"Not that I can see", answered Watson - "but wait! - what is this? It surely can't be true!"

"A man claiming to be jack the ripper has confessed. But surely his identity given in these accounts, he cannot be the killer. Holmes looked at me with a quizical eye & asked,

"Watson, why haven't the police inquired upon me?"

"I do not know. They seem to consult you about every theft or murder," Watson responded.

As we spoke, there was a knock upon the door. Mrs. Hudson answered, and then quick, light steps could be heard upon the stairs. There was a light tap. "Come in!" said Holmes. We watched as the door opened slowly and a slight, short lady entered. She could not have been older than twenty years.

"Yes?" said Holmes. "How may we help you?" "My name is Gigi Johnson. I do not supose that you have heard of me. I am only beginning a career at the Opera." "Yes, your name sounds familiar. Won't you sit down?" As Holmes spoke, I could see the expression upon his face. It bespoke of mild curiosity and I knew that my old friend was carefully deducing the facts about our lovely visitor that he read upon her. What he could see, however, was a mystery to me as I did not have his talent for observasion. Our visitor sat in the middle of the room on the settee and collected her thoughts.

"I think that I should start at the very beginning. My father is an American and my mother is French. We have been in England for some ten years now. I have lived a very sheltered and upper-class life. My father had humble beginnings in a snall farm town in the Northeast of America. He refuses to say exaclty where. He built himself up, and after many years of hard work, he became a very wealthy man. He traveled about the world, going as far the Orient. He met my mother on one of these trips. His family did not approve of him right away; but he won them over. I was born a year later. He won't tell us much about his past, and whenever we ask, he gets furiously angry. I wondered at this for a while until one day, a strange visitor came to the house. My father seemed to know him, but he would not introduce us to him. Instead he sent me to my room and told my mother not come down to the den. I don't know what happened next. When the stranger had left, my father was in a depressed mood. He stayed locked up in his den for several days. When he finally emerged, it was in a hurry. He left without saying a word, and I had not seen him again till this morning, when the police notified the family that he was imprisoned as a possible Ripper suspect. They told us that he confessed to it. I do not believe it. He could have a temper at times and even be downright violent. But to do such things! I cannot think it of him."

Holmes sat back all this time, languidly sitting in his chair with his eyes shut. When the young lady finished her narrative, Holmes sat up. "Pray, what is your father's name?" "Jones Johnson, I believe." "And did you catch the name of his visitor?" The girl paused for a moment. "I believe he said his name was David. I did not catch a last name." "And about how long ago was this?" "The visitor came about two weeks ago. And my father left us about four days afterword." she looked through her purse and took out a photograph. She gave it a long, parting look and handed it to Holmes. "This was taken of him a month ago, but his face has not changed since then. I want you to keep it until your investigation is over. I have a horrid feeling something might happen to him, and that is the only thing to identify him with. His other portraits are too old." "I will see what I can do for you, Miss Johnson. Where is father being held?" " I do not know. I visited him at Scotland Yard, but they refused to tell me where they keep him. Only that it is somewhere else." Holmes muttered under his breath. "Where may I reach you at?" "I am staying with a friend. If you need to reach me, it is best you do it through her at her office. I want no one to suspect that I have hired help in this. I feel it may be a threat to my father. You can reach my friend at the Covent Garden flourist's shop. Her name is Jane Going. She is the only one I trust with this." "And why is that?" The lady did not speak, but drew a large, yellow envelope from her purse. "You must read the contents carefully. I believe this may be the cause of our problems." She rose and walked to the door. "I do hope you can help my father." She would have said more, but was overcome with emotion, and flew out the door. Holmes and I stood near the window and watched her hail a cab. "Well, Watson, what do you think?" "Very strange, indeed. Her information is harldy anything to go on." "I know. Our only hope is that the contents of this envelope will tell us all we need to know."

"I wonder how she came by it?" said Holmes to himself.

"If we eliminate the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth -- or else something possible, yet false", said Holmes. "How extraordinary that I never thought of that".

Holmes remained gazing out the window long after Ms. Johnson and her cab had disappeared into the busy streets of London. Watson waited expectantly for Holmes to open the contents of the envelope. Instead, after several more minutes of reflection at the window, Holmes suddenly turned on his heel and briskly walked toward the door.

"Tell Mrs. Hudson to hold my meals until further notice Watson," said Holmes as he put on his overcoat. "I believe I shall be occupied for the rest of the day on business matters."

"But Holmes!" protested Watson, half rising and gesturing to the envelope laying on the table. "What about the information Ms. Johnson has left to our disposal? Is it not of critical importance to this case?"

"Tut-tut Watson," chided Holmes as he half disappeared down the stairs. "It shall be considered in due time. But until then, I have matters that more urgently require my attention. Please wait here for any word I may send you. And be sure to follow those instructions to the letter."

In another instant, Holmes whisked out onto the street and disappeared in a cab.

