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Bloody Knife And Handkerchief Found

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Bloody Knife And Handkerchief Found

Post by Karen on Thu 12 May 2011 - 0:25

From Abroad.
Local and Foreign.
(Adapted for the Java Bode.)

Again the woman murders in London - New letters from Jack the Skinner -
Several innocent arrested - Poor design of the secret police -
Adventures of a reporter - Spiritualists - A bear bone for a
human leg.

London is still powered by the terrible women murders, and even if the audience has to like them for a moment from the head to put Jack the Ripper, ensures that this will not happen. There were two more unfortunate prostitutes - so now eight in all - included in his invading hand, which he gave to the papers advance notice. His last letter, dated 5 October, was addressed to the General Superintendent of Police, Sir Charles Warren, and the following is the contents:

Old boy!

If you want to catch me sometime, I live in City Road, the numbering is there, you guess it yourself. I'm planning in the overnight to operate on a few ladies in Whitechapel.

Yours, Jack the Skinner.

Saturday morning, arrived by the first post was a postcard written in pencil at the police station on Commercial Road, which Skinner in the same mocking tone notified them that that same evening in a street, he indicated that his work would continue.
The juiciest is that the police are the bad boys at present record in all seriousness and strong divisions poses on a place designated by the murderer, as if it would be so naive to volunteer at the mouth of the lion to walk. The newspapers exploit the horrors more than is adequate and necessary, with whole columns filled with all more or less sensible advice from faithful readers, fathers, debtors, etc, etc. The most interesting statement we found in Truth, which brought attention to the fact that the handwriting of the bloody letters from Jack the Ripper bear a remarkable resemblance to that of the Times documents, which Parnell and Egan are called to arise and that the crimes are related to the double murder in the Phoenix Park.
After the release of each of those letters in the evening editions of newspapers, spread new anxiety and fear in the Whitechapel district, where despite a very big number of police officers in uniform had been established. During the last five days more drunk men were successively captured and pretending to be the murderer of the eight victims of Whitechapel, although they were completely innocent of them.
At the docks the people wanted to lynch a sailor, when two or three men appealed for the criminal, the police had every effort to protect the seaman who at once could prove he had just arrived and knew nothing of the murders.
Among the latter individuals was also an American living in the East End who had spoken to a woman, and when she refused to go with him, had threatened to cut open her belly. When the woman called for help, the American jumped into a cab and tried to flee, but police blocked the passage and took him into custody. Whether he is partly to blame for the horrors, it is not yet determined.
They are also believed to have laid hands on the knife with which the murders were committed. It is a large carving knife with a long and very sharp blade and a black wooden hilt. It was also full of clotted blood and with a bloody handkerchief which was found in the house at No. 253 in Whitechapel Road.
One evening all of London was in turmoil brought about by additional sheets of various newspapers, which categorically informed that the infamous wretch in the eastern part of the city of Shadwell, was arrested after vehement reaction, which caused an agent to be stabbed mortally. This whole story later proved not true.
Meanwhile represent each path, each rose at the corner of every street deputies, besides all the detectives, who were hiking up an down at every hundred paces. Much of these latter were requisitioned from the smartest police officers to temporarily strengthen the security.
In addition, a vigilance committee formed from the neighborhood residents who know best how to keep constant patrol along the most suspicious spots. If one is, however, somewhat more closely acquainted with the ancestral arrangements of secret London police, than it reveals little wonder that they are almost powerless to prevent them.
The Pall Mall Gazette gives a paragraph on the conditions of appointment, and states that a candidate is rejected if he is not exactly 5 feet and 9 inches long. Another paragraph makes certain everyone has knowledge of such an officer who is actually to work in secret. He should first serve three years in full-gunner uniform eight hours a day; thirteen of the fourteen days on patrol walking through all the alleys, so that all culprits will know him later as a detective immediately as soon as he goes in disguise like a secret sheep. An animal which people once had inside his home when it was urgently needed to keep secret and relocated in the dead of night; but this morning a postcard was received with the following content: Good morning, old man! I hope you liked your new bed well. You old rogue!" So this also prohibits the stringent requirements forever a female creature for detective services of this case. Furthermore, the detectives frequently look in their trash, for example, for the despatch of the tiniest telegram with permission from his boss to answer questions even though the culprit meanwhile has slipped through the cracks of the net. Not unduly can be found anywhere in the English papers last thoughts as: Why are we still an illogical people: We are stiff headed!
There is therefore no one discovered, though there was talk recently that the killer was in Brighton, then he was seen at Woolwich.
A reporter has spent a whole night in the notorious neighborhood in the cynical hope of hearing a voice cry, "Murder! Murder!" and that they will heed the call. But he saw nothing but ragged prostitutes, who fled as soon as they saw him. He was seen by agents, who were convinced that he was the true Jack, was tackled and nearly received a beating and was almost dragged to the nearest police station to spend the night with half a dozen other pseudo-Rippers.
Of course, the various spiritualistic societies which are in London also stepped in and wished to inform the police. An old lady came to impart to one of the officials that with the help of five others, the spirit of Elizabeth Watts, the sixth victim, had been summoned. The spirit had first told some stories but was finally questioned, and she stated that her old body was murdered by a man forty years old with a big, blonde mustache. The spirit was so polite and gave her own name and address. The man lives in Commercial Road and belongs to a band of twelve villains.
Secondly, the Society for promoting Christian education and other Biblical prayer group members recommended the rapid capture of the murderer.
And if Jack Skinner is not taken, then we the have intervention of spirits, the power of prayer and the cleverness of the English police for good measure.
In the basement of the new police station they found the torso of a woman, carefully wrapped in a black silk dress, but the head, arms and legs were missing and found in different districts of London were two arms, which were rushed to the remains to attach them, but since this did not succeed, the police came to the rather logical conclusion that they do belong to a different crime. Then they heard that in Guildford on a dunghill a leg was found, so a policeman was immediately dispatched to pick up that bone. They secretly cherished the hope that this leg would fit the torso, which experts say could belong to a young woman with brown hair.
How these experts are able to get the color of the hair of a corpse without a head, which, moreover, is largely decomposed, is beyond our capacity to assess, but anyway, the Glasgow agent was instructed to be careful transmitting the body, in which was harbored much hope.
The bone without much change was entombed, was dug up again, neatly cleaned and is in a box so that fellow travelers will not suffer from the smell. The cop was alive and well and delivered the packages to the morgue, where the court physicians were really concerned with the color of the eyes in order to determine the missing head; and the color of the hair was no longer a secret.
Alas! The leg did not fit the victim! and that is a very sound reason: it was the leg of a bear. A resident of Guildford could not cook and serve the roast but why had he thrown it on the dunghill? The doctors of London discovered the mistake, but in Guildford it was not so pretty, so that the bear bone and a human leg were buried, proving that even anatomists can be wrong can and that in England are so many human limbs wandering the streets, that there is no need to strike.

Source: Java-Bode, Zaterdag 17 November 1888, Zeven-en-Dertigste Jaargang

***************************************
Karen Trenouth
Author of: "Epiphany of the Whitechapel Murders"
Author of: "Jack the Ripper: The Satanic Team"
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