7 The Sanctuary, Westminster Abbey
November 10th ’88
Dear Sir,
Whitechapel Murders
I beg to report that I have read the notes of the four Whitechapel Murders viz:
1. Buck’s Row.
2. Hanbury Street.
3. Berner Street.
4. Mitre Square.
I have also made a Post Mortem Examination of the mutilated remains of a woman found yesterday in a small room in Dorset Street —
1. All five murders were no doubt committed by the same hand. In the first four the throats appear to have been cut from left to right. In the last case, owing to the extensive mutilation, it is impossible to say in what direction the fatal cut was made, but arterial blood was found on the wall in splashes close to where the woman’s head must have been lying.
2. All the circumstances surrounding the murders lead me to form the opinion that the women must have been lying down when murdered and in every case the throat was first cut.
3. In the four murders of which I have seen the notes only, I cannot form a very definite opinion as to the time that had elapsed between the murder and the discovery of the body.
In one case, that of Berner Street, the discovery appears to have been made immediately after the deed – in Buck’s Row, Hanbury Street and Mitre Square three or four hours only could have elapsed. In the Dorset Street ease the body was lying on the bed at the time of my visit, 2 o’clock quite naked and mutilated as in the annexed report.
Rigor mortis had set in, but increased during the progress of the examination, from this it is difficult to say with any degree of certainty the exact time that had elapsed since death as the period varies from six to twelve hours before rigidity sets in. The body was comparatively cold at 2 o’clock and the remains of a recently taken meal were found in the stomach and scattered about over the intestines. It is, therefore, pretty certain that the woman must have been dead about twelve hours and the partly digested food would indicate that death took place about three or four hours after the food was taken, so one or two o’clock in the morning would be the probable time of the murder.
4. In all the cases there appears to be no evidence of struggling and the attacks were probably so sudden and made in sueh a position that the women could neither resist nor cry out. In the Dorset Street case the corner of the sheet to the right of the woman’s head was much cut and saturated with blood, indicating that the face may have been covered with the sheet at the time of the attack.
5. In the four first cases the murderer must have attacked from the right side of the victim. In the Dorset Street case, he must have attacked from in front or from the left, as there would be no room for him between the wall and the part of the bed on which the woman was lying. Again, the blood had flowed down on the right side of the woman and spurted on to the wall.
6. The murderer would not necessarily be splashed or deluged with blood, but his hands and arms must have been covered and parts of his clothing must certainly have been smeared with blood.
7. The mutilations in each case excepting the Berner Street one were all of the same character and showed clearly that in all the murders, the object was mutilation.
8. In each case the mutilation was inflicted by a person who had no scientific nor anatomical knowledge. In my opinion he does not even possess the technical knowledge of a butcher or horse slaughterer or any person accustomed to cutting up dead animals.
9. The instrument must have been a strong knife at least six inches long, very sharp, pointed at the top and about an inch in width. It may have been a clasp knife, a butcher’s knife or a surgeon’s knife. I think it was no doubt a straight knife.
10. The murderer must have been a man of physical strength and of great coolness and daring. There is no evidence that he had an accomplice. He must in my opinion be a man subject to periodical attacks of Homicidal and Erotic Mania. The character of the mutilations indicate that the man may be in a condition sexually, that may be called satyriasis. It is of course possible that the Homicidal impulse may have developed from a revengeful or brooding condition of the mind, or that Religious Mania may have been the original disease, but I do not think either hypothesis is likely. The murderer in external appearance is quite likely to be a quiet, inoffensive-looking man, probably middle-aged and neatly and respectably dressed. I think he must be in the habit of wearing a cloak or overcoat or he could hardly have escaped notice in the streets if the blood on his hands or clothes were visible.
11. Assuming the murderer to be such a person as I have just described he would probably be solitary and eccentric in his habits, also he is most likely to be a man without regular occupation, but with some small income or pension. He is possibly living among respectable persons who have some knowledge of his character and habits and who may have grounds for suspicion that he is not quite right in his mind at times. Such persons would probably be unwilling to communicate suspicions to the (Police for fear of trouble or notoriety, whereas if there were a prospect of reward it might overcome their scruples.
