Jack the Ripper

It was December 1888. Everyone in London was talking about the Ripper. As I came out into the cold night air, a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. I turned to face a white-haired man with a face that looked as if it had seen all the sorrows of the world. "You expressed an interest in the Ripper. I have not long to live. I want to tell someone before I go."

"You know about this madman?"

"I know that he is no madman. They are not driven by perverse lusts. Their reasons are as plain and practical as those of the Prime Minister and they have friends in high places. These are deep waters, my friend. Deep and very dark. We are dealing with forces which corrupt a man's heart even to speak of them. And I warn you, by the time I have unfolded what I know, you will look a few years older."