kind. What can interest you in their miserable
deaths?'
'It is an extraordinary case, Watson,' Holmes cried. 'I
have been studying it. I knew the police would need
my help. Shall I tell you the facts?'
'Please do!' I said. Was this going to be one of
Sherlock Holmes's great cases? I hoped that at last
he had found something to interest him.
'The women who died were poor, and neither young
nor beautiful,' he told me. 'So they were not killed for
money or for love. Why were they killed? That is one
mystery. There is another. Each woman was killed
with a knife. The word "killed", Watson, cannot
describe the violent and terrible ways in which they
were murdered. They were cut up like meat. The
stomach of one was opened, the head of another
almost cut from her body. But this is not the worst.
There are things that even the newspapers will not
describe.'
He showed me a doctor's report on one of the
bodies. As I read it, a sick feeling carne over me.
'What man could do this?' I asked. 'What possible
reason could he have to do this to a woman? Why,
Holmes, why?' He smiled coolly at me.
'Why indeed? That is the real interest of this case. In
themselves, these deaths are not important. Women
like that are murdered every week. But why does this
killer cut them up? Why rip the bodies to pieces with
a knife? That is the question which makes this case so
exciting!,
If anyone can stop these terrible murders, Holmes is
that man, I thought. This case could become his
greatest success.
At that moment somebody knocked at the door.
'Ah, come in, Inspector,' Holmes said. 'I understand
you have finally decided to ask me to help you
catch this Whitechapel murderer.'
Inspector Lestrade did not look very pleased. 'Not at
all, Mr Holmes,' he said. 'I was just passing Baker
Street, and I know you find these cases interesting.'
'How kind!' Holmes said. 'Please tell us. When did you
arrest the killer? I am a little sad, I must say, to find
that you have done it all without me.'
'We haven't arrested anyone yet,' Lestrade said, 'but I
am very hopeful, Mr Holmes. You see, I have in my
pocket a letter from the killer himself.'
The smile left Holmes's face. He was suddenly serious.
'May I see the letter?' he asked.
It was written in red, and the name at the bottom
was 'Jack the Ripper'. I still remember something of
what it said:
I love my work. My knife is nice and ready for the next
job. I can't wait to rip again.
Holmes turned to Lestrade. 'What are you doing to
stop this murderer?' he asked. 'It is clear that he will
kill again very soon.'
'Every extra policeman that we have will be in
Whitechapel at night,' Lestrade said. 'And we have a
little surprise for Jack the Ripper.' He looked at us
importantly. 'Some of our best and bravest
policemen will be dressed in women's clothes,' he
said. 'We will stop at nothing to catch this criminal.'
There was a moment's silence. Then Holmes and I
looked at one another and we both began to laugh.
We could not stop.
Lestrade turned very red. 'I see you are amused by
murder,' he said. 'You do not wish to work with us.
Well, I am a busy man. I must leave you. Goodbye,
Mr Holmes. Goodbye, doctor.'
Holmes stopped laughing immediately.
'Inspector,' he said, 'I want very much to work with
you. Let us meet this afternoon to discuss our plans.'
This made Lestrade much happier.
When he had left, I said to Holmes, 'You have
laughed at the police, but what ideas do you have
about these crimes? Who do you think the murderer
is?'
'I do not know who he is, Watson,' he told me, 'but I
believe I know what kind of man he is. He is far too
intelligent, too extraordinary a killer for our good
friend Lestrade and his policemen in dresses to
catch. No, he shall be mine. He is the criminal that I
have waited for. To destroy him will be the greatest
success of my life. I dream of it, Watson! I must
destroy him! I cannot fail!'
He was shaking with excitement. I had never seen
him like this before.
That afternoon he went to Scotland Yard. When he
came home, he was very quiet. Next day he
appeared dressed in old, dirty clothes.
'I am going to Whitechapel,' he told me. 'As you
know, I have rooms in several parts of London. For
the next three days I shall live among the poor
people of White chapel. Nobody will know who I am.
I shall talk to them and listen to everything that they
tell me.'
'May I come with you?' I asked, but he said, 'No,
Watson, you may not. If there is a murder, I shall send
for you. I shall need your help, old fellow, have no
fear of that!'
I spent a lonely evening in Baker Street. I was asleep
when, at half past two in the morning, a cab arrived
to take me to Whitechapel. Another woman had
met a violent death.
As I travelled through the dark, empty streets, London
seemed a strange and ghostly place - it lay there like
the body of a great animal, not sleeping but dead.