Dr Watson sat and wondered all day about where Holmes had gone, but he knew it would do no good. Later as he was sitting down to one of Mrs. Hudson's dinners Holmes came rushing in banging the door behind him. "I say Holmes what is the matter, you look frightful?" Indeed he did with his coat all torn and his hair mussed and dirt on his face. "Someone has played me false Watson!" he cried, doubling over.

"But what do you mean?" said Watson, rising and helping his friend to the couch. "I followed this Miss Johnson to a small and unprestigeuos hotel near the Strand. She had the cab wait for her and about a half-hour later, she left and went to a house in the country- side. Her friend, Jane Going answered, I heard her name. Ms. Johnson left very shortly and I approached the house with caution. I knocked upon the door and her friend answered. She is rather similar to Miss Johnson, so much so that I suspect them of being relatives. I presumed to be an Inspector from Scotland Yard and inquired if Ms. Going knew where I could find her freind's residence. She was very polite and offered me a drink, which I was fool enough to take." "But what do you mean? I see no harm in a simple drink." "No, not in a simple one, but when it is poisoned;" "Holmes!" Watson gasped. "How ghastly!" "Yes, I could my conscienceness slipping from me as she gave the address to a hotel in Liverpool. The name of it is the Lion's Inn. Fortunately, I didi not drink enough for it to be fatal. When I awoke, I was near the edge of a lake in the centre of a forest." "But surley she did not take you there?" "No, undoudtedly there was a man in the upstairs quarters of the house. Fortunately, there was a police station nearby and I sought help." "She has been arrested?" "No, I told them I had a bad drink at my home. I do not want to frighten Miss Going away. I still need to know where her friend is at. I will return to-marrow and when her friend returns I shall follow her to her home. I did not want to arouse the suspicions of the cab driver by following them for too long."

Holmes went to his room and cleaned up while Watson sat and wondered about what had happened. He was certain that when the mystery was solved, Miss goings would be in serious trouble for attempting to kill someone who identified theirself as an officer of the law.

The next morning, Sherlock was wakened by a loud and urgent knocking on his bedroom door. "Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson is here with news that something horrible has just been reported in the news," exclaimed Mrs. Hudson the housekeeper. "Let him in, Mrs. Hudson," said Holmes as he hurriedly slipped on his robe. Doctor Watson entered the room and slumped into the nearest chair. "My good heavens, Holmes, there has been a gruesome murder near Hyde Park. A young woman who frequented The Green Gate pub was found in a dark alley. Apparently, she was an actress in a small theater nearby. Her throat had been cut, but the murderer had tied a red scarf around her neck before fleeing the scene of the crime. The inspector sent me around to fetch you after I had examined the poor girl's body." "Very well, Watson, asked Mrs. Hudson to fix some tea and I shall be getting ready. Tell me what you observed, in great detail, while I get dressed and give me your impressions of what you have seen."

"My first impression was one of horror at what I saw. Only a vile, insane monster could have murdered such a beautiful, young woman in such a way. I could not understand the red scarf around her neck being tied there. She was laying in a pool of blood and in her right hand, she was holding card with a strange message on it. Holmes, the message said "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. Jack's been up to his old tricks."

"Dear God, Holmes, do you think that it could possibly be the real Jack the Ripper after all these years, or some insane copy cat murderer? Holmes hurriedly put on his overcoat and hurried to the front door. "Come, Watson, we must hurry to Scotland Yard and speak to Inspector Blair. Was their any other details you remember?" Watson looked with horrow at Holmes and then he spoke. "Yes, the murdering fiend wrote something in blood beside the body. He wrote #1. Holmes, this monster plans to murder again!"

Holmes and Watson hurried to the scene of the crime off Whitechapel in a dirty alleyway behind the Green Gate pub. The girl's body had been removed, but Holmes took out his spy glass and began to inspect the surroundings. The pool of blood, now absorbed by the gritty dirt marked the spot where the poor girl had met her death. Holmes shook his head in dismay. "Watson, people have walked here and the police have disturbed or destroyed what evidence there may have been here. However, I have detected in these scufflings of footprints, something distinctive. Recently, a rather stockily built man has been in this spot. I believe him to be injured at some time in his life. One of his feet turns inward and he limps. I know of no one at Scotland Yard that has that affliction. As our only clue, we must examine it and try to find this individual. If he is not the killer, perhaps he witnessed something important. We shall begin with the obvious. The people at the theater, Green Gate Pub and anyone she may know personally. But first, we must talk with Inspector Blair at the Yard. Perhaps we may learn something more at the Yard."

After a trip to Scotland Yard, where Holmes learned a few clues, one being that a crippled man had indeed been in the alley. He had told the police that he discovered the body of the woman when he left Green Gate Pub. He reported seeing a dark figure moving swiftly by him as he entered the dark alley behind the pub. A stockily built man, wearing what appeared to be a black raincoat and a bowler hat. The witness stated that he had spoken to the stranger, saying "Good evening," and the passing man had answered, "That it is."

