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 HOI2:!e5
S:-~ I did not know what I was looking for, but I began
.c ~ 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.