The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper (20 page)

There remained, then, but one alternative, and I admit that I considered it with distaste. Mrs. Hamlett possessed knowledge which was inimical to my safety; therefore Mrs. Hamlett must be eliminated.

My active life as J.R. ceased at the time of my accident forty years ago; not only did the loss of my leg result in that sudden termination of the series of “atrocities” which puzzled the authorities, but it also resulted in a definite change in my feelings. My craving to slay departed, leaving me in peace. I am still interested in knives, those useful implements devised by man for the cutting of his food and his fellows, but I have no longer a desire to use them in a way repugnant to respectable society. Whether my craving atrophied through my sheer inability to move about and slay, or whether the crack upon my head at the time of the accident resulted in some trifling mental change, I cannot say.

However, when I began to contemplate the removal of Mrs. Hamlett, I was actuated by none of those feelings which had driven me to unconventional behavior in the past. I did not propose to kill her because I experienced a purposeless desire to kill, but because I regarded her as a menace to my safety. I wish to be perfectly honest, and I state, therefore, that no parallel existed between my former cases and that which I now intended. The killing of Mrs. Hamlett would be plain murder—a murder of expediency—as serious a crime as any other murders for which men have been executed, and without justification or excuse in the eyes of any member of the community. I felt justified, because it was her life or mine, but no one else would be likely to share that view, and I confess frankly that I commenced a consideration of the project with some repugnance.

But no other course than the elimination of Mrs. Hamlett would, I was convinced, solve my problem; so I stifled my scruples and began to grapple with the problem of ways and means. And, in my planning, I lost some of my first feeling of distaste and even developed a certain jest as the excitement of the thing took hold of me.

During the past few years an enormous growth of “detective” literature has developed, and probably very few means of murdering one's fellow-citizens have lacked exposition. I, myself, am by no means unfamiliar with this class of book; but when I began to review as many as I could recall of the various methods invented by writers of crime novels I realized that the majority of those methods were impracticable. They were too ingenious. And the plans evolved by the fictitious criminals for evading detection were based, in most cases, upon extremely complicated alibis in circumstances specially devised by the authors.

I could gain no hint whatever from my recollection of any of the books which I had read, and none of the methods seemed adaptable to my present case.

I considered first of all the relatively crude murder followed by concealment of the body. Well, obviously, this would not work in my case because my physical disability would not permit the activity necessary to conceal the body; without going into unnecessary details I may say that the labour involved in any scheme of concealment seemed to be outside my capacity. The circumstances and routine of the household also disallowed me the necessary leisure; and, furthermore, the inexplicable disappearance of Mrs. Hamlett, a person of regular and settled habits of life, would immediately lead to investigation.

In my early exploits it had, of course, been entirely unnecessary to conceal the bodies; but in the case I contemplated, the only circumstances in which concealment need not be attempted would be those attendant upon a killing in some place remote from the house. And I could see no prospect of arranging such circumstances.

My thoughts then proceeded to the more subtle methods of murder, of which poison is a leading example. I examined this idea despite a strong repugnance, for the medium is one which I would only use in the last resort. Although, perhaps, a man of few principles, I share the popular abhorrence of the poisoner.

Now there are no advantages whatever, from the point of view of the murderer, in the use of poison unless an entire absence of suspicion as to the cause of death obtains. Once suspicion has been aroused, the cause of death is easily discoverable. It is true that many people have doubtless been poisoned whose death has been ascribed to natural causes; but it must always have been a gamble for the criminal. I did not dwell long upon the possibilities of safely poisoning my landlady.

There remained, then, the ingeniously staged “accident,” and this field I considered thoroughly, for I felt it was the one which offered most scope to my abilities. Something must happen to Mrs. Hamlett which would appear to be an obvious accident, and one such thing occurred to me immediately. She might fall downstairs and break her neck. A black string judiciously stretched at the head of the stairs?

