The Truth of Jack the Ripper

After searching through the old files of Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Dr. John Watson. I have discovered a shocking file that sheds some light on one of London's greatest mysteries. It's concerning the infamous Phantom of the Misty Night, the Terror of London, the Legendary Serial Killer, Jack the Ripper. Holmes and Watson's investigation of the Hound of the Baskervilles was created to cover up what Holmes considered to be his greatest failure... Jack the Ripper. How do I know this, you may ask? My name is Alphonse Forte Holmes, IV. I am the descendant of Sherlock Holmes. Here is his story.

Part 1-Descent into Whitechapel

The day started just like any other day. Holmes had just started to practice his violin. I was eating breakfast and reading the morning paper. As I began to read the first page, I was absolutely horrified. The gruesome murder of a woman in Buck's Row in the Whitechapel District took up the first page. I remember reading about a similar murder that happened about a month ago.

Naturally, I knew Holmes may be interested, if only slightly in a case like this. I said, "Holmes, look at this," I gestured at the morning paper. "An investigation was opened into the murder of a poor woman in the East End. The unfortunate girl was discovered last night, practically torn apart. The article sent shivers down my spine.

The inspectors in charge of the case don't seem to have the slightest lead. A similar murder occurred a month ago."

"Ah love," Holmes said while playing a romantic sounding tune, "a crime of passion, of lust, where a man turns into a beast; simply because they hunger for it so much."

"Honestly, Holmes," I said, "this area of Whitechapel is a disgrace. The government should take serious note of what is going on there."

"Whitechapel, you say?" Holmes stopped playing his Stradivarius. "The woman was found at Whitechapel?"

"Indeed, Buck's Row to be precise."

"A crime not of passion, but of commerce," his voice seemed to show his lack of enthusiasm. "Well unless the woman in question, takes great delight in that particular vice then…"

Hearing Holmes's words infuriated me. "Holmes! Do you not hear what you are saying? A woman is dead, in the most horrid way possible. She's human, just like you and I. None of these people have any other way to support themselves; except for selling their bodies. Show some compassion for your fellow man!" I shouted.

"Do not speak another word Watson. We shall depart for Whitechapel immediately."

Holmes's words surprised me. I had thought he had completely lost interest in the case. Though foolish on my part I had asked him if we were to depart to the scene of the crime.

"No," he responded, "at the moment it would be overridden with police officers and spectators. Investigating the scene properly would be impossible. It would be better to investigate later when night has fallen. For now, it would be best to go to the police station, for the preliminary reports."

He begins to walk out of the room, "Also as long as Lestrade isn't the Inspector on the case, we may have a chance at salvaging evidence at the scene." He walked out the door and descended down the stairs. I soon follow suit, so that we may journey to Whitechapel; in the hopes we capture this madman.

Within a few hours we arrived at Whitechapel. Upon our arrival the streets looked grim and dismal. It was as if a dark shadow of evil had blanketed Whitechapel. It was nothing more than a typical London morning, cold. Holmes and I continued to walk to the police station. At the station, Holmes opened the door and we entered.

As we stepped inside, I was surprised to see how unkempt the station was. There were papers lying on the floor, cracks in the walls, and a toppled over rubbish bin. A lone man was sitting at a desk, in front of us. Apparently, I spoke my thoughts aloud as Holmes was explaining why the station was in the condition it was. A local outpost he says, and that the tasks these constables do are not easy as well.

Holmes began to walk to the man at the desk. The man greeted us kindly. Holmes asked the man if he could see the Chief Inspector. The man, who called himself Humphries, asked us what we wanted with the Inspector. Holmes then introduced himself, but before he could finish Humphries interrupted.

"Sherlock Holmes!" he said excitingly, "The one I've read about in the papers? What a treat. I can assume you are here about the Buck's Row case?

I was about to tell the man we were indeed here for the case, but Holmes interrupted, "Not at all. We passed by merely by chance. You say there has been a crime?" Holmes was up to his old tricks again to learn more about the case.

"You don't know?" Humphries said surprised, "You two must be the only folks in London who haven't heard."

Holmes asked if they would find the culprit soon. Humphries said that they do not have a single clue nor suspect. Holmes proceeded to talk Humphries into giving him a copy of the preliminary report.

