They All Love Jack

by Bruce Robinson

  ‘A Master Mason, in teaching apprentices,’ writes Masonic historian Bro Dr J. Fort Newton, ‘makes use of the Compasses and the Square.’1 Over the next few pages I want to explore the proposition, to examine whether these curious symbols meant anything to Warren. (The compasses on Mitre Square. Ha ha.)

  But a problem immediately presents itself, and it’s the same problem that faced Jack. The scene of Eddowes’ murder on the Square wasn’t in Warren’s manor, so if he’s to enjoy the ‘Funny Little Game’, some ingenuity must be employed. The question was, how could Eddowes be connected with Stride, the duo becoming the single and simultaneous presentation of a ‘Double Event’ to the tortured and ridiculous Boss Cop?

  As with Annie Chapman, Jack cut Eddowes’ pockets open. As with Chapman, he was looking for all things metal. His hunt for metal was part of the ‘Funny Little Game’. No novice Mason can decline this timeless ritual, and in Jack’s Masonic nightmare, nor could any victim.

  Every piece of metal in Eddowes’ possession was removed, and strewn about her body. They included tin boxes, a tin matchbox, a small metal cigarette case, a knife, a metal teaspoon, a metal thimble ‘laying off the finger’, and several metal buttons ‘found in the clotted blood after the body was removed’. The rules of the psychotic game also demanded body parts. Trophies. Eddowes’ left kidney and uterus were extracted with rudimentary skill. These organs ‘would have been of no use for any professional purpose’, noted Dr Brown, excusing himself of any support for Baxter’s ‘Womb-Collector’.

  When Jack had finished, he sliced off a piece of Eddowes’ apron – ‘about a half of it’, according to testimony given at the inquest. These Victorian aprons were around nine feet square. So we’re looking at a sizeable piece, something in the order of four or five square feet of cloth. The consensus amongst Ripperologists is that he used it to wipe blood and excrement from his knife and hands. But he could have done that just as well without cutting it off. I think he used it to wrap the kidney and uterus (the Telegraph described the purloined sheet of apron as ‘wet with blood’, suggesting more than a hand-wipe).

  Although Eddowes had satisfied the signatory requirements of Jack’s idea of fun, one thing was missing from the equation, and that was Warren. It was probably at this juncture that the metaphorical light went on. Rather than discarding the repugnant piece of cloth (wrapping body parts or not), the Ripper decided to convert this specific of City evidence into an intriguing ‘Metropolitan clue’. It’s my view that he carried this piece of apron out of one police jurisdiction and into another simply because he didn’t want to entirely throw away the success of Eddowes on City Commissioner Smith.

  For about fifteen minutes he walked east with his apron and his trophies, back into Warren’s precinct of the Met. Why he didn’t run into a tidal wave of coppers following the Stride murder isn’t explained. Were there no patrols out hunting him? Apparently not. The police didn’t seem to be bothered with him any more than he seemed bothered by them. Warren’s claim that he had saturated Whitechapel with extra police requires explanation, and will later be exposed for the fairy tale it was. ‘By the supineness and fatuous stupidity of the police,’ jibed the Yorkshireman, ‘one would have thought that for their own credit’s sake the authorities would have organised such a system of espionage and patrol over that terror-ridden portion of the metropolis that an attempted repetition of such crimes would be instantly detected.’

  Meanwhile, the ‘lair’ idea has taken a bit of a bashing. Jack wasn’t looking for anywhere to hide, and he still had some way to walk. Had any copper cared to stop him, he might well have wondered what this man’s business was with a nine-inch blade and bits and pieces of a woman’s body. But no one was going to question Gentleman Jack, and he knew it.

  And here’s something of interest. After leaving the Eddowes crime scene, Jack vanished for the best part of forty-five minutes. During this time the kidney, and almost certainly the uterus as well, were transferred into a preservative – subsequently determined, for the kidney, to be spirits of wine (i.e. alcohol). Trophies pickled, he was left with the piece of bloody apron. Virtually every other assassin on earth would now be scurrying anxiously to conceal this tell-tale piece of evidence, to destroy it in any way he could.

  But not Jack.