Three days later, Mrs. Hudson rushed in to the room where Sherlock and Watson were having tea and biscuits and discussing the case. "Mr. Holmes, something terrible has happened. There has been another murder. This morning they found the slashed body of another poor woman in her room. Cut all to pieces, she were. It's horrible!" Just then, Inspector Blair came into the room behind her. "Holmes, Watson, come quickly with me. The Ripper has apparently struck again. Another actress with the Black Cat theater group. She was found this morning by her friend and clutched in her hand was another note. This one read," 1,2,3,4, 5. Who will be the next to die?"

After a thorough investigation on the crime scene and victim, Watson and Holmes made haste to visit Gigi Johnson, the young lady with the missing father. "Watson, Miss Johnson's father had a visitor that had an upsetting effect on him and then he confessed to being the ripper and disappeared without a trace. We must try to discover just who this strange visitor was and start an intense search for Miss Johnson's father. Their is a strange connection here and we must find out what it is. Come, Watson, the game is afoot."

On the way to Gigi johnson,s house, Watson decided to ask Holmes for his views on the case."I do not have any theory about the case as I do not approve of making theories and trying to fit the clues into them.", Holmes replied,"However I believe that the solution to the case lies in the answers to six questions. Number one, why did Scotland Yard refuse to let Miss Johnson visit hher father? Two, why did the murder take such pains to make the murders look like the handiwork of Jack the Ripper, even to the extent of making them look theatrical? Third, why did Miss Johnson not inform her friend about hiring me, and if she did, why did Miss Going pretend not to recognize me? Fourth, why did Miss Johnson use the phrase 'I believe' after her father's name when I asked her for it? Well, now you have enough questions to apply your skills of deduction on. The other two questions I will reveal in due time."

"Holmes, these unfortunate murder victims are connected to this in some way. Why these women? Both actresses. We must deduce what connection exists between all those involved in this case."

"Well, Watson. Perhaps he felt that they were no good at acting and the murderer felt as if he were cleansing the world of them." "Holmes!" gasped Watson in horror. "What a terrible thought!" "Then of one yourself then." said Holmes, his eyes twinkling with mischievious know. "Think of our deductions so far. You'll find a loophole in the information somewhere."

Just then, Mrs. Hudson knocked and entered. "Mr. Holmes, a young lady to see you, a Mrs. Goings." "Invite her in, Mrs. Hudson." The woman entered Holmes' parlor and Watson lead her to a chair beside the fire. "We meet again, madam, and this time I shall offer you something to drink." The woman looked contritely at Holmes. "I am so sorry Mr. Holmes, but I greatly feared for my life and yours. I was forced to take that action by the man I fear. The man that controls my life, Jack Kelly."

"I have put myself in the gravest danger by coming here. For if Jack Kelly finds out, he will surely kill me, for he has threatened to do so, many times," she continued. "My sister and I both are in danger." Holmes leaned forward intently, "How did you come to know this man and how does he know your sister?" Tears came to Miss Goings eyes, "Oh, Mr. Holmes, once I loved Jack and believed him to be the most wonderful of men, but have found him to be cruel and evil. My father has tried to reason with him and befriend him, but if ever I try to leave he has sworn to my father that me and my sister both will die. My father knows something about Jack Kelly, but he would not reveal it. Now our father has disappeared and we fear that Jack Kelly has harmed him. Mr. Holmes, I beg you to help my sister and I find our father. Perhaps this secret about Jack will end his hold over us."

"May I ask how you knew my true identity." said Holmes. "Though you said you were from Scotland Yard; I recognized you from a picture of you in the Daily Gazette. Just a small picture, but always I have admired your reputation and have remembered your face. Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, I must leave bow, for I fear the circumstances should I stay longer and arouse suspicions. Good day, sirs." She rose and departed leaving the two thoughtful men to ponder the information given. Holmes puffing away on his pipe and Watson drinking his tea.

Suddenly Mrs Hudson entered their room without waiting to be admitted. "Mr Holmes! Mr Holmes! she entreated.

"Mr. Holmes!" She continued, gasping for breath. "Mr. Holmes! Something terrible has happened! It's another lady! I can hear her screaming!"

Sherlock rushed over to the window overlooking Baker Street and looked down at the street below. Then he began to chuckle. "Now, now, Mrs. Hudson, calm down and come here." Below in the street were two women kicking and rolling in the gutter. "See there, just two women of ill repute having a go at each other." He turned back toward Watson, "All of London is alive with the fear of Jack the Ripper's supposed return. Even Mrs. Hudson has gone hysterical on us. Watson, tonight we are going pub crawling and see if we can flush out the Ripper."

After supper, Holmes and Watson dressed so as to disquise their true circumstances and character. Both dressed as the rest of the poor and luckless that inhabited the London streets. "First stop, Watson, is the Green Gate Pub and then we'll go round to the Black Cat Theater and the alleys that run through the area. Maybe we'll have a bit of luck and catch the lunatic in his bloody work."

Later that night as Holmes and Watson passed into the small alley behind the Black Cat Theater they heard the chilling sound of slow dark laