Sherlock Holmes Murder Most Foul

by Gordon Punter

  Presented to Desk Sergeant James Byfield for the second time and to avoid incurring a criminal record, Catharine gives a false name, “Mary Ann Kelly.”

  Scrawling the name in his ledger, Byfield then asks, “Address?”

  Although her address is 55 Flower and Dean Street, the same street where Elizabeth temporarily lodges, she again lies, “6 Fashion Street, Spitalfields.”

  Placing his pen beside the inkwell and closing the ledger, Byfield looks at Hutt, standing beside her, “Take her back down…”

  Catharine pleads, “’Aven’t I given yer me name an’ address?”

  Byfield raises a silencing hand, “And if she can walk a straight line along the corridor, let her out the back door.”

  Catharine perks up, “I git t’ sleep in me own bed t’night?”

  Byfield gloomily advises, “Go straight home, luv. Don’t dawdle. There’s a madman roaming the streets.”

  She grins, “Don’t fear fer me. I’ll not fall int’ ’is ’ands.”

  Sauntering steadily along the corridor, Catharine passes her cell, puts on her black straw bonnet and straightens her creased apron.

  Hutt indicates the back door, “This way, missus.”

  Hesitating, she queries, “I can go, then?”

  Hutt slides back two large bolts and opens the door. A cold breeze enters the corridor.

  Catharine shivers.

  Hutt looks at her with concern, “Do what the sergeant said. Go straight home.”

  Appreciating his thoughtfulness, Catharine smiles, “Good night, [268]ol’ cock.” Stepping out into the darkness, she turns left and hurries off towards Aldgate, where some five hours earlier she had been found lying drunk on the pavement.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Entering Dutfield’s Yard, the pony shies to the left, away from the right hand wall and the side door. Tightening his grip on the reins, Diemschutz peers down from his cart and discerns a dark form. Prodding the form with the handle of his whip and getting no response, he gets down from his vehicle and strikes a match. Dimly revealed by its feeble light, Diemschutz determines the outline of a woman, lying prone upon the ground.

  Struck by a gust of wind, the flame of the match blows out.

  Leaving his pony and cart unattended, Diemschutz dashes into the club, bounds up the stairs to the first-floor, finds his young wife and blurts, “There be a woman in the yard. Can’t say if she’s drunk or dead.”

  Procuring a candle and accompanied by tailor machinist Isaac Kozebrodski, Diemschutz hurriedly returns to the yard, seeing blood on the ground before he reaches the body. Having followed her husband only as far as the side door, Mrs Diemschutz nonetheless inquisitively pops her head out into the yard and sees what she would later describe to the police.

  “Just by the door, I see a pool o’ blood, an’ when me ’usband struck a light I noticed a dark ’eap lyin’ by the wall. I at once recognized it as the body o’ a woman, while, t’ add t’ me horror, I see a stream o’ blood tricklin’ down the yard an’ terminatin’ in the pool I ’ad first noticed. She were lyin’ on ’er back wiv ’er ’ead agin the wall, an’ the face looked ghastly. I screamed out in fright, an’ members o’ the club ’earing me cries rushed downstairs in a body out int’ the yard.”

  Diemschutz and Kozebrodski make no attempt to examine the body. Instead they bolt from the yard, turn right into Berner Street, then left into Fairclough Street, shouting, “Murder! Police!” Seeing the blood and the body for himself, another member of the club, Morris Eagle, also darts from the yard. Turning left into Berner Street, he runs towards Commercial Road in search of a policeman.

  Standing outside the Beehive Tavern, situated on the corner of Fairclough Street and Christian Street, a horse-keeper, Edward Spooner, watches dumbfounded, as Diemschutz and Kozebrodski tear past him and then abruptly halt just before the next street, Grove Street.

  Unable to spot a policeman, the two men quickly turn about and rush back towards Spooner. Stopping both men, he is told of their discovery and hurriedly returns with them to Dutfield’s Yard. Upon reaching the yard, Spooner finds a small crowd clustered around the body. Someone lights a candle. Spooner stoops, lifts up the chin of the dead woman and feels that it is scarcely warm. Looking closely at the body for the first time, Diemschutz sees the terrible wound in the throat.