"Hmm…well I'm not allowed to give these reports, since they're official documents. I can't give them to you without talking to the inspectors. Why don't you wait for the inspectors to return? I am sure you would learn more."

"If I wanted to meet the inspectors, I would have done so. So please the preliminary reports."

Humphries sighed and said, "Normally I wouldn't be able to give away these reports. But Mr. Holmes if they are in hands as capable as yours, then I am sure you would be able to catch this criminal." He reached into his desk and handed Holmes a stack of papers.

Holmes took the papers and started to walk, but not before he said, "Please keep this visit of mine a secret, if you would?" Humphries nodded and we both walked out the door.

While reading the report we toured around the district to get a better understanding of the surroundings. The report was disturbing; I as a doctor have concluded that what the man had done to that poor woman was absolutely savage.

Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols was the victim's name. In the report, her throat had been slit twice; those were the most distinct markings. The cuts were so deep, almost to the spinal cord. There was also bruising near the neck; I am deducing that the victim was most likely strangled. The most disturbing part of the report was that Nichols had been cut open; no, butchered would be a more appropriate word. Her abdomen had been cut open, with a jagged incision and her privates had been stabbed as well. The report concluded that the mutilation had been done with a strong knife and that the person who had done it was left handed.

Before we headed to the scene Holmes had insisted that we wait until evening before we went there. It was so that we may complete our investigation, without extra eyes prying on us. It wasn't until ten in the evening, that we went to the scene at Buck's Row.

Holmes inspected the scene carefully looking for any signs of evidence. Though I doubt he could find any with the body gone and the investigators most likely had already searched for any other evidence. After a few minutes Holmes was in his usual train of thought, he had then asked me to help him demonstrate how the murder took place.

I stood in front of him and waited for him to take action. As he demonstrated each movement he explained it as well.

"First," he said, "judging from the reports, Nichols had been strangled first." He put his hand up to my neck and to my mouth. "Then after the killer confirmed that Nichols was dead, he laid her on her back." I followed the movement accordingly and I laid on the ground. "As the report suggests the killer was left handed and began to slit Nichols throat." He used an imaginary knife to attack me, "And the rest well you know, Watson. Now from what can we deduce from all the clues we have gathered Watson. The lack of blood at scene how was the murderer able to escape notice, and why is there no blood on the walls?"

I gathered all the knowledge of deduction that I had learned from observing Holmes. "The lack of blood," I explained, "is because the victim had already died, before mutilation had occurred. Once the heart had stopped, gravity had drained the blood slowly."

I paused for a moment then Holmes said, "Good Watson, continue."

I pointed to lights around us, "The murderer was able to escape without notice because of the poor lighting. This way even if somebody were to be nearby they would not see clearly."

"Excellent, Watson!" exclaimed Holmes, "Your deducting skills improve every day, now we have been in this dismal alley for too long. Let us return home."

Part 2-Jack the Ripper

It was almost the end of the month, and neither the police nor Holmes, was close to solving this case. We were soon confronted by Inspector Abberline, who asked us about our part in the case. Holmes had told Abberline what he and I already knew and told him he would have no part in the case; his reason was that if he were to intervene then all the responsibility would fall on him, if he were to fail. I highly doubted that Holmes would simply drop a case, so I played along.

The inspector was actually quite relieved to hear that. He said that he was going to ask him to look no further into case; as the public would lose all faith in the police. After the Inspector had left, Holmes and I had discussed what we were to do next. Holmes had suggested that I were to go and investigate in Whitechapel; as the inspector had said 'him' not 'us'.

While I had investigated by myself I had investigated about a suspect called "Leather Apron". I had no such luck about the suspect, then I had been given another suspect a doctor such as myself by the name of Tumblety.

During my investigation early on September eighth, the Buck's Row assassin had struck again. Holmes had actually gone with me during that day so we were in luck. We went to Hanbury Street where the murder had occurred.

When we arrived the officers at the scene had allowed us into the crime scene, with no problems. An officer informed us that the body had not been touched. I was able to estimate the time of death about half an hour before six, judging by how cold the corpse was and rigor mortis was settling in. I had to also take in account the unusually cold weather and the fact that the corpse had been drained of blood. Holmes had deduced that there were no signs of a struggle due to the lack of tracks on the ground.

Examining of the body was dreadful; it was hard to believe a fellow human being could do such a thing. The body had been in the same state as the previous victim; the girl had two cuts in her throat. Unlike the previous victim, this woman had her stomach entirely cut opened.

