have the approval of the office, and to receive the very substantial rewards which often fell to his share when he was fortunate enough to see his name in print.

Fame and reputation are very good things in their way, but Dick had a wife and two children, and was especially anxious to keep a good roof ever their heads.

When the news of this fourth atrocity reached Scotland-yard he was called for and told that he was put on special duty to unravel the mystery of the Whitechapel murders.

He was to take the course he thought best himself, and spare no pains, time, nor money, so that he gained some clue to the perpetrator of these wicked tragedies.

Detective Dick knew that he had a very difficult task to unravel.

His first act was to interview Constable John Neil, who, knowing him well, at once gave him all the information he could.

It was very little more than he had gathered from the so-called evening papers which are published at mid-day.

But when Neil told him of the demoniacal laugh and the sudden disappearance of the person who gave utterance to it, he opened his eyes.

"Any mysterious characters about here?" he asked of John Neil.

"Not exactly mysterious ones," replied Neil, glad to be put in contact with a detective of such high character, "but plenty of shady ones."

"You see, this is a difficult job," continued Dick. "This neighbourhood of yours is about the fishiest in London, and you�ve a hard nut to crack. I wouldn�t attempt it myself, only I know I shall get help from you all."

"I will do my best," said Neil much gratified.

"Has she been identified?" he asked, pulling out his note-book.

"Yes, as being Polly, a woman living at a common lodging-house at 18, Thrawle-street, Spitalfields."

Detective Dick made a note of this.

"What�s the nearest thieves� public?" he then asked.

"The Pig and Whistle," replied Neil.

"Well, we�ll wet our whistle somewhere else," laughed the other; "it wouldn�t do for me to be seen there with so well-known an officer as you are by this time."

And so they went out, had their drink, and Dick went by himself to the Pig and Whistle.

It was a dark night, and the outside of the of the public-house was crowned by a mob of the lowest kind, confirmed gin-drinkers, who, having acquired the taste, live for nothing else.

The crowd was penniless, but still they hang around as if in hope.

Dick gazed at them, and saw a large body of women of the vilest and most ragged description, aged itinerants, with features seared with famine, bleared eyes, dropping jaws, shivering limbs, and all the morbid signs of hopeless, aimless, and, worst of all, breadless infirmity.

Richard Ryder passed in, and there he found another more flaunting lot, gin-drinkers, too, but not dressed in rags; on the contrary, they wore tawdry finery, and had painted cheeks, gaudy ribbons, and all the usual insignia of their class.

And everywhere the talk was of the murder.

11

There were few men in the bar, and these were collected together�a low-browed, heavy-jowled band, who spoke in whispers.

There could be no mistake about their vocation. They were the hangers-on on these unfortunate girls�the beings, utterly loathsome and contemptible, who live on the wretched vice of the women whom they pretend to care for.

That the women care for them there can be no doubt.

The detective now moved towards the entrance of a passage, but was stopped by Smiles the landlord.

"Private!" he said, huskily.

"Nothing is private for Dick Ryder," responded the detective, adding something in a low tone. "Take care all is fair and above board. I come for information only�nothing to do with you."

Smiles moved on one side and admitted Dick without a word. He knew the name too well not to respect it.

Dick found himself in a large room, and here some dozen men were collected, very much like those outside, but better dressed and of a presumably higher grade.

He himself had assumed the dress of a better-class Jew clothesman, and was humble and reserved.

No one asked any questions. The mere fact that Bill Smiles the landlord had admitted him was quite enough for these "knowing blokes," who at times are as green as grass.

He ordered a humble pint and some bread and cheese, and after eating this indulged in a glass of spirits and a pipe.

All the while he listened, but for some time heard nothing that interested him.

"I often wonder," at last said one, "who that queer bloke who lives at the top of the house in Thrawle-street is. He aint from about here; he keeps hisself to hisself, and never speaks to nobody."

"Well," retorted another, with a virulent oath, "if a gentleman wants to be on the quiet, why shouldn�t he be?"

"Quite right, Bob," continued the other; "and I don�t want to interfere with no gen�leman�s business. I was only thinking if he knew anything about this here red business."