The driver took me east, towards th
ชนิด อะไรสามารถสนใจในความสุขของพวกเขา ตาย?' 'มันเป็นกรณีพิเศษ วัตสัน โฮลมส์ร้องไห้ ' ฉัน มีการศึกษามัน ผมรู้ว่า ตำรวจจะต้อง ความช่วยเหลือของฉัน จะฉันบอกข้อเท็จจริงหรือไม่ ' 'กรุณาทำ' ฉันเคยพูด ได้นี้จะเป็นหนึ่ง เชอร์ล็อกโฮลมส์ดีกรณี หวังที่ในที่สุด เขาได้พบสิ่งที่เขาสนใจ ' ผู้หญิงที่เสียชีวิตยากไร้ และหนุ่มไม่ ไม่ สวย เขาบอก ' ดังนั้นพวกเขาไม่ถูกฆ่าสำหรับ เงิน หรือความรัก พวกเขาถูกฆ่าทำไม ที่เป็นหนึ่ง ปริศนา ไม่มีอีก ผู้หญิงแต่ละคนถูกฆ่าตาย มีด ไม่ใช้คำว่า "ฆ่า" วัตสัน อธิบายวิธีการรุนแรง และน่ากลัวที่พวกเขา ถูกฆาตกรรม พวกเขาถูกตัดขึ้นเช่นเนื้อสัตว์ การ กระเพาะอาหารอย่างใดอย่างหนึ่งเปิด หัวอีก เกือบตัดจากร่างกายของเธอ แต่ไม่ร้าย มีสิ่งที่แม้แต่หนังสือพิมพ์จะไม่ อธิบาย ' เขาแสดงให้ฉันเห็นรายงานของแพทย์ในการ ร่างกาย ฉันอ่านมัน carne รู้สึกป่วยข้า 'สิ่งที่มนุษย์สามารถได้หรือไม่' ถาม ' ไปได้อะไร เหตุผลที่เขาอาจทำให้ผู้หญิง ทำไม โฮล์มส์ ทำไม?' เขายิ้มเฉยที่ผม ' ทำไมจริงหรือไม่ ที่มีความสนใจที่แท้จริงของกรณีนี้ ใน ตัวเอง เสียชีวิตเหล่านี้ไม่ได้สำคัญ ผู้หญิง ต้องการที่จะฆาตกรรมทุกสัปดาห์ แต่เหตุใดนี้ นักฆ่าตัดค่า ทำไมฉีกร่างให้ชิ้นส่วน มีด ที่เป็นคำถามซึ่งทำให้กรณีนี้ดังนั้น ตื่นเต้น!, ถ้าทุกคนสามารถหยุดการฆาตกรรมที่น่ากลัวเหล่านี้ เป็นโฮล์มส์ that man, I thought. This case could become his greatest success. At that moment somebody knocked at the door. 'Ah, come in, Inspector,' Holmes said. 'I understand you have finally decided to ask me to help you catch this Whitechapel murderer.' Inspector Lestrade did not look very pleased. 'Not at all, Mr Holmes,' he said. 'I was just passing Baker Street, and I know you find these cases interesting.' 'How kind!' Holmes said. 'Please tell us. When did you arrest the killer? I am a little sad, I must say, to find that you have done it all without me.' 'We haven't arrested anyone yet,' Lestrade said, 'but I am very hopeful, Mr Holmes. You see, I have in my pocket a letter from the killer himself.' The smile left Holmes's face. He was suddenly serious. 'May I see the letter?' he asked. It was written in red, and the name at the bottom was 'Jack the Ripper'. I still remember something of what it said: I love my work. My knife is nice and ready for the next job. I can't wait to rip again. Holmes turned to Lestrade. 'What are you doing to stop this murderer?' he asked. 'It is clear that he will kill again very soon.' 'Every extra policeman that we have will be in Whitechapel at night,' Lestrade said. 'And we have a little surprise for Jack the Ripper.' He looked at us importantly. 'Some of our best and bravest policemen will be dressed in women's clothes,' he said. 'We will stop at nothing to catch this criminal.' There was a moment's silence. Then Holmes and I
looked at one another and we both began to laugh.
We could not stop.
Lestrade turned very red. 'I see you are amused by
murder,' he said. 'You do not wish to work with us.
Well, I am a busy man. I must leave you. Goodbye,
Mr Holmes. Goodbye, doctor.'
Holmes stopped laughing immediately.
'Inspector,' he said, 'I want very much to work with
you. Let us meet this afternoon to discuss our plans.'
This made Lestrade much happier.
When he had left, I said to Holmes, 'You have
laughed at the police, but what ideas do you have
about these crimes? Who do you think the murderer
is?'
'I do not know who he is, Watson,' he told me, 'but I
believe I know what kind of man he is. He is far too
intelligent, too extraordinary a killer for our good
friend Lestrade and his policemen in dresses to
catch. No, he shall be mine. He is the criminal that I
have waited for. To destroy him will be the greatest
success of my life. I dream of it, Watson! I must
destroy him! I cannot fail!'
He was shaking with excitement. I had never seen
him like this before.
That afternoon he went to Scotland Yard. When he
came home, he was very quiet. Next day he
appeared dressed in old, dirty clothes.
'I am going to Whitechapel,' he told me. 'As you
know, I have rooms in several parts of London. For
the next three days I shall live among the poor
people of White chapel. Nobody will know who I am.
I shall talk to them and listen to everything that they
tell me.'
'May I come with you?' I asked, but he said, 'No,
Watson, you may not. If there is a murder, I shall send
for you. I shall need your help, old fellow, have no
fear of that!'
I spent a lonely evening in Baker Street. I was asleep
when, at half past two in the morning, a cab arrived
to take me to Whitechapel. Another woman had
met a violent death.
As I travelled through the dark, empty streets, London
seemed a strange and ghostly place - it lay there like
the body of a great animal, not sleeping but dead.
The driver took me east, towards th
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