  “I could see that ’er throat were fearfully cut. There were a great gash in it over two inches wide. In one ’and she ’ad a packet o’ cachous. She were graspin’ ’em tightly.”

  Rushing out of Berner Street into Commercial Road, Morris Eagle bumps into two police constables, Henry Lamb and Albert Collins, walking towards him, patrolling the section of Commercial Road between Christian Street and Batty Street.

  Quickly informed of the murder by Eagle, the two constables race to the yard, at which point Constable Lamb first dispatches Constable Collins to fetch Dr Blackwell from his surgery at 100 Commercial Road and then Morris Eagle to Leman Street Police Station to obtain further police assistance.

  Like Spooner before him, Lamb then kneels beside the body, places his hand against the face of the woman and finds that it is slightly warm. He holds her wrist to see if he can feel a pulse but detects none.

  A few minutes later, at 1. 10 a.m., Constable Collins pounds on the door of Dr Blackwell’s surgery in Commercial Road, appealing for his assistance. Whilst the doctor struggles to get into his clothes, his assistant, Edward Johnston, hurriedly accompanies Collins back to the yard.

  Johnston feels the body and finds it warm except the hands, which are quite cold. He then unfastens the dress at the neck to get a clearer view of the throat wound. The deep gash has ceased bleeding and the pool of blood upon the ground has now begun to clot. At 1.16 a.m., Dr Blackwell finally arrives in the yard and, by the beam of a policeman’s bulls-eye lantern, begins his examination of the body.

  “Her dress was unfastened at the neck. The neck and chest were quite warm, as were also the legs, and the face was slightly warm. The hands were cold. The right hand was open and on the chest, and was smeared with blood. The left hand, lying on the ground was partially closed, and contained a small packet of cachous wrapped in tissue.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Having retired for the night shortly after Lestrade had taken leave of him, Holmes is suddenly roused from his slumber by the urgent rat-a-tat-tat sound of the brass knocker on the street door.

  Hurriedly pulling on his dressing gown and emerging from his apartment, he looks down the carpeted flight of stairs, seeing a sleepy Mrs Hudson warily opening the door.

  Breathlessly entering the house, Chandler removes his hat and addresses Mrs Hudson, “Mr Holmes, ma’am. It’s quite urgent.”

  Briskly reacting to his presence, Holmes enquires, “Where is it this time?”

  Quickly turning away from Mrs Hudson, Chandler grimly stares up at Holmes, “Dutfield’s Yard, Mr Holmes. Berner Street.”

  Fearfully comprehending the reason for the late night call, Mrs. Hudson stifles a gasp with her hand.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Held at bay by a line of police constables, a restless group of people, grumbling to one another in hushed voices, mill around the closed gates of the yard. Standing inside the yard, with their backs to the gates, Inspector Fell, Detective Sergeant Leach and Chandler silently watch Holmes, Lestrade and Dr Blackwell kneel beside the body.

  Holmes stares at the slashed throat, “And this is the only wound inflicted upon her by the murderer?”

  Dr Blackwell sighs wearily, “Surely that was enough, Mr Holmes? The poor woman bled to death.”

  Lestrade glances at Holmes, “Then she wasn’t throttled like the others?”

  Holmes nods, “That would appear to be the case, Lestrade.” He indicates the brownish, yellowish bruising of the face, “And these bruises, Doctor? When did she acquire them?”

  Dr Blackwell picks up his [269]Gladstone bag and stands, “Recently, but not tonight. Now, if will you excuse me?”<
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  Politely tipping his hat to both men and then to Fell, Leach and Chandler at the gates, Dr Blackwell leaves the yard.

  Carefully peeling back part of the tissue held in the left hand of the woman, Lestrade reveals two small pastilles, “Medication of some sort?”

  Holmes clarifies, “Cachous, Lestrade. Dissolved in the mouth to disguise the odour of drink or tobacco.” Pointing to the rear of the yard, he adds, “There is no way out of this yard but back through the gates.” He gazes up at the first floor windows of the club, “And above us, Lestrade?”

  Grasping the significance of what Holmes is implying, Lestrade exclaims, “A working men’s club. People coming and going.”

  Holmes stands, “Not exactly a secluded spot, is it, Lestrade?”

  Feeling a touch of cramp in his left leg, Lestrade stands and stomps his foot heavily, “You don’t think Jack the Ripper murdered her, then?”