I am, Dear Sir,
Yours faithfully,
Thos. Bond
THE SUSPECTS
Dr Bond is a police surgeon of considerable experience and a shrewd observer of human nature. My instinct is that our killer will prove to be some such individual as he describes: male, middle-aged, physically strong, solitary, eccentric in his habits, without a regular occupation but with a small income, inoffensive in appearance, possibly living among respectable persons, though committing his crimes without an accomplice.
Who are our principal suspects? After considering scores of possibilities, I have reduced the list to just five – and I would very much like to be able to eliminate one or two of these before presenting my report to the Metropolitan Police Commissioner.
The five are as follows:
•MONTAGUE JOHN DRUITT
•AARON KOSMINSKI
•RICHARD MANSFIELD
•MICHAEL OSTROG
•WALTER WELLBELOYED
Attached you will find a separate file on each of these men. Your thoughts – and any additional information – regarding any of the above will be much appreciated.
Also attached are notes on certain other murders that took place in Whitechapel (and beyond) between April 1888 and February 1891, including the notorious ‘torso killings’. I do not believe they are relevant to this inquiry, as you know, but I supply them as background for reasons of ‘completeness’. Also attached are notes relating to two other suspects: HRH the Duke of Clarence and John Pizer, the man known locally as ‘Leather Apron’. I have included these for your interest, not because we consider them likely suspects, but in case you have additional information that could assist us in eliminating them altogether from our list of possibilities.
8
Breakfast at the Langham
‘Alarmingly, I think I may know them all.’
‘All five of Macnaghten’s suspects?’
‘Certainly four. I was at Oxford with one of them.’
I had come down to the hotel dining room just before nine o’clock and, to my astonishment, found Oscar already ensconced at a window table, smoking one of his Turkish cigarettes, with the detritus of a full breakfast before him. He was not naturally an early riser, but there he was, bright-eyed and newly shaved, sporting a cream-coloured shirt, a lilac tie and a white amaryllis in his buttonhole.
‘I have eaten for both of us,’ he declared happily. ‘Poached eggs, bacon, kidneys, mushroom, the works. I had no dinner. I was famished.’ He dropped his copy of the Daily Chronicle onto the floor beside him and beckoned me to sit down. There’s coffee in the pot, my friend, and fresh toast is on its way. The marmalade may be a little bitter to your taste, but I know you like a challenge to rise to.’
Oscar was fond of saying that ‘only dull people are brilliant at breakfast’, but I have to report that on this particular morning he was on sparkling form – and far from
dull.
‘It is my wife’s birthday today. I have sent her a telegram.’
‘I am happy to hear it,’ I said, taking my place opposite him and pouring myself some coffee. ‘Shouldn’t you be having breakfast with her?’ I asked.
‘Oh, heavens no. A husband and wife should never share breakfast ... those tedious tête-a-têtes that are the dream of engaged couples and the despair of married men ... that eternal duologue about bills and babies.’ He drew deep on his cigarette. ‘I want to have breakfast with you, Arthur, and talk about murder.’ He said the word with relish. ‘Besides, I am seeing Constance tonight.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘I am taking her and the boys to the circus.’
‘Excellent, Oscar. Does she know?’
‘When she receives my telegram, she will. It’s the Russian Circus at Olympia.’
‘I’ve read about it,’ I said approvingly. ‘Apparently, it’s “the greatest show on earth”.’
‘I thought Aladdin at Drury Lane was supposed to be that. But never mind. I hope the boys will enjoy it. There are tigers and knife-throwers. And Constance likes anything Russian. You must come, too, Arthur. There’ll be clowns.’
‘I enjoy the circus.’
‘I have a box.’
‘A box?’ I repeated, impressed.