I pursued my cogitations for several days, but without arriving at any satisfactory decision; and during that time the relations between Mrs. Hamlett and myself were peculiar. Outwardly they were as usual, but it seemed to me that the good lady was hard put to it to keep them so. In innumerable small ways she betrayed the strain under which she was labouring: the occasional stealthy glance, the forced normality of tone, the rather excessive politeness, the pointed avoidance of any reference to German films—a subject on which we had often chatted. And I am fairly certain that she must have observed a similar constraint in me.

On several occasions my landlady betrayed signs of definite distress, entering my sitting-room with eyes red from weeping. It would have been too crude had I endeavoured to conceal my perception of this; my policy in our cat-and-mouse game was to pretend that our relationship was entirely normal. Mrs. Hamlett might suspect—be almost certain, in fact—that I was aware of her knowledge, but while some sort of pretence was maintained it was possible for the status quo to continue, albeit precariously. Mrs. Hamlett was either planning or waiting—I was not sure which—and I admired not only her patience but also her pluck. How many women would care to remain in constant touch with a (supposed) desperate criminal until such time as they could trap him? But once the gloves were off, the good lady would doubtless be driven to some reckless procedure which would definitely end my brief period of safety.

In reply to my enquiries Mrs. Hamlett informed me that she was suffering from almost constant neuralgia, and I professed sympathy. The same explanation was evidently given to Minnie, for the girl mentioned to me the discomfort of her mistress, and discussed possible remedies. And in the course of our chat Minnie gave me the germ of my great idea.

“Don't it seem awful, sir?” she said. “She's said several times that if it goes on much longer she'll feel like putting her head in the gas-oven. I can't make out why she doesn't see a doctor or a dentist or something. I know I would.”

“I shouldn't worry, Minnie,” I told her. “Your mistress won't put her head in the gas-oven. A lot of people talk like that, but they don't mean it.”

“Oh, I know it's all talk, sir,” said Minnie. “I'm not worrying because I think she will. She always says that sort of thing when she's upset. But to see her going about like that fair gives me the pip.”

I replied in an absent-minded manner as Minnie left the room; I was turning over in my mind that phrase: “put her head in the gas-oven.” If Mrs. Hamlett only would; what an end to my problem!

And then the thought logically followed: why should not Mrs. Hamlett gas herself? Or appear to do so. Could it possibly be arranged? The ground was prepared. If Mrs. Hamlett was discovered dead of gas-poisoning, Minnie, as a witness, would testify to the frequent threats of her mistress to gas herself. So far as I could see a verdict of suicide would follow as a matter of course provided the affair was arranged with care and ingenuity.

This seemed a promising line of thought, and I pursued it. I considered the conditions of the household. Mrs. Hamlett sleeps on the ground-floor next door to a small room occupied by Minnie. It seems a curious part of the house for sleeping-quarters, though not uncommon, I believe, for landladies who prefer to reserve the upper bed-rooms for actual or prospective lodgers. Mrs. Hamlett had a gas-fire in her room I knew, for I had noticed it through the open door on more than one occasion. In fact there are, so far as I know, gas-fires in most of the bed-rooms, though my sitting-room is heated by a coal-fire.

Of course if my landlady did decide to commit suicide she would not “put her head in the gas-oven”; she would retire to her bed-room, turn on the gas and lie down. At least, I suppose she would. If, therefore, I wished to assist her in carrying out her professed desire, it would be necessary for me to enter her room while she slept and turn on the gas-fire for her.

But Mrs. Hamlett is accustomed to locking her door at night. I have heard her turn the key. And she would certainly not refrain from doing so now with a lodger of my supposed propensities at hand. But would not another key from another door in the house fit her lock; or if not, could not a duplicate be obtained? And would it be possible to use a duplicate if Mrs. Hamlett's key remained in the lock inside?

I sat there and continued to cogitate.

—

My problem is solved. The solution is one of those simple and obvious things which, by their very simplicity and obviousness, are liable to escape attention in a system of ingenious planning; like those large-type headings on placards which we fail to see because they are so much in evidence.

This, the final chapter of this record, I am writing during the period which must elapse before I can put my plan into execution. Let me go over the events of this evening.

I heard Mrs. Hamlett go out soon after tea, leaving Minnie in charge of the establishment. My fellow-lodger is away on one of his alleged stamp-collecting expeditions. It is a bitterly cold night.