"He�s done something has Jemmy Lang�he�s so quiet, and shuts himself up so," responded the other, "ever since t�other Bank Holiday. He hardly ever goes out, he gets shiners, and don�t do no work."

"Well, it beats me�but that�s no business of mine," the other went on. "But what this blooming cove as kills the wenches is about, I don�t know. They aint got no money."

"That�s the kitch�it�s beyond me," said another; and so they went on speculating as to the objects of the murderer.

Dick had heard enough. He got up, wished them good-night in a humble way, and went out.

"A nice gang of blooming idiots you all is," said one, who had kept in the background behind the chimney of a stove; "that there was Dick Ryder, the detective. I know�d him the moment he came in."

The men rose as if galvanised, and then sat down again appalled.

"He didn�t want none of us. But you�ve made it hot for Lanky Lang," the other went on. "He�s gone away believin� he�s the one as did the knifing. Now Lanky I don�t think would hurt a mouse."

"Well, then, there aint no harm done."

"But whatever his little game is Ryder will find it out," the other remarked.

All expressed their regret, but they did not know, you know, and it couldn�t be helped.

Meanwhile, Dick had lost no time in going to Thrawle-street, where he interviewed the deputy, who imagined he was taking a great liberty until he informed him who he was.

"Have you a warrant against anyone?" asked the deputy, coldly.

"No; but I can thundering soon get one," said Ryder, drily. "I suspect your lodger, Jemmy Lang, of being the murderer, and I mean to arrest him, warrant or no warrant."

And before the other could interfere the detective had rushed upstairs.

He knew from the men�s talk that the room was at the top of the house, and was locked. But Dick Ryder was always prepared. He had a small steel crowbar that few doors could resist, and then he had a pair of very formidable pistols.

He reached the door, which he saw at once was pretty stoutly made.

"Who�s there?" asked a man�s voice, speaking in a low voice.

"Dick Ryder, the detective," was the answer. "Open up once or I shall smash the door in."

There came no reply, and Dick, acting up to his threat, flew at the door. Though not of a very large build, he was strong., and the door shivered.

With another effort he hurled his whole weight against it, and it fell inward.

Dick entered and found that the room was empty.

He rushed to the window which overlooked the roof of the next house�a very old-fashioned one�and, in the distance among the chimneys, he saw the man he was in pursuit of.

He was active and vigilant, and knew that, with care, a roof was as safe as the street, and at once began the chase.

The man before him was older and stouter than himself, but fear lent him wings. He hurried onward.

Dick, however, knew that at the end of a dozen houses there was a street, on reaching which Jemmy Lang would either surrender or take a plunge into the depths below.

At last the fleeing man was brought to bay, and stood behind a stock of chimneys, his head only visible.

"Surrender!" cried Dick, presenting a pistol.

"What for?" asked the other.

"For the murder of a girl called Polly," was the stern reply. "Come, no nonsense."

A hoarse laugh was the response.

"Ah, ah!" said Lanky Lang; "so you are fool enough to believe I killed Polly? Why, I�d choke the man if I knew who he was. She�s been rare kind to me. I�ve know�d her years before she came to this."

And the detective knew that he was utterly sold. Still he kept a good face on the matter.

"Then what did you run away for?" he asked; "why not open the door when you heard my name!"

"To tell the truth," the other answered, drily, "you were just the sort of person I didn�t want to see."

"Now, Lanky Lang," said Dick Ryder, "you come back with me. I�m a man of my word. Prove to me what reason you had for closing your door, and explain everything clearly, and I daresay we can come to terms."

12

Lanky Lang at once came from behind the stack, and followed Dick Ryder quietly back to his room

"Now, then?" asked Dick.

"Look," said the man, and showed him a small press, engraver�s tools, and all the other requisites for forging Russian roubles.

"I thought I was nicked, and ran," he said. "As to Polly, I knew her four years ago when she lived with a man named Drew."

"Who is she?"

"She is the wife of a man named Nicholls, a machinist, who works for a printing firm in Fleet-street. Heaps of girls downstairs will tell you all about her," the man said.

"Thank you for the information," said Dick; "and I will take advantage of the information. In the meantime, clear out of here. Keep the secret of my mistake, and I daresay it will serve you in the time to come."