  Holmes ponders the question, “No strangulation, no mutilations. The murderer was reckless to the [270]nth degree. He gave no thought to the members of the club who frequented the yard and took no precaution to ensure he had an alternative means of escape.” He shakes his head adamantly, “This was an impetuous murder, committed in the heat of the moment.” He indicates the woman’s bruised face again, “Find the man who did that to her and, in all likelihood, he will turn out to be your murderer, Lestrade.”

  Lestrade looks at Fell and Leach, “Either of you seen this woman before?”

  Fell blurts, “Me, mix with whores? Not bloody likely.”

  Lestrade counters, “You should be so lucky, Inspector.”

  Leach steps forward, “Name’s Elizabeth Stride. A bloke by the name of Kidney gave her the bruises.”

  Lestrade thoughtfully strokes his chin, “Think he slit her throat?”

  Leach answers, “Wouldn’t surprise me, Inspector. He’s a [271]nasty piece of work.”

  Lestrade gently pats him on the arm approvingly, “Good man. Bring him in. And if he’s guilty, we’ll watch him hang.”

  Leach nods and, pulling ajar one of the gates, slips out of the yard into the street.

  Quickly flicking open his notebook and scribbling something down with a pencil, Lestrade tears a page from the pad and gives it to Chandler, “The name of a journalist and the newspaper where he works. Get a sample of his handwriting. And be bloody discreet. I don’t want him to know we’re[272] sniffing about.”

  Amused by the word ‘sniffing’, Holmes smiles.

  Similar to Leach, Chandler hurries from the yard.

  Turning to Fell, Lestrade indicates the body, “Get her down to the mortuary. And try not to lose her.”

  Silently, Fell fumes.

  Accompanying Holmes out of the yard into the street, Lestrade sighs, “Been a bit of a [273]fool’s errand, hasn’t it?”

  Peering over the heads of the jostling crowd outside the yard, Holmes sees a hansom cab hurtling down the street towards them, “Perhaps not, Lestrade.”

  The cab halts sharply.

  Leaping from the vehicle, Daniel Halse pushes his way through the crowd, “Mr Holmes?”

  Holmes raises a curious eyebrow, “Yes.” He introduces Lestrade, “Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard.”

  Halse catches his breath, “Detective Constable Halse, City of London Police.”

  Lestrade frowns, “You’ve violated the boundary. Berner Street is within the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police.”

  Rankled by his defiant attitude, Halse snaps at Lestrade, “Then perhaps you should have told that to your killer. He’s just stepped over the boundary to our side.”

  Lestrade blanches.

  Holmes urgently enquires, “Where?”

  Solemnly, Halse divulges, “Mitre Square.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Located close to the major thoroughfare of Aldgate and further surrounded by Mitre Street, Duke Street and St James Place, Mitre Square is some twenty-four square yards in size, considerably larger than Dutfield’s Yard, and has three entrances.

  From Mitre Street, entry to Mitre Square is gained through a short carriageway, between a picture-frame shop on the right and a tall warehouse on the left.

  Furthest from the carriageway, at the other end of the square, is the eastern corner, where Church Passage runs alongside the Great Synagogue into Duke Street. In the northern corner, and dividing two warehouses, an unnamed passageway connects the square to St James Place.

  In contrast, the southern corner, to the right of the carriageway and overlooked by the picture-frame shop and an empty house, is dominated by a tall backyard fence topped with metal spikes.

  At night, the square is a foreboding place and has only two gas lamps to illuminate its entire area. One is outside the Kearley & Tonge warehouse by the unnamed northern passageway and the other affixed to a wall by Church Passage. Neither of these two lamps are capable of casting any light upon the southern corner.

  Apart from 3 Mitre Square, where City Police Constable Richard Pearce resides with his family, the remaining houses in the square are empty. At the rear of 5 Mitre Street, with its tall backyard fence separating it from the southern corner, lives resident caretaker George Clapp, his wife and an elderly nurse who attends to Mrs Clapp. By 1. 30 a.m., all three had been sound asleep, having retired for the night at 11 p. m.

