The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper by James Carnac

Author:James Carnac
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2013-07-22T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

I walked along Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, past St Pauls to the Bank and then down Lombard Street, Fenchurch Street and Aldgate to Whitechapel High Street. I purposely loitered, but even then it was barely mid-night as I turned into the last-mentioned thoroughfare. The streets were still teeming with people, and I stood at a corner and looked about me. Very few of the passers-by gave me so much as a glance, but one loafer stared hard at my feet and then glanced up into my face as he went by. I looked down and the cause of his interest was evident. I had forgotten that a decent pair of boots is as rare in a poverty-stricken area as a silk hat. Mine were slightly mud-splashed, but they compared more than favourably with other footwear around me; they were neither broken nor ill-fitting, and the laces were carefully tied.

I turned down Commercial Street and as I went I deliberately soiled my boots by walking through the mud, of which there was a plentiful supply. In a few minutes my boots were no longer in a state to excite remark.

I loafed about that district for what seemed hours, passing from one garbage-littered slum to another, watching the knots of people around the closing public houses and the roisterers, single or in groups, who staggered singing down the gloomy streets. There was a good deal of drunkenness, which accounted for the singing; no one sings in that part of London unless he is drunk. There is nothing but drink to make him sing.

Several women, mostly drunk, accosted me in the course of my perambulations, but it was too early yet for what I had to do. One of these creatures was persistent, following me along the street and hoarsely whispering Mephistophelian suggestions into my ear. Her diction was crude, but her intentions were by no means obscure. So suitable a “subject” did she appear in her urgency to make my better acquaintance, that I hesitated; she misinterpreted this and, laying a dirty hand on my coat, stared into my face with bleary eyes. But no, I decided; the streets were still too far awake; I would take no risks. I roughly disengaged her hand and hurried away.

Gradually the streets cleared; by this time I felt tired and footsore, but the feeling of excitement which had filled my mind during my walk had grown rather than diminished. But it was a controlled excitement and I enjoyed the sensation which accompanied it; a sensation, I think, such as hunters must experience when tracking a beast to its lair. As the slums into which I entered became more and more quiet until only occasional isolated stragglers could be seen, I knew that the time of my choice of subject was near at hand.

I was thrilled by the thought of my power. I was Death stalking this jungle of slums; it was for me to take or to spare. Should this slinking woman who came

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