"Thank you, sir," responded Lang.

Dick now went down the stairs and saw the deputy.

"He was not the man I wanted," he said, "but let any girls who know anything about this Polly come up to the coroner�s office in the morning. By the way, I had to burst that fellow�s door open�here�s a couple of sovereigns, that will pay the carpenter twice over."

And he went out laughing.

CHAPTER VI.

THE INQUEST.

NEXT day several persons came up and identified the body as that of Mary Ann Nicholls, commonly called Polly Nicholls. The woman Mary Jane Moule, to whom we have already alluded to, said they had been inmates of Lambeth Workhouse together.

At nine o�clock next morning the body was removed from the mortuary to an improvised operating room on the premises, and Dr. Ralph Llewellyn made a post-mortem examination.

Meanwhile wild rumours flew about on all sides.

It was stated that blood could be traced in thick spots and small pools from the spot where the body was found far down Buck�s-row to a lateral thoroughfare called Brady-street.

The police denied this statement. Inspector Helson stated that he walked carefully over the ground soon after eight o�clock in the morning, and beyond the discolourations ordinarily found on pavements there was no sign of stains.

Viewing the spot where the woman was found, however, it seemed difficult to believe that the woman received her death wounds there.

The police seemed to have no particular theory, except that a sort of High Ripgang exists in the neighbourhood, which, blackmailing women of the same class as the deceased, took vengeance an those who did not find money for them.

Another theory was that the woman was murdered in a house, and killed whilst undressed, her clothes being then huddled on the body, which was afterwards conveyed out to be deposited in the street.

Some colour was lent to this by the small quantity of blood found on the clothes, and by the fact that they were not cut.

Whilst the post-mortem examination was going on an officer arrived from the Bethnal-green station with two men, who were regarded as possibly able to throw some light on the case.

The first man was one who kept a coffee-stall at the corner of Whitechapel-road and Cambridge-road.

He was, of course, well acquainted with all the loose characters in the neighbourhood.

Crime, a wretched vice, shadowed those itinerant purveyers of food for the million.

He said�we are bound to give his evidences, though it came to nothing; but we are faithful historians�that at three o�clock on Friday morning a woman answering the description of the deceased, came to his stall in company with a man five feet three or four inches high, dressed in a dark coat and black Derby hat, apparently about thirty-five years of age.

He had a black moustache and whiskers, and was fidgetty and uneasy.

He refused to have anything to eat, but paid for the woman�s coffee.

He grumbled, and kept telling her to hurry, as he wanted to get home.

At length the woman, who was a little the worse for drink, finished up her meal, and went away with the stranger.

The coffee-stall keeper said he had never seen the man before, but he should know him again anywhere.

The other man was a Mr. Seerer, assistant-salesman to Smithfield-market.

He had been attracted by the report that the dead woman�s name might be Seerer, and said that his wife, from whom he separated eleven years ago, had been an inmate of Lambeth Workhouse.

He said she had a friend named Polly Nicholls, at that he knew the latter by sight.

He did not know the colour of his wife�s eyes, but said she had two scars on her body�one on the right thigh and another on the right forearm.

The two men were allowed to view the body, but nothing came of it.

The coffee-stall keeper said he did not think it was the same woman, but was not sure. The woman, if it was the same, had grown thinner in the face.

Seerer said the woman was neither his wife, nor, far as he could remember, her friend Polly Nicholls.

On September the 1st the inquest was opened by Mr. Wynne E. Baxter, coroner for South-east Middlesex, at the Working Lads� Institute, Whitechapel.

Inspector Helstone, who had the case in hand, attended with other officers on the behalf of the Criminal Investigation Department.

The first witness called, after the jury had viewed the body, was Mr. Edward Walker, who identified the body he had seen in the mortuary as that of his daughter.

He had not seen her for three years. He recognised her by her general appearance, and by a little mark she had on her forehead when a child. She also had either one or two teeth out like the woman he had just seen.

Her name was Mary Ann Nicholls, and her husband was alive. Further particulars were given already known to the reader.

