Perhaps I did not understand Holmes's hidden
messages, but I did understand what was happening to the man. He was mad - I knew that now.
All that was evil in him he called Moriarty. The fight with Moriarty was a battle that was taking place inside his own head.
I had hoped that Jack the Ripper was dead. He was not, and now another woman had been murdered. I
felt that her blood was on my hands. The time had come when I must tell Holmes what I knew about him.
First, I had to be sure that I understood everything.
I took a cab to Baker Street, and went into Holmes's room.I did not know what I was looking for, but I began
to search.The rooms were untidy, full of old newspapers. I searched for four hours but found nothing. At four
o'clock in the morning I stopped. I went to the window and looked out at the dark sky.
Suddenly, I knew what to do. The house opposite, where Holmes had once seen Moriarty.
I ran across the street and broke the lock on the back door of the house.
Every room was empty, all except one bedroom.
This contained a bed, a cupboard and a box full of papers. All the papers were about the
Whitechapel murders.
Some were cut from
newspapers, others were written by the killer himself.
He described each murder with a sick enjoyment of
what he had done.