  Similarly, Richard Pearce and his family had also been asleep, having retired at the later time of 12. 30 a.m. The only person that had been awake at that particular hour had been George Morris, a night watchman who had been cleaning the ground floor offices of the Kearly & Tonge warehouse, beside the unnamed northern passageway, opposite the southern corner.

  At about 1. 30 a.m., some thirty minutes after Catharine had been released from Bishopsgate Police Station and Elizabeth had been found dead in Dutfield’s Yard, City Police Constable Edward Watkins had entered Mitre Square from Mitre Street, seeing and hearing nothing unusual. Turning about, Watkins had then left the square and resumed his beat in Mitre Street.

  Five minutes later, Joseph Lawende, a Polish Jew, along with two of his friends, Joseph Levy and Harry Harris, had stepped out of the Imperial Club in Duke Street, opposite the Great Synagogue, which constitutes one side of Church Passage.

  As the three companions had sauntered away from the club towards Aldgate, they had seen, sixteen feet away, a man and a woman standing beneath an overhead lantern at the entrance of the passage.

  Remaining on the other side of the narrow street and passing the couple, Lawende had noticed that the woman was facing the man with one hand resting upon his chest. The woman and the man were conversing in whispers. Therefore, Lawende had not overheard anything of their conversation. Dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, the man had worn a dark brown billycock hat with matching coloured suit. Aged about thirty, he had a chubby face and a trimmed moustache. Five feet seven inches tall and plump, Lawende thought he looked like a clerk.

  Some six minutes later, City Police Constable James Harvey had approached Church Passage, seeing neither man nor woman. Entering the passage and walking its entire length, he had paused at its end and peered into Mitre Square. The darkened southern corner had lain directly in front of him but he had not seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.

  Turning about, he had retraced his route back along the passage into Duke Street, whereupon he had entered Aldgate. Almost four minutes later, City Police Constable Watkins had again entered the square from Mitre Street.

  Illuminating part of the southern corner with his bulls-eye lantern, Watkins had blanched. Lying prone on the pavement beside the empty house, with her head close to the fence, was the mutilated body of a woman.

  Rushing across the cobbled square, Watkins had thrown open the Kearly & Tonge warehouse door and surprised George Morris, sweeping down some steps. Gasping, Watkins had blurted to him, “For God’s sake, mate, come to my assistance.” Morris, a police pensioner himself, had dropped his broom and grabbed a lantern, “What’s the matter?”
Watkins had shaken his head distraughtly, “There’s another woman cut to pieces.”

  Staying with the body, Watkins had dispatched Morris for help. Dashing out into Mitre Street and then into Aldgate, Morris had blown his whistle, attracting the attention of City Police Constables James Harvey and James Thomas Holland.

  At 1. 55 a.m., whilst Holmes and Lestrade were concluding their investigation in Dutfield’s Yard, news of the murder in Mitre Square had reached the ears of Inspector Edward Collard at Bishopsgate Street Police Station.

  Telegraphing the startling news through to headquarters at Old Jewry, Collard had sent a constable to fetch the divisional police surgeon, Dr Frederick Brown. Rushing from his office, he had then gone downstairs to Desk Sergeant James Byfield and enquired, “Have you released a woman from custody tonight?” Referring to his ledger, Byfield had replied, “Yes, Mary Ann Kelly.” Angry that the specific orders of Chief Superintendent Major Henry Smith had been flouted, Collard had snapped, “I hope, for your sake, she isn’t the woman murdered in Mitre Square.”

  Arriving in the square at 2. 03 a.m., Collard had been met by several policemen and Dr George Sequeira, who had been called out by City Police Constable James Holland eight minutes earlier. Fifteen minutes later, Dr Frederick Brown had arrived and, assisted by Dr Sequeira, had begun an immediate examination of the body, now illuminated by a number of bulls-eye lanterns.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Clattering noisily through the short carriageway into the square, the hansom cab halts. Hurriedly getting out of the vehicle, Holmes, Lestrade and Halse are confronted by an agitated Collard, “Two in one night. He must be [274]in league with the devil.”

  Calmly, Holmes rejoins, “When people lose faith in themselves, they invariably turn to God for guidance or, in some cases, the devil. Our murderer is not a supernatural being, but is made of flesh and blood. And, therefore, can be caught.” He politely indicates Lestrade and repeats the introduction he had made to Halse at Dutfield’s Yard, “Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard.”