‘I have friends in high places.’ He chuckled and narrowed his eyes conspiratorially. ‘Well, I know the ringmaster. In life, I’ve found, it’s always useful to know the ringmaster. This one kindly supplies my caviar.’
A rack of fresh toast arrived and, as I took a piece and began to butter it, I noticed Oscar glance suddenly out of the window. Are you looking for the man who has been following you?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied, and he’s not there. He was there last night, but he’s not there now.’
‘Are you sure you’re being followed?’
‘No,’ he said, stubbing out his lighted cigarette and immediately reaching inside his cigarette case for an unlighted one. ‘Far from it. I have a vivid imagination and a guilty conscience,’ He struck a Vesta and smiled at me. ‘I see you’ve brought Macnaghten’s file. Good. Let us forget the spectres that may or may not be haunting me and speak of murder ... murder most foul.’
I looked around the dining room. The tables were gradually emptying. The waiters were moving to and fro, busying themselves at a safe distance.
‘Open the file,’ Oscar instructed. ‘Who’s top of his list? Is it Druitt? He’s the one I knew at Oxford. What does Macnaghten say?’
I opened the dossier and read as discreetly as I could: ‘Montague John Druitt, said to be a doctor and of good family—’
Oscar interrupted. ‘I don’t think he was a doctor. I think he was a lawyer. The police know nothing.’ He shook his head.
I continued reading: ‘Druitt disappeared at the time of the Miller’s Court murder. His body, which was said to have been upwards of a month in the water, was found in the Thames on the thirty-first of December or about seven weeks after that murder.’
I hesitated. ‘Go on,’ urged Oscar, clearly recalling what came next.
I read on: ‘He was sexually insane and from private information I have little doubt but that his own family believed him to have been the murderer.’
‘Sexually insane,’ mused Oscar, a little too loudly for my liking, while exhaling a thin plume of purple cigarette smoke and looking around the dining room. I sensed he hoped someone would hear him and be suitably shocked. ‘What on earth does Macnaghten mean by “sexually insane”?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, sotto voce.
‘I do, I fear,’ said Oscar. ‘I remember Druitt. He was a good-looking young man and a fine sportsman, but he was not – how shall I put it? – of the marrying kind.’
‘He was an invert?’
‘He was a man who loved other men. I think if we do a little bit of investigating, Arthur, we shall find that is what drove the poor fellow to throw himself into the Thames. Who’s next?’
I looked down at Macnaghten’s notes. ‘Aaron Kosminski.’
‘Ah, yes. He is the one I don’t know. At least, the name rings no bells. I believe I did once get my hair cut in Whitechapel, so, who knows, I may have made his acquaintance. One of the advantages of being known for over-tipping is that you don’t feel vulnerable in the barber’s chair. Read on.’
‘Aaron Kosminski, a Polish Jew, resident in Whitechapel where he worked as a hairdresser. He became insane owing to many years’ indulgence in solitary vices. He had a great hatred of women, especially of the prostitute class, and was removed to a lunatic asylum around March 1889.’
‘The police are so predictable. They find a lonely lunatic who happens to be a hairdresser as well as a misfit and, suddenly, without a shred of evidence, he’s “The Demon Barber of Whitechapel”.’
‘The killings are clearly the work of a disordered mind,’ I protested.
‘Are they? If they are, there’s method in the madness.’
I read on: ‘There are many circumstances connected with this man that make him a strong suspect.’
‘Indeed,’ cried Oscar. I read them. He was about the right height and about the right age and he appears to have been resident in East London on the relevant dates – but so were hundreds of other men, so were thousands! There’s “circumstance”, there’s no evidence.’
‘He had a hatred of prostitutes that was well known.’
‘I grant you that,’ sniffed Oscar. ‘Move on.’
‘Richard Mansfield, actor.’
‘I know him – and I believe his fondness for prostitutes is well known. It’s absurd that he features on Macnaghten’s list.’
‘Born in Germany.’
‘He must be guilty!’
‘American by nationality.’