She left him (her father) to better herself. She used to drink, and that was why they could not agree.

"She must have drank heavily for you to turn her out of doors?"

"I never turned her out. She had no need to be like this while I had a home for her."

He then explained the relations of husband and wife, and then stood down.

The evidence of the constable who found the body, and the doctor, we shall give in extenso.

13

John Neil, police-constable 97 J, said:�In the morning I was proceeding down Buck�s-row, Whitechapel, going towards Brady-street. There was not a soul about. I had been round there half an hour previous, and I saw no one then. I was on the right-hand side of the street when I noticed a figure lying in the street. It was dark at the time, though there was a street lamp shining at the end of the row. I went across and found deceased lying outside a gateway, her head towards the east.

The gateway was closed. It was about nine or ten feet high, and led to some stables. There were houses from the gateway outward, and the Board School occupies the westward. On the opposite side of the road is Essex Wharf.

Deceased was lying lengthways along the street, her left hand touching the gate. I examined the body by the aid of my lamp and noticed blood oozing from a wound in the throat. She was lying on her back, with her clothes disarranged. I felt her arm, which was quite warm, from the joints upwards. Her eyes were wide open. Her bonnet was off and lying at her side, close to the left hand.

I heard a constable passing Brady-street, so I called him. I did not whistle. I said to him, "Run at once for Dr. Llewellyn," and seeing another constable in Baker�s-row, I sent him for the ambulance.

The doctor arrived in a very short time. I had, in the meantime, rung the bell at Essex Wharf, and asked if any disturbance had been heard. The reply was "No." Sergeant Kirby came after, and he knocked.

The doctor looked at the woman, and then said, "Move the woman to the mortuary. She is dead, and I will make a further examination of her."

We then placed her on the ambulance, and moved her there. Inspector Spratley came to the mortuary, and while taking a description of the deceased, turned up her clothes, and found that the was disembowelled.

This had not been noticed by any of them before. On the body was found a piece of comb and a bit of looking-glass. No money was found, but an unmarked white handkerchief was in her pocket.

The Coroner: Did you notice any blood where she was found?

Witness: There was a pool of blood just where her neck was lying. The blood was then running from the wound in her neck.

Did you hear any noise that night?

No, I heard nothing. The furthest I had been that night was just through the Whitechapel-road and up Baker�s-row. I was never far away from the spot.

Whitechapel-road is busy in the early morning, I believe. Could anybody have escaped that way?

Oh, yes, sir. I saw a number of women in the main road going home. At that time anyone could have got away.

Someone searched the ground, I believe?

Yes, I examined it while the doctor was being sent for.

Inspector Spratley: I examined the road, sir, in daylight.

A Juryman (to witness): Did you see a trap in the road at all?

No.

A Juryman: Knowing that the body was warm, did it not strike you that it might just have been laid there and that the woman was killed elsewhere?

I examined the road, but did not see the mark of wheels. The first to arrive on the scene after I had discovered the body were two men who work at a slaughterhouse opposite. They said they knew nothing of the affair, and that they had not heard any screams. I had previously seen the men at work. That would be about a quarter-past three, or half an hour before I found the body.

Henry Llewellyn, 152, Whitechapel-road, surgeon, was next called, and said�

On Friday morning I was called by the last witness to Buck�s-row at about four o�clock. The constable told me what I was wanted for. On reaching Buck�s-row I found the deceased woman lying flat on her back in the pathway, her legs extended.

I found she was quite dead, and that she had severe injuries to her throat.

Her hands and wrists were cold, but the body and lower extremities were quite warm. I examined the chest and felt the heart. It was dark at the time. I believe she had not been dead more than half an hour. I am quite certain that the injuries to her neck were not self inflicted. There was very little blood round the neck.

There were no marks of any struggle or of blood, as if the body had been dragged. I told the police to take her to the mortuary, and I would make another examination. About an hour later I was sent for by the inspector to see the injuries he had discovered on the body.

I went and saw that the abdomen was cut very extensively. I have this morning made a post-mortem of the body. I found it to be that of a female of about forty or forty-five years.

Five of the teeth are missing, and there is a slight laceration of the tongue. On the right side of the face there is a bruise running along the lower part of the jaw. It might have been caused by a blow with the fist or pressure by the thumb.