What shocked me the most was that several organs had been removed; but what surprised me more was that they were skillfully removed, not 'ripped' at all. Although slightly crude, I couldn't have done a better job myself. This was the work of an expert. I also noticed that the uterus was missing.

Before we concluded our investigation, Holmes had discovered a piece of evidence that I had overlooked… a single white hair in the pool of blood. Although it was not much to go on; Holmes had deduced that the murderer could be someone who is elderly or someone who was under a great deal of stress that had changed their hair white.

A few days after the murder of Annie Chapman, I was sent down to Whitechapel to investigate yet again for Holmes. I knew Holmes wouldn't just stand by idly, so he had come down to Whitechapel incognito a number of times.

During my time alone, I had learned a little more about Dr. Tumblety. He is a foreigner. Possibly an American or a Canadian, from witness accounts. By talking to a few women, it seems that he is quite a loather of females and had eh…an interest in the same gender. Unfortunately, that was the only information I could gather. However, it did give me an idea as to the murderer.

Holmes and I had tried to think of a motive for the murderer. We concluded that it is either for money, a possible trophy, or even more disturbing... cannibalism. Holmes also concluded that the murderer had evolved in a short span of a few days and that he may have had previous victims, besides Nichols and Chapman.

It is the twenty ninth of September; three weeks since the murder of Annie Chapman. The police have not even a single lead in the case. Neither do we have a single lead ourselves.

Holmes had decided to patrol the East End; he had hoped to gather more information and to see if the Whitechapel Killer would strike again. I was to accompany him and we both had to wear disguises; as we would raise alarm if Sherlock Holmes had come to Whitechapel.

It was near ten when we arrived in Whitechapel. Both Holmes and I had masqueraded as simple workers; he even covered us in soot for good measure. We had spent two hours wandering Whitechapel until we found ourselves near Mitre Square. During our wandering throughout Whitechapel, we heard a conversation of interest between two officers making their round.

"Did yer 'ear about the letter that just came in?" asked one of the officers.

"Yes I did," responded the other, "wasn't it titled "Dear Boss?"

"That's right. And that letter gave the Whitechapel Murderer a name. 'Jack the Ripper' I'd say that's an appropriate name; considering what 'e's done to them girls."

Jack the Ripper, that name ran through my mind some many times at that moment. From a medical perspective the name wasn't entirely accurate, but as a human being I believed it appropriate. We continued our way down to Mitre Square, when Holmes suddenly stopped.

I asked him what was wrong, but he soon silenced me and told me to listen. Although it was faint I could hear something. It sounded similar to scraping or maybe even the cutting of flesh. That is when I realized, Jack the Ripper was nearby. I immediately turned to Holmes for conformation, but he had already rushed to the scene.

I followed Holmes as quickly as I could; Holmes was standing in the middle of Mitre Square searching for the source of the noise. Unfortunately, he was having trouble seeing where the source was coming from. I used the lantern that I was carrying to help Holmes see, but the moment I attempted to illuminate the square; an object was thrown at the lantern and shattered it.

I had nearly dropped the lantern, but instead my whole body tensed up, and my grip on the handle grew stronger. Holmes then ran towards me.

"Be on guard Watson," he said, "Right now we are in 'his' element."

"Holmes," I asked, "when you mean 'his' do you mean…"

"Yes, Watson," he interrupted, "at the moment Jack the Ripper is here with us. We must not let him catch us off guard Watson; for that can prove fatal."

So many thoughts were going through my mind; when will he strike? Is he going to kill us? And if we could catch him? We waited for a few seconds, which felt like hours; it was only when the Ripper made his move that we could react. He threw two medium sized rocks at the lamp posts, putting them out.

He was trying to get away, I attempted to go and pursue the murder judging by where the lamp posts were; but Holmes had stopped me.

"Holmes!" I shouted, "He's getting away!"

"No Watson," he said calmly, "he is not; right now he has lured us into a trap."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Right now Watson we are blinded by darkness. There are still two lamps illuminating two of the three entrances to Mitre Square, I have been keeping an eye out for any individual who may be trying to exit the Square; yet I have not seen a single individual come to those two spots. What does this mean Watson?"

Unfortunately I knew the answer straight away, "Jack the Ripper is still among us."