‘Hang him!’
‘In New York in 1887 he played the title role in the stage adaptation of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, a performance that made such a profound impression on the public he was invited to bring it to the Lyceum Theatre in London in 1888. As an actor, Mansfield is celebrated for the manner in which he inhabits every part he plays and he is known to have been within a mile of Whitechapel and to be without an alibi at the time of each of the five principal Whitechapel murders.’
‘He has also played the Lord High Executioner in The Mikado and King Richard III. It must be him.’ Oscar picked up his table napkin and threw it down again. ‘Next!’
I laughed and waited for the waiter who had come to clear our table to be out of earshot before continuing.
‘Michael Ostrog.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Oscar. ‘This one’s much more promising and neither an invert nor prone to solitary vices, but a proper homicidal maniac.’
‘A mad Russian doctor, a convict, unquestionably a homicidal maniac, said to have been habitually cruel to women and known to have carried about with him surgical knives and other instruments. His antecedents are of the very worst and his whereabouts at the time of the murders could never be satisfactorily accounted for. He was committed to the Surrey County Lunatic Asylum in 1891.’
‘We must pay him a visit.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘I’m not sure. I recognised the likeness, that’s all. Show me,’ From the back of Macnaghten’s file, I produced the photograph of Ostrog. It was the drawn face of a man who looked fearful of life: his dark hair receded over a broad, lined brow, above deeply sunken eyes.
‘Yes,’ said Oscar, ‘I know him. Without a doubt.’ He returned the picture to me. ‘Go on. The last of Macnaghten’s candidates I know I know and I know I know him well.’
‘Walter Wellbeloved.’
‘Yes. Walter Wellbeloved. He’s the reason for Macnaghten’s reference to Freemasonry yesterday. You noticed it?’
‘I did,’ I said. ‘It struck me as curious. If Macnaghten’s a Mason—’
‘He must be – all senior policemen are.’
‘Well, if he is, why
did he not signal as much when you introduced us? Why – since there were only three of us in the room – did he not address us as “brother”?’
‘Perhaps he is as lapsed as we are, Arthur. Or perhaps I’m wrong and he isn’t a Freemason, but he wanted to find a way to indicate to me – and to you – that he knows all my secrets Oscar held up his cigarette between his thumb and his forefinger and studied the tip of smouldering ash. ‘Leastways, Walter Wellbeloved is a Master Mason of the third degree.’
‘And is that how you know him?’
‘I know him through the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.’
‘He belongs to it?’
‘He is one of the founders. The Order was conjured up by a small group of Rosicrucian Masons to allow – for the first time – men and women to work together as equals in magical ceremonies whose purpose was “to test, purify and exalt the individuals spiritual nature so as to unify it with his or her Holy Guardian Angel”.’
‘You know the mantra.’
‘I was a member of the Order – for a brief while. Constance joined first and she persuaded me to follow. Some of the rituals were quite charming.’
‘The Order is involved in magic?’
‘And human sacrifice, if Macnaghten is to be believed. Read what he says.’
I turned back to the chief constable’s file: ‘Wellbeloved is a self-styled poet and philosopher who lives not far from Whitechapel and is the owner of a magic shop in Great Russell Street, close by the British Library. He professes to have powers of necromancy and is rumoured to conduct pagan ceremonies involving sexual perversity and (possibly) human sacrifice. He has been interviewed on several occasions, but has refused to give his whereabouts at the time of any of the Whitechapel murders.’
Oscar sighed and shook his head wearily. ‘Macnaghten has nothing to offer but the odd bit of circumstantial evidence, wild conjecture and his own curious obsession with sexual perversion, sexual insanity and solitary vice! I had hoped he was going to lead us to the unmasking of Jack the Ripper.’ He gestured towards Macnaghten’s file with a languid hand. ‘Here he’s simply set us off on a wild-goose chase – and I fear there won’t be a golden egg at the end of it.’
Oscar Wilde and the Return of Jack the Ripper Page 5