  At about 2.30 a.m., doubtless spruced up, he emerged from his inspired choice of digs. He was looking for an appropriate surface on which to write his funny little Masonic teaser for Warren, and he found it in the entrance of some tenements in Goulston Street, Whitechapel. The wall was black, and so was the passage. He could stand off the street without being seen. It was in this doorway that he left his bloody clue and, having a stick of chalk about him, wrote on the wall above it:

  The Juwes are

  The men that

  Will not

  be blamed

  for nothing.

  About half an hour later a thirty-three-year-old constable called Alfred Long was proceeding down Goulston Street. His beat that evening had brought him past this doorway before, but he’d noticed nothing unusual. Now he stopped and shone his light at the writing on the wall.

  I was on duty at Goulston Street on the morning of 30 Sept: at about 2.55 a.m. I found a portion of apron covered in blood lying in the passage of the doorway leading to Nos 108 to 119 Model Dwellings at Goulston Street.

  Above it on the wall was written in chalk ‘The Juews [sic] are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.’ I at once called the P.C. on the adjoining beat and then searched the staircases, but found no traces of any persons or marks. I at once proceeded to the station [Commercial Road] telling the P.C. to see that no one entered or left the building in my absence. I arrived at the station about 5 or 10 minutes past 3, and reported to the Inspector on duty of finding the apron and the writing.

  The Inspector at once proceeded to Goulston Street and inspected the writing. From there we proceeded to Leman St [police station] and the apron was handed by the Inspector to a gentleman I have since learned is Dr Phillips. I then returned back on duty at Goulston Street about 5.2

  Police Constable Long obviously believed he’d found something of importance, otherwise why post the guard and get the Inspector? The Inspector obviously concurred, otherwise why at once proceed with Long and his evidence to Whitechapel’s most senior cop at Leman Street? It was the first disastrous move of this notorious night.

  Other than for his description of the discovery of the piece of apron and his rush to Leman Street, Long’s account is unsound on virtually every level. It had been tailored to harmonise with the requirements of his superiors, most notably Warren, but also Thomas Arnold, the fifty-three-year-old Superintendent of H Division at Leman Street, who went into zombie-like mode to take charge of the proceedings.

  The first hint of iffiness about Long’s account is its date. His report is not that of a constable on duty in late September, but a curious retrospective written about five weeks later. It is curious too that Warren and Arnold should have created their retrospective accounts of the Goulston Street saga on precisely the same date, 6 November 1888. Even by the risible standards of the Metropolitan Police, this was unacceptable practice.

  ‘An officer’s duty requires that as soon as practicable after hearing any important statement he shall record it in writing,’ wrote the chief of the CID at Scotland Yard, Robert Anderson, adding that should he find any officer in neglect of that duty, ‘I should lose all confidence both in his judgement and his truthfulness’.3 Despite the source, I couldn’t have put it better. What PC Long concocted in November is in no way an accurate account of what happened on that September night. Such adventures in amnesia also dominate the nonsense cooked up by Superintendent Arnold. It seems that as far as Arnold was concerned, Long and his apron were meaningless. Both he and Long appear to have been smitten by lassitude, Long telling us that he remained at Leman Street as though neither he nor Arnold knew diddly-shit about the atrocity in Mitre Square.

  Wi
th its customary precision, Ripperology supports this fiction. Here’s what page 256 of its Ripper ‘dictionary’, The Jack the Ripper A to Z, has to say about Long’s appearance at the Eddowes inquest: ‘He was mildly criticised by a juror for not conducting a thorough search of the rooms in the building, but reasonably replied that he did not know of Eddowes’ murder.’

  Imagine, if you will, consulting a source of supposed reference, a dictionary of zoology by way of example, looking for ‘dog’: ‘Dog – A member of the cat family, such as ducks.’