"Indeed Watson, moments ago we had been hunting a wolf. But now the hunter has become the hunted. We have but only two options now. The first is to leave Mitre Square and pursue the Ripper another day. Or we could stay here and attempt to capture the Ripper, which could end with us experiencing a most horrid end."

I couldn't have agreed more with Holmes. We have to escape or else we may never solve this case. Holmes and I slowly walked towards one of the two illuminated exits. We had to proceed with absolute precaution as we are so vulnerable.

After sometime we managed to exit Mitre Square safely. We then made our way towards Baker Street, as we cannot do much more at the moment. We soon heard another noise coming from Mitre Square; it was police whistle; though the next bit of information had surprised both me and even Holmes. We had soon learned that Jack the Ripper had claimed two victims on that very night.

Part 3- From Hell

It had nearly been two weeks since the double murder. Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, those were the names of the two, who had been murdered that night; both of which had been murdered within the same hour.

We had investigated the scenes of both crimes almost a week after they had occurred. Both victims had their throats slit just like the previous victims, but they were only slashed once. The body of Elizabeth Stride had not been mutilated; Holmes had figured that the murderer must have been interrupted before he could start.

Catherine Eddowes was not so fortunate. Her body had been viciously mutilated; her nose and eye lids cut off, the intestine removed along with a kidney and the uterus. It was beyond me that another human being could just cut up another human in the same manner as an animal.

Holmes had also taken interest in what had destroyed my lantern. It was a knife covered in blood; it was difficult to hide the knife from the police while transporting it to Baker Street. The knife was strangely shaped and was thirteen inches long. There was also a strange blood pattern on the handle. Immediately we figured it was the knife that had mutilated all of the victims.

Next, Holmes deduced was the modus operandi. All the victims were female and prostitutes, that was an obvious one. He also deduced that the murderer seems to have a personal vendetta against women, which is strongly supported by what he had done to Eddowes.

But what I find most disturbing is that Holmes suggested that the murderer though cowardly is evolving. This evolution he speaks of is most unsettling; I hate to think of what would happen to his next victim.

It was late in the evening of the fifteenth of October when we discussed this. Holmes had seemed to be waiting for something. I asked him what is it he was going to do. He responded to me, "You will know Watson, in 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1."

The door opened and a young boy came in, he was dressed in dirty clothing and I recognized him. It was one of those street urchins who Holmes would employ, The Baker Street Irregulars. The boy seemed to have come to Holmes with urgent news.

"I've found im Mr. Olmes," he shouted, "I've found im, 'e's at the Trump Club downtown."

"Thank you, my dear boy," Holmes said, "here's a little something for you." He handed the boy a few coins and the boy ran out.

"Holmes," I asked curiously, "Who is it that young boy has found?"

"Why Watson, the one man who can lead me to Professor James Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran."

It is not hard to imagine the surprise that I had when Holmes had told me; he was going to meet with Sebastian Moran. The second most dangerous person in London; the first being Professor James Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime. Holmes had been trying to arrest this man, with little success; I feel as if Holmes is facing another version of himself.

I attempted to dissuade Holmes into meeting with Moran, but to no avail. I asked to accompany him, but he said no. Apparently it is too dangerous with just Holmes alone and if I were to come along the danger would only increase. I told him to be careful and to take his pistol with him. The rest well…will be told by Holmes.

It took me a little over an hour to arrive at the Trump Club. It was the average size of a pub, with a sign on the outside with its name and the image of a spade on it. I proceeded inside to the pub; the inside was very decorated, with red wallpaper and golden lamps. There was a large rectangular table in the corner of the pub; at it several men were sitting there. Two were playing cards and one I recognized…Sebastian Moran. Thankfully, I was in disguise or else I would have a bullet in my head by now; I ordered a pint from the bartender and took a seat away from them, to better observe.

He was wearing an expensive brown suit; his hair was combed neatly back and he had a chevron moustache. At the end of the table I saw a decorated chair and in front of it was a wine glass upside down and bottle of wine. It then struck me that the wine must be for Moriarty, meaning that he is to come here tonight.

Contemplating all the plans I could think of to get me to Moriarty; something interrupted my train of thought. The door's bell had rung and a man wearing a knee length coat appeared; I could not make out his face as he kept his head low and his hat hindered his face even more.

"The Professor," he said, "would like to see the man over there." He pointed a finger to me, "he would also like you to bring him his wine. He awaits at his carriage."

I proceeded to go to the other table; Moran spoke, "Please wait a moment…"

He was soon cut off by the other man, "Do you intend to defy the Professor's wishes?" The man then glared at Moran and he was trembling; I never knew Moran could be this afraid. I continued to the table and another man gave me the wine bottle; I then proceeded out of the pub.

In front of the pub was a carriage meant for a single man. Although I could not make out a face I could tell someone was in the carriage, Moriarty. I then walked towards the most dangerous man in London.

"I have brought the man you wanted sir," the man said.

"Good work," said the man in the carriage, "now can I have that wine, sir."

I handed the bottle over to who I would assume to be the driver. He took it, but I had this strange feeling of uncertainty.

"Now sir you wish to speak to me?" Moriarty asked.

I had wished to expel my uncertainty so I asked, "Excuse me, but are you really Professor Moriarty."

"None other."

"Well I feel this charade has gone on long enough Moriarty. We both know that the man in the carriage isn't you, but the real one is there." I pointed to the driver. "Ventriloquism, an interesting skill you have there."

The man let out a laugh and took off his hat and revealed his face. It was the face of the true Professor Moriarty. "Ah Holmes," he said, "What gave me away."

"It was quite simple really," I explained, "You should really tell your subordinates to not speak so formal and polite to you when you're in disguise." I took my own hat off, "Now let me ask you; what gave me away?"

"Holmes just like your reason, mine is simple as well. A quick glance of your face is what gave you away. Now then you have some business with me?"

"Yes I do. Do you know anything about Jack the Ripper? Or are you the one who set him loose onto London?"

Moriarty laughed, "I know as much as you do Holmes."

"So you know absolutely nothing about the Ripper?"

"Even with my vast network of information, finding this murderer is quite difficult."

"What interest is the Ripper to you?"

"Why Holmes," he exclaimed, "I want to employee him or her, you never know. Or at the very least have that person, train a few people in my employment. This murderer seems to have a lot of potential as an assassin."

"Do you have any information what so ever?" I asked.

"Not much, but I will give you this Holmes. You might want to look a little lower."

"Thank you," I said, although this clue is perplexing, even Moriarty is a man of his word. He walked towards his carriage and went in; the imposter had left and went to his normal station as the driver.

"I hope we meet again Holmes." The carriage soon pulled away from the pub and soon vanished from my sight.

Nearly a month had past, when Holmes and Moriarty met. There had been no luck on the case and the piece of information Moriarty gave to Holmes had been no help at all. "Look a little lower," what exactly does he mean by that. Holmes had felt that even though he had gather so much information; how the victims were killed, and even descriptions of people from witnesses who believed they saw the murderer, that there is still single piece missing in the investigation. He decided to head to Whitechapel to gather any more information.

We arrived at Dorset Street, in Whitechapel a little before eleven and as we are walking; we see a man standing outside the entrance of Miller's Court. We went to see what was wrong with him. The man seemed to be in shock; Holmes was the first to speak

"How are you good sir?" he asked, "Are you not feeling well?"

"No," said the man.

"My friend here is a doctor. He can take care of you."

"Don't go in there," he said panicked, "She, she…he came here, and he-"

Holmes instructed me to take care of him; as he entered Miller's Court. I go to the man and try to consul him as best as I could. The man was hysteric and before I could ask him what was wrong, Holmes returned. But he looked like he was in a state of shock as well.

"Watson are you there," he said quickly, "How are you?"

"Uh…fine," I responded, "Holmes what happened to you?"

He then began to say random thoughts and asked where we were. Naturally I told him and asked him what exactly was over there in Miller's Court.

"You should not go there Watson," he said, "What is there you ask, is Hell. The police should be arriving soon. I do not want to waste any more precious time on them. So if you please guide me home."

Although I do not know what was beyond Miller's Court. I knew for certain one thing; Jack the Ripper had struck again.

Part 4- The Truth

For the past few hours Holmes had been sitting in his chair and smoking his pipe. Though I am not all that surprised especially from what he had described to me. The body of the victim was practically scattered across the entire room. All her organs had been removed. Holmes found that the only organ missing from the victim was her heart. Absolutely dreadful, when I heard this I had threw up the meal that I had just eaten.

It was only until Mrs. Hudson came, that Holmes seemed alive again. "What is it Mrs. Hudson?" I asked.

"Well gentlemen," she said, "I came to deliver this, I found it on the doorstep after I heard a knock." The object she was holding was a teddy bear, but there was some blood on it. I do not know who left it there, but it must be someone with a sick sense of humor.

Holmes turned around to see what Mrs. Hudson had delivered; but as soon as he saw it he froze and dropped his pipe. He then said, "That's the last piece." He got out of his chair and went towards Mrs. Hudson. "Mrs. Hudson did you happen to see someone when you opened the door; or anyone who caught your attention and in which direction did they go."

Mrs. Hudson had contemplated a moment and then said, "Now that you mention it Mr. Holmes, I did see a short figure while I looked out the door. Although it was for a moment I am pretty sure that the figure headed east."

Holmes bolted out of the door and ran down stairs, I soon followed after him. He seemed so eager to chase after the figure but why. "Holmes," I shouted, "where are you going?"

"Watson," he said; he did not slow down a bit, "The figure that Mrs. Hudson had seen, was the murderer Watson; he had left the bear at our doorstep."

By murderer I knew who he meant; Jack the Ripper. What nerve that murderer has to come to a consulting detective. We ran out the door as soon as we could to pursue that madman. Heading east which Mrs. Hudson had told us.

Holmes had suddenly stopped and so did I. He was staring at something with a surprised look on his face. I turn to see what he saw and I see a small child under a lamp post. I assumed she was female by her appearance alone; she was no more than 4'6 and was dreadfully skinny. She was wearing a large, torn up, long sleeved shirt that covered almost her entire body. One of her most noticeable characteristics is that her hair was snow white and there was dried blood on her.

"Watson," Holmes said, "May I present to you Jack the Ripper."

I could not believe my ears when he said that. No matter how much evidence he gathered and even if it all pointed toward her; I could not believe what Holmes had said. How can a child possibly commit all those murders? I must have been in a shocked state for some time because when I noticed both Holmes and Jack the Ripper were gone.

It was hours later when Holmes returned to Baker Street. He looked absolutely dreadful; I hadn't seen him this bad since Irene Adler. He walked towards his chair and dropped down in it. I asked him what happened.

"Watson, I do not know how long I had pursued that little girl. I must have chased her half across London, towards an unfinished bridge. I tried to reason with her, but she flung herself off the bridge." I had never seen Holmes in such a state and asked him how he knew that little girl was the murderer.

"It took every ounce of my being to figure it out Watson. The first clue was the white hair; it is the most distinct of that girl's features. Second was the blood pattern on the knife. The pattern looked like a child's hand was there, when the blood had splattered. And then the strange blood pattern on the floor at the most recent victim's home; they were her footprints.

The fourth clue that helped me in deducing Jack the Ripper's identity was what Moriarty had said to me. "Look a little lower," he implied not only that I look within the lower class of society but also for a child. Moriarty must have found out the Ripper's identity, but did not know the location of her. But the one clue that had pieced everything together was left behind at our front doorstep Watson."

"The bear?" I asked. Holmes nodded. The one thing I did not understand was what that girl's motive for all those murders was; I asked Holmes if he had figured out the motive and if the girl had said anything to him.

"She said one thing Watson…'I want to go back, where it is warm." I could not understand what that meant. "The motive I am not sure, but I have several theories. One is simply she had become desperate for food. Though I highly doubt that was the reason.

My second theory is that the child had been abandoned by her mother who was most likely a prostitute. She may have wanted revenge or felt immense anger against prostitutes. Whatever her reason may be, we will never know." I could not comprehend all of what had been said to me.

"And Watson," he said, "you cannot chronicle this investigation." I asked him why. "Really do you believe the public will believe that a little girl, no older than ten had committed the murders that had terrorized London for months, now? You should invent your own story, something that takes place away from London; something challenging or ridiculous. Let's see…a ghostly hellhound that glows in the night. "

I had to agree with him that the story of a child committing murder does seem farfetched. Then I thought I heard something from Holmes; I think it was "Let her be in peace." I started to walk away from Holmes to return to my quarters. Whether Holmes had suggested that I not chronicle this adventure simply because the idea seemed impossible or if it was simply compassion for that little girl. Whatever Holmes had thought on that night, I will never know.

The End