On the left side of the face there was a circular bruise, which also might have been done by the pressure of the fingers. On the left side of the neck, about an inch below the jaw, there was an incision about four inches long, and running from a point immediately below the ear.

An inch below on the same side and commencing about an inch in front of it, was a circular incision terminating at a point about three inches below the right jaw.

This incision completely severs all the tissues down to the vertebrae. The large vessels of the neck on both sides were severed. The incision is about eight inches long.

These cuts must have been caused with long-bladed knife, moderately sharp, and used with great violence. No blood at all was found on the breast either of the body or clothes.

In the lower part of the abdomen there were two deep jagged wounds, one made by three cuts. The one on the left side was not so deep as that on the right. They did not penetrate into the chest; all were downward.

He could not say whether they had been inflicted by a left-handed person; they might have been. The throat injuries were from left to right. All the injuries might have been inflicted by the same instrument. There was no great loss of blood.

He had not noticed the scar on the forehead mentioned by the father. The stomach contained about three teaspoonfuls of milky fluid; there was no appearance of anything having been eaten for two or three hours. There was no smell of alcohol.

He thought the abdominal wounds were first

14

inflicted. They were sufficient to have caused almost instantaneous death.

In answer to a juryman the doctor said there was no evidence of the body having been dragged; there was no spurting of blood. He should say the man who did the deed had some rough anatomical knowledge, since all the vital parts had been attacked.

It was impossible to say whether the murder had been committed with a clasp-knife or a butcher�s knife. It must, however, have been strong and sharp. The woman had evidently been knocked down. She might have screamed once.

The police now asked that the adjournment might be as long as possible, since matters were coming to their knowledge which would demand inquiry. Inspector Helston incidentally mentioned that he had ascertained that the woman left her place on July 14th.

The coroner thought it would be best, however, to resume the inquiry on Monday, and suggested that the butchers should be summoned.

Inspector Helston said that had already been done.

The inquest was resumed on Monday, but very little that was new was elicited.

Inspector John Spratling, of the J Division, was called. He stated that he first heard of the murder about half-past four on Friday morning, while in Hackney-road. Proceeding to Buck�s-row he saw Police-constable Thain there, and the constable pointed out the spot where the deceased had been found. Witness noticed a slight stain of blood on the footpath. Witness, continuing, stated that he returned to the mortuary about noon on Friday.

He found the body stripped, and the clothes lying in a heap in the yard. The clothes consisted of a reddish brown ulster, with seven large brass buttons. It was apparently an old garment, but a brown linsey dress looked new. There was a grey woollen petticoat and a flannel one belonging to the workhouse.

Some pieces bearing the words "Lambeth Workhouse, P.R." (Prince�s-road), had been cut out by Inspector Helston with the object of identifying the deceased. Among the clothes there was also a pair of stays in fairly good condition, though they had been repaired, but he did not notice how they fastened.

Henry Tomkins, of Coventry-street, Bethnal-green, stated that he was a horse-slaughterer in the employ of Mr. Barber. He was at work in the slaughterhouse, Winthrop-street, adjoining Buck�s-row, from eight o�clock on Thursday night till twenty minutes past four o�clock on Friday morning. He generally went home after leaving work, but that morning he had a walk.

A police-constable passed the slaughterhouse about a quarter past four, and told the men there that a woman had been murdered in Buck�s-row.

They then went to see the dead woman. Besides witness two other men, named James Mumford and Charles Britton, worked in the slaughterhouse. Witness and Britton had been out of the slaughterhouse previously that night�namely from twenty minutes past twelve till one o�clock, but not afterwards till they went to see the body. It was not a great distance from the slaughterhouse to the spot where the deceased was found. The work at the slaughterhouse was very quiet work.

The Coroner: Was all quiet, say after two o�clock on Friday morning?

Witness: Yes, quite quiet. The gates were open, and we heard no cry.

The coroner asked if anybody came to the slaughterhouse that morning.

Witness stated that nobody passed except the policeman.

The Coroner: Were there any women about?

Witness: Oh, I don�t know anything about them. I don�t like them. (Laughter.)

The Coroner: Never mind whether you like them or not. Were there any about that night?

Witness replied that in Whitechapel-road there were all sorts and sizes. (Laughter.) He could tell them it was a rough neighbourhood.

The Coroner: Had anybody called for assistance from the spot where the deceased was found would you have heard it in the slaughterhouse?

Witness thought not, as it was too far away. When he arrived in Buck�s-row with the intention of seeing the murdered woman he found the doctor and three or four policemen there, and he believed that two other men whom he did not know were also there. He heard no statement as to how the deceased came into Buck�s-row. About a dozen people came up before the body was taken away. He did not see anyone from one o�clock on Friday morning till a quarter past four, when the policeman passed the slaughterhouse.

A Juror: Did you hear any vehicle pass the slaughterhouse?

Witness: No, sir. If one had passed I should have heard it.

Where did you go when you went out between twenty minutes past twelve and one o�clock?

My mate and I went to the front of the road.

Is not your usual time of quitting work six in the morning?

No; it is according to what we have to do.

Why did the constable call to tell you about the murder?

He called to got his cape.

The only other evidence of any note was that of Emily Holland, but this was important, as she saw the deceased on the morning of the murder.

Emily Holland stated that she was a married woman, and lived at Thrawle-street, Spitalfields, in a common lodging-house. Deceased had lived there about six weeks, but was not there during the last ten days. At about half-past two o�clock on Friday morning witness saw the deceased going down Osborne-street into Whitechapel-road. She was staggering along drunk and was alone. She told witness that where she had been living recently would not let her in because she could not pay. Witness tried to persuade her to go home with her.

The deceased refused, saying�

"I have had my lodging-money three times to-day, and have spent it."

The deceased then went along Whitechapel-road, stating that she was going to get some money to pay for her lodgings. Witness did not know what deceased did for a living, or whether she stayed out late at night. She was a quiet woman, and kept herself to herself. Witness did not know whether she had any male acquaintance or not. She had never seen the deceased quarrel with anybody. When deceased left witness at the corner of Osborne-street and Whitechapel-road she said that she would not be long before she was back.

The inquest was now adjourned to the 17th, before which date Whitechapel was to be startled by a yet more fearful crime, which would throw this fourth horror into the shade.

15

After the inquest on Mary Ann Nicholls, the eldest son of the deceased woman arrived at the Whitechapel mortuary and recognised the body as that of his mother. He was respectably dressed, and seemed much affected at her untimely end. He is by trade an engineer and lives with his grandfather, Mr. Walker, but for some time had not been on speaking terms with his father.

The family history, by those who know them, is stated to have been a sad one. When the separation between the deceased and her husband took place on account of alleged infidelity, Mr. Walker did what he could for her children. After the separation took place the deceased went to live with a man named Tom Drew, who is a smith living at Walworth. He knew her before she was married, and was her sweet-heart before Nicholls.

About an hour after the son arrived, her husband, Mr. W. Nicholls, came to see the body. He is a machinist, working at Perkins and Bacon�s, printers, Fleet-street.

When the meeting between father and son took place, neither of them spoke to each other, till the deceased�s father said to Mr. Nicholls, "Well, here is your son, you see. I have taken care of him, and made a man of him."

The father then spoke to him and said, "Well, I really did not know him; he has so grown and altered."

Then the husband went into the mortuary to see if he recognised the deceased. He came out ashy white, and simply said, "Well, there is no mistake about it. It has come to a sad end at last."

CHAPTER VII.

THE HIGH RIP GANG.

IN days gone by there were a large number of regular thieves� dens, where, if known, and under protection of any of the gang, a man was as safe as in an hotel�much safer, if he was hiding.

Many of the thieves� kitchens were long, secret rooms, built at the back of some of the low ale-houses, and the only entrance to them was by means of a secret door opening from the inside.

Then, in addition to this, there was a pass-word.

The chief of these, in the olden times, were in the neighbourhood of Field-lane, but as far as is known they have all been cleared out of the neighbourhood.

But, anyway, they are rarer in the centre of London and the West than they used to be; but even now in the East-end are places which, if discovered, would astound many, and perhaps explain some of the mysterious disappearances.

After the adjournment until the seventeenth, Dick Ryder had an interview with the policeman who had started the theory of the High Rip gang and asked for an explanation.

"Well, you see," said the other, an experienced officer of about forty, "they are a fearful band of men and boys who live on the unfortunates. They do not work, but keep high jinks when they have money. These wretched females begin by loving the foul villains, but generally end by fearing them. Still some retain their devoted affection for the monsters in spite of kicks, blows, and the most consummate brutality. You see, what raises my suspicions is that I have lately heard that some of them have been levying blackmail on all girls they meet�on women comparatively strangers."

"Where are these lively beauties to be found?" asked Dick Ryder.

"Well, mostly round the lowest taverns and beer-shops," replied John Briggs; "but they�ve got a den of their own�underground somewhere�where they hold their midnight orgies."

"I should like to visit it."

"You�d never risk it, Mr. Ryder," the officer replied.

"I would."

"Well, then, I�ll tell you what I�ll do," said John Briggs. "A fellow called Red Rip, chief of the gang, is under obligations to me. I can trust him. If you choose to risk your neck I�ll get him to introduce you. But you must tell him your object."

"If I have your word that he wont split I�ll go as a Liverpool High Rip," continued Dick, the detective, gaily.

"Come along with me," said John Briggs.

And he led him to a narrow lane, in which was a public-house of the lowest kind.

It was one almost devoted to night prowlers who make up so large a sum-total of the immoral classes.

They entered freely, no one making any attempt to check their progress. They went up to the bar, and there was a blear-eyed individual in company with a fat, blowsy-looking woman about thirty.

She was laughing and standing drinks.

John Briggs looked hard at the men, and then passed into a side room, which happened to be empty.

He rang the bell and ordered drinks.

With the waiter came Red Rip.

As soon as they were alone that strange individual addressed Briggs.

"What can a feller do for you, sir?" he asked.

"Well, to tell you the truth, this is Mr. Richard Ryder, the celebrated detective. Don�t be frightened," seeing the other start and glance at the door, "you have nothing to fear. He, like myself, fancies it might be one of your gang did it."

Everybody know what it meant at that time.

"Well, sir, true as lights, it aint none of our boys," the other said, coolly. "We don�t do no knifing business, and keeps out all foreigners for that reason."

"I believe there�s something in that," mused John Briggs. "But my friend wants to judge for himself. Remember, he�s nothing to do with anything but this murder. I want you to introduce him as a Liverpool High Rip."

"But, sir," he began.

"Honour bright�fair, square, and above board," said the officer, "my word is my bond."

"I know it, sir," the man said, humbly. "Of course, the gent won�t betray where I take him. It would be death if I were bilked."

"I give you my word, my friend will forget the place the moment he leaves it," said Briggs.

"The gent�ll have to be pretty blurred," continued Red Rip.

"I know," turning to Dick; "disguised like a Darby swell."

"Good," remarked Dick; "I�ll be back in half an hour," added the detective, giving the man half a crown; "don�t drink too much."

"Thank you, sir�no. My flippings will be too hot"�his heart will be in a quiver�"I dursn�t drink."

Dick Ryder went away to a lodging he had secured, and, opening a box, soon assumed a disguise�that of a seedy, half-drunken swell of five-and-twenty, with

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blotchy face, red nose, and bushy whiskers, the beau idea of a low swell.

John Briggs was in ecstacies, and declared he had never seen anything better.

Ha had, too, a limp, and had, in consequence, to use a heavy stick

Besides this he had a brace of pistols concealed, and a knife, as, despite the belief in John Briggs�s protége, he was always prepared for the worst.

He never threw a chance away.

Having thus titivated himself to his own and his friend�s satisfaction, he returned to Whitechapel den and joined Red Rip, who expressed both his admiration and approved of the make-up.

They now started, Red Rip leading the way. John Briggs left them when they were in sight of the den.

It was a very unpretentious-looking dwelling, merely an obscure public-house; but it required as much ceremony to get inside as ever was exercised in the most severe of secret societies, Jacobite or Masons.