  I exaggerate the point only to make it. Never mind the editorial slant – ‘reasonably replied’ – this entry is so inaccurate it qualifies as fiction. PC Long knew perfectly well of Eddowes’ murder in Mitre Square, and said so at her inquest: ‘When I found the piece of apron I at once searched the staircases leading to the buildings. Having searched I at once proceeded to the station. Before proceeding there I had heard of a murder having been committed, I had heard of the murder in Mitre Square.’4

  And so had Arnold. And so had Bro Dr Bagster Phillips. I love the way Phillips is presented here, as though he was just hanging around at the police station for the doughnuts. In fact he and Arnold had been busying themselves at Dutfield’s Yard: ‘The arrival of the Superintendent [Arnold] took place almost simultaneously with that of the Divisional Surgeon [Phillips].’5 Soon after, Phillips was on his way to Mitre Square. ‘Before we moved the body,’ deposed Dr Gordon Brown at the inquest, ‘Dr Phillips was sent for, as I wished him to see the wounds, he having been engaged in a similar case recently.’6

  While Warren was still in bed, Acting Commissioner of City Police Major Sir Henry Smith was already on the scene. ‘By the time the stretcher had arrived,’ he recorded, ‘and when we got the body to the mortuary, the first discovery we made was that about half the apron was missing. It had been severed by a clean cut.’7

  This missing piece of apron instantly became the motor for frenzied City enquiries – find the other half, you might find the murderer. Bro Dr Phillips was in and out of all of this, involved well before PC Long rushed in with his bloody half of the apron. It was a startling piece of evidence, and given Long’s admitted awareness of the Mitre Square murder, a potentially vital link between Eddowes and the writing on the wall. Yet Long’s concoction thirty-six days later, on 6 November, makes no mention whatever of the significance of his find. The Mitre Square Eddowes/Goulston Street link had been quite forgotten.

  Detective Halse of the City Police gave evidence that he too was at Goulston Street at precisely the time PC Long reported that he was there: ‘I came through Goulston Street at 2.20 a.m.,’ he said. And PC Long said: ‘I passed the spot where the apron was about 2.20.’ It therefore seems logical to suppose that Halse himself was the probable source of Long’s information about the second murder. Detective Halse was in plainclothes, PC Long was not, and as the former was desperately looking for a murderer and a piece of apron, it is likely that he would have quizzed the uniform about anything he might have seen.

  But when Long actually found the bloody piece of apron and pitched up with it at Leman Street police station forty-five minutes later, Superintendent Arnold immediately did absolutely nothing.

  While City cops sweated their arses off in Whitechapel’s streets, Arnold scratched his at the police station. He sent nobody to secure Goulston Street, and nobody to search the building. What he did was to telegraph Bro Charlie Warren at home, who couldn’t get his socks on fast enough to get down to Goulston Street and destroy the evidence.

  Chief of the City Police Detective Department, Inspector James McWilliam, also put out a telegraph: ‘I wired Scotland Yard [at 3.45 a.m.].’ Result: nil. Nothing. The City had more than half a dozen of their top detectives on the street; Scotland Yard sent nobody, showing no more interest than Arnold. If it wasn’t a waste of ink, one might well ask what happened to the Met’s senior detectives, such as Frederick Abberline, Walter Andrews and Henry Moore?

  Meanwhile, PC Long had his feet up at Leman Street, with nothing to do. He says he stayed at the police station until he went back on duty at 5 a.m., but it is a challenge to believe it. Long says nothing in his statement about the arrival of three of Commissioner Smith’s detectives, minutes after his own, and nothing of what importance they attached to his discovery.

  They were City officers – DC Halse, DS Lawley and DS Hunt – hotfoot from Mitre Square, who had heard of the writing and the piece of apron found under it, and were aware of its vital importance, even if Superintendent Arnold was predisposed to ignore it.

  At the inquest, where PC Long was put up as a tongue-tied patsy, Detective Halse had this to say: ‘I came through Goulston Street at 2.20 a.m. and then went back to Mitre Square and accompanied Inspector Collard to the mortuary. I saw deceased stripped and saw a portion of the apron was missing. I went back with [Commissioner] Major Smith to Mitre Square where [we] heard that a piece of apron had been found at Goulston Street. I then went with Detective Hunt to Leman Street police station. I and Detective Hunt went on to Goulston Street where the spot was pointed out where the apron was found.’

  Who did the pointing out? Neither the unnamed Met Inspector who had accompanied Long to Leman Street, nor the unnamed PC who was then on guard duty at Goulston Street was called at the inquest to give his version of events. I suggest that the most logical person to have pointed out where the apron was found would be the man who found it. And seeing that Long had nothing to do at Leman Street, I suggest that it was he who did the pointing. To contest what is a virtual certainty would also require an explanation of why neither Long nor Arnold made any mention of the arrival of the City detectives in their respective fabrications. Perhaps neither of them noticed Detectives Halse, Lawley or Hunt? Perhaps they were on the toilet, or brewing tea? Perhaps indeed it was some other anonymous person from the Tinkerbell Squad who took this phalanx of City detectives back to Goulston Street to point out where the apron was found? Perhaps the nameless Inspector, or a copper whistled up from the adjoining beat? But neither of these had found the bloody piece of cloth, and, like the professional investigator he was, Halse would have wanted to know exactly where such momentous evidence had been discovered. Was it to one side of the writing to which it referred, or the other? Or directly beneath it? Lacking any detective from the Met, Halse and his fellow City men would have wanted to know all and everything, including Long’s first thoughts and immediate actions when he had discovered such a prize.

  According to Halse, he saw some chalk writing on the black facia of the wall: ‘I remained there and sent [a message to McWilliam] with a view to having it photographed.’ City Inspector McWilliam takes up the narrative:

  I had been informed of the murder [of Eddowes] and arrived at the detective office at 3.45 after ascertaining from [Inspector] S.S. Izzard what steps had been taken in consequence of it. I wired to Scotland Yard informing the Metropolitan Police of the murder and went with D.C. Downes to Bishopsgate Station & from thence to Mitre Square. I there found Major Smith, Superintendent Foster, Inspector Collard & several Detective Officers. Lawley and Hunt informed me of finding the apron & the writing on the wall, the latter of which I ordered to be photographed and directed the officers to return at once and search the ‘Model’ Dwellings [108–119 Goulston Street] and lodging houses in the neighbourhood. I then went to the mortuary in Golden Lane, where the body had been taken by direction of Dr Gordon Brown and saw the piece of apron – which was found at Goulston Street – compared with a piece the deceased was wearing & it exactly corresponded.8

  Still not a Metropolitan Police officer in sight, and we had better enjoy this description of a proper and professional City police investigation while we may. Bro Warren was on his way.

  We are about to get into one of the most extraordinary mind-games ever played by two human beings. It’s a game in which one side is predetermined to win, and the other must pretend not to lose. The rules of the ‘Funny Little Game’ were chosen by the dominan
t player, and were exclusively Freemasonic. It was a clever strategy by a clever psychopath. Freemasonry was an arena in which the killer was omnipotent and the System was most exposed. To protect itself, the System was obliged to protect him – and that’s about the size of the ‘mystery’.

  What Long, Arnold and Warren were later to write of that September night was an outrage. The City Police were busting a gut to find the bastard, whereas Arnold was fretting over how he might dismiss the evidence that had been left by him.

  On essay day, 6 November 1888, Arnold was to write: ‘I was apprehensive that if the writing were left it would be the means of causing a riot.’ (In which case, why hadn’t he already ordered up a hundred police as a contingency plan?) As a complementary fiction, from Warren, we read: ‘Having before me the report that if it [the writing] was left there the house was likely to be wrecked.’9

  This threat of the demolition of numbers 108–119 Goulston Street had never occurred to any officer of the City Police, and is nowhere to be found in Arnold’s November composition. So what ‘report’ is Warren referring to? Does anyone imagine that imminent riot and attendant calamity was the tenor of the wire City Inspector McWilliam had sent to Scotland Yard?

  I don’t think so. There had been two murders in the last two hours. Who was to say there wouldn’t be a third? Why wasn’t every available Metropolitan policeman in London on the street? Indeed, why wasn’t Warren, like Commissioner Smith, already down there, having been telegraphed about the earlier discovery of Elizabeth Stride’s body? Plus, if the writing on the wall was really so volatile, why had Arnold left it showing at all? Why dither for another hour and a half over something that could be covered up and guarded within two minutes?

  If, as was subsequently claimed, the writing was nothing more than a bit of inflammatory scribble (‘graffito’), why was it necessary for Warren to see it for himself before it was destroyed? If he needed to see it, he could have seen the City’s intended photographs, so avoiding any problems with the local residents – who McWilliam’s search was going to wake up anyway. So what was it that actually brought the treacherous buffoon scuttling out of his bed? Anyone of an enquiring mind might think there was a little more to it than anxiety about a possible riot in the deserted streets. That perhaps there was some arcane agenda, and that it was the true reason for the Bro Commissioner’s nocturnal haste.