I’ll show myself out. But I may return with more questions.’
The colonel stood up and gave a curt bow. ‘Of course.’
On the way out, Corporal Dignan stood to attention and then asked, ‘Any progress, Sir? There are some poor excuses for humanity about the park at night, of course … not all men in uniform.’
‘Quite,’ said Eddie, and walked away, full of thought.
That night as Eddie walked into the Septimus Club to meet Harry, half a mile away on the edge of the Serpentine a young man was staring into the water as dusk invaded the early evening. He was muttering to himself but looked up when a movement caught his eye. A tall soldier in a red coat stood next to him. ‘Oh, good evening. Very quiet tonight,’ he murmured.
‘Yes, I was enjoying a cool walk, as, I see, were you.’
‘Yes, I was talking to myself … sorry about that. I’m quite sane. Merely thinking of a poem.’
The soldier came nearer. ‘Ah, a poet! I never met one before, but in the army, of course, a poet is of singular value … when it comes to writing home to loved ones, I mean.’
‘Oh, I see.’
The soldier slipped his arm through the young man’s and beamed at him. ‘Well, young poet, would you like some company?’
The poet nodded and patted the soldier’s hand, then they walked into the falling darkness.
‘Here’s the note, Harry. I’m hoping it’s a damned idiot with a frenzied imagination,’ Eddie said, as he sat with Harry Lacey in the library at the Septimus Club. But matters were awkward: Harry was seemingly in considerable pain. He moved slightly and grimaced as if something was stabbing him.
‘Now Harry old friend, are you ill?’
‘Oh damn the thing!’ said the Professor. ‘It’s a little personal, Eddie. I’m at war with my extending paunch, as you know … and, well, the truth is, I’m wearing the new Rossiter Manform Retainer.’
‘The what?’
‘It’s a kind of corset that holds in any excess rotundity. It’s hellish. Whalebone and steel, I think. I’m struggling to breathe.’
‘Harry, here I am with a new Ripper to deal with and you’re, well, having female problems!’ He couldn’t resist jabbing his friend in the ribs, causing yet another moan of pain.
‘I shall persevere – it does trim the figure somewhat, you have to agree,’ winced Harry.
‘Yes, right, well gather yourself and read this.’
Harry screwed up his eyes and adjusted his pince-nez. It took him a while to register what he had read. ‘Oh really! This is surely some childish prank! You must have received a multitude of these letters since Jack?’
Eddie frowned. ‘The thing is, Harry, the man who wrote this knew of the death of William Dockray.’
‘Ah yes … here’s the report in today’s Times .Clearly you told them very little. Most of the piece is about the real Jack, terrifying the populace.’
‘What I want is Professor Lacey the critic’s report on this please – some thoughts from the student of language!’
Harry scratched his nose and then pulled his professional face, the one he put on when discussing the themes of Shakespeare’s late plays. ‘First, this spelling is surely false – artificial. This infantile mind is trying to echo Jack himself. He’s read the Jack letters in the press, and he’s teasing you rather. My intuition tells me that he’s well educated and is revelling in this guise.’
Eddie blew his nose. He had a cold coming on and his head throbbed. ‘Harry, that’s very impressive, in spite of your Rossiter!’
‘Leave it with me,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll get into my files and report back, perhaps write you a response after I’ve had more time to think.’
The Detective Inspector was glad to get home to his comfortable chair and his wife’s tender care.
The next morning, the landlady of Reston Buildings, Queens Gate, took a poached egg up to her young lodger. She tapped on the door and walked in; what she saw was enough to make her start and the tray and
The colonel stood up and gave a curt bow. ‘Of course.’
On the way out, Corporal Dignan stood to attention and then asked, ‘Any progress, Sir? There are some poor excuses for humanity about the park at night, of course … not all men in uniform.’
‘Quite,’ said Eddie, and walked away, full of thought.
That night as Eddie walked into the Septimus Club to meet Harry, half a mile away on the edge of the Serpentine a young man was staring into the water as dusk invaded the early evening. He was muttering to himself but looked up when a movement caught his eye. A tall soldier in a red coat stood next to him. ‘Oh, good evening. Very quiet tonight,’ he murmured.
‘Yes, I was enjoying a cool walk, as, I see, were you.’
‘Yes, I was talking to myself … sorry about that. I’m quite sane. Merely thinking of a poem.’
The soldier came nearer. ‘Ah, a poet! I never met one before, but in the army, of course, a poet is of singular value … when it comes to writing home to loved ones, I mean.’
‘Oh, I see.’
The soldier slipped his arm through the young man’s and beamed at him. ‘Well, young poet, would you like some company?’
The poet nodded and patted the soldier’s hand, then they walked into the falling darkness.
‘Here’s the note, Harry. I’m hoping it’s a damned idiot with a frenzied imagination,’ Eddie said, as he sat with Harry Lacey in the library at the Septimus Club. But matters were awkward: Harry was seemingly in considerable pain. He moved slightly and grimaced as if something was stabbing him.
‘Now Harry old friend, are you ill?’
‘Oh damn the thing!’ said the Professor. ‘It’s a little personal, Eddie. I’m at war with my extending paunch, as you know … and, well, the truth is, I’m wearing the new Rossiter Manform Retainer.’
‘The what?’
‘It’s a kind of corset that holds in any excess rotundity. It’s hellish. Whalebone and steel, I think. I’m struggling to breathe.’
‘Harry, here I am with a new Ripper to deal with and you’re, well, having female problems!’ He couldn’t resist jabbing his friend in the ribs, causing yet another moan of pain.
‘I shall persevere – it does trim the figure somewhat, you have to agree,’ winced Harry.
‘Yes, right, well gather yourself and read this.’
Harry screwed up his eyes and adjusted his pince-nez. It took him a while to register what he had read. ‘Oh really! This is surely some childish prank! You must have received a multitude of these letters since Jack?’
Eddie frowned. ‘The thing is, Harry, the man who wrote this knew of the death of William Dockray.’
‘Ah yes … here’s the report in today’s Times .Clearly you told them very little. Most of the piece is about the real Jack, terrifying the populace.’
‘What I want is Professor Lacey the critic’s report on this please – some thoughts from the student of language!’
Harry scratched his nose and then pulled his professional face, the one he put on when discussing the themes of Shakespeare’s late plays. ‘First, this spelling is surely false – artificial. This infantile mind is trying to echo Jack himself. He’s read the Jack letters in the press, and he’s teasing you rather. My intuition tells me that he’s well educated and is revelling in this guise.’
Eddie blew his nose. He had a cold coming on and his head throbbed. ‘Harry, that’s very impressive, in spite of your Rossiter!’
‘Leave it with me,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll get into my files and report back, perhaps write you a response after I’ve had more time to think.’
The Detective Inspector was glad to get home to his comfortable chair and his wife’s tender care.
The next morning, the landlady of Reston Buildings, Queens Gate, took a poached egg up to her young lodger. She tapped on the door and walked in; what she saw was enough to make her start and the tray and
Similar Books