The bar was, of course, open to all; it was to pass through a certain door�that was, as usual, the great difficulty.

It, however, flew open after some preliminary humbug�very much affected by secret associations�and Red Rip and Jim Hard entered, that was the name he had assumed.

Once inside the door was again fastened, and then Red Rip preceded Jim Hard down some stone steps to where a vault was to be found illumined luridly by two small jets of gas.

There was a murmur of slight applause as Red Rip entered with a companion, and their silence ensued.

"A friend of mine," said the Rip, "Mr. Jim Hard, from Liverpool�a Rip all over."

There was load applause at this, which increased when Jim handed his companion a sovereign, and bade him order whatever anybody liked.

There was a boy in the room, who communicated with the back of the bar by means of a ladder, and executed the voluminous orders which were at once given�saveloys, bacon, cheese, and other nondescript articles, above all, drink.

He now had an opportunity to study them.

A fouler class never existed. Low-browed, with short-cropped hair, an evil smirk, little pig-like eyes, jowls heavy, they looked the very incarnation of crime and vice.

Murders and thieves may have some redeeming quality, but this vile class had none.

Dick could not even understand how there was any more in Red Rip than the others, but John Briggs had assured him there was.

They appeared more like rampant animals than anything else; and so they were, animals battening on lust and laziness.

So that their foul appetites were gratified they knew nothing else. The world might founder and collapse and they would not care, so that their hideous carcases escaped.

Under peculiar circumstances the writer has seen much of this nefarious crew, and says that there is no other class which so completely represents the leprosy of crime.

There is no lower depth to which human nature can go.

And those foul blots on humanity are not peculiar to any class.

They are to be found in very much higher circles to those which we are describing.

The wretched prowlers of the West are worse, as they have less excuse.

They are even fouler and more vile than their East End compeers.

Presently, when the men and boys came to spirits, chiefly gin and smoke, Red Rip turned the conversation to the murder of the woman Polly.

They were exuberant in their remarks and most objurgatory, but what struck Dick most was the loathing expressed by these outcasts against the presumed murderers.

"If my Poll was cantank," said one, "I�d larrup her, but stab her�never!"

"No; that�s mean," remarked another. "They�re rough larkers, but killing�s another thing. I wish I could be with the bloke as did it. Wouldn�t I chivy him."

"So would we all!" they cried.

Red Rip looked at Dick.

"What�s your idea now, sir?"

"I believe you told me the truth," said the detective. "When I go, which I must shortly, come with me, as if to show me the way. I want to speak to you."

Presently Red Rip announced that his friend, Mr. Jim, had an appointment, but would see them another occasion. He left another sovereign, with which they were to drink his health.

The High Rips rose as one man, or boy and man, and cheered.

During the uproar Dick and his guide retired, and were soon above ground.

"What�s your real name?" asked Dick.

"Bob Eller," was the answer. "Why?"

"Do you like this life?" asked the detective, with keenly scrutinising eyes.

"No," was the answer; "but once in it, what other life can I lead? I came to it by my love for one woman, now as degraded as the worst. I think often of giving it up, but again, I say, what else can I do?"

"Well, there�s my address," said Dick Ryder. "I want a jackal who doesn�t mind where he goes and what he does. I think I could afford to give you thirty shillings a week to do some of my very dark work."

"Try me," whispered the other, "and you�ll never repent it."

"I will try you. Come to my office in a couple of days," whispered Dick. "Dress as well as you can out of this couple of sovereigns, and I think we may work together."

The man took the two sovereigns offered him, and walked off without offering to go back to the den he had left.

"He�ll make a splendid jackal, you bet," he said to himself.

And when he told John Briggs what he had done he highly approved.

"You�re right�he�ll do," was the policeman�s verdict. "He may help you to untwist this very yarn."

"That�s my own idea," said Dick, "he knows fully well everybody about here. Who was his girl?"

"A she-devil, she knifed him, and I took her up," replied John Briggs. "He begged her off with tears in his eyes, and I let her go. About the worst hussey in the Commercial-road."

"That chap�ll do," said Dick; "at all events I�ll try him. Take a me somewhere where we can have something to eat, and we can have a talk."