At about nine I heard the sound of Mrs. Hamlett's return and, soon after, she entered my sitting-room with the glass of hot milk which I am accustomed to take at that time. I saw at once that she was developing the first symptoms of a cold.

Now within limits I have certain sympathy with my fellows—strange, perhaps, though that may seem—and when I heard my landlady sneeze and perceived her running eyes I was moved to suggest the best course for her to pursue. Be it remembered that I had no grudge against Mrs. Hamlett in the sense which that term usually conveys. On the contrary, I admired her qualities and rather liked her.

As a measure of expediency I thought it necessary to eliminate her, but I did not wish her to have a bad cold.

“You seem to have a cold, Mrs. Hamlett,” I said.

“I'm afraid I have, Mr. Carnac,” she replied. “I ought not to have gone out this evening. It's bitter. But there was something important I had to see about.”

“Now I'll tell you what you want, Mrs. Hamlett,” I continued. “A glass of strong whiskey and water, hot. Have you any whiskey?”

“I'm afraid I haven't. I don't keep it in the house as a rule.”

“Then I will mix your medicine for you, Mrs. Hamlett
1
,” I said. “I insist. Supposing you ask Minnie for some hot water and a lemon?”

With a half smile Mrs. Hamlett left the room and I heard her call down the stairs to Minnie. When she returned I insisted upon her sitting beside the fire. She sneezed once or twice and then commenced a desultory conversation.

“And what have you been doing with yourself this evening, sir?” she asked. “I suppose you've not been out?”

“No, Mrs. Hamlett. I've been cleaning a picture which I picked up a few days ago on a stall.”

“Not in your bed-room I hope?”

“Yes, in my bed-room. It was cold up there, certainly, but I couldn't bring petrol down here with the fire. And then I have been doing a little writing—and thinking.”

“It's really too bad of me taking your whiskey, you know, sir,” said Mrs. Hamlett. “I expect I shall be all right in the morning.”

“Not without the whiskey, Mrs. Hamlett. That may stop the cold.”

Then Minnie entered, grinning, carrying a small, steaming kettle, and a lemon on a plate.

“Thank you, Minnie,” I said, rising. “Now you leave this to me, Mrs. Hamlett.” And I rose and hobbled to the side-board.

“I lit your gas-fire an hour ago, mum,” said Minnie. “So your room will be lovely and warm.”

I was raising the whiskey-decanter as I caught the words and in some inexplicable manner the solution of the problem which had been troubling me leapt to my mind in that instant. In a flash of inspiration I saw what I had to do. And so rapid is the course of thought once the right path has been reached that in that brief period between my raising the decanter and pouring out the whiskey, I realized the desirability of increasing the dose which I had intended. I poured out nearly half a tumbler-full of the spirit, added a slice of lemon, a lump of sugar and some hot water. Then I took a tea-spoon from the drawer and, turning, handed the decoction to Mrs. Hamlett.

She took the glass with a word of thanks and turned to the door.

“Good night, Mr. Carnac,” she said. And, “Good night, sir,” added Minnie, following her out. My response was delayed for a fraction of a second … I was overcome by the excitement of my idea. And I was thinking: “The next time I see her she will be stiff and cold and motionless. Minnie will be looking scared, and probably weeping. I shall be acting the part of the sympathetic and shocked lodger. And then a doctor will come, and probably a policeman with a note-book. And I shall be free of my incubus.”

“Good night, Mrs. Hamlett. Good night, Minnie.”

I sat for a long time, as it seemed, by the fire and listened. I heard them both descend the stairs. Then, after an interval, Mrs. Hamlett's steps going to the top of the house, and their return. Another interval; and the closing of a door followed by the faint click of a lock. I found, to my surprise, that I was trembling.

I must continue to sit here for some time before I can carry out my plan; and my plan is based upon a simple fact which, previously, I had quite overlooked. There are two taps to a gas-fire; that within the room, and the main-tap. And the main-tap of this house is accessible; it is in a cupboard under the stairs on the ground floor. I know, for I saw an official manipulating it on a recent occasion in connection with the installation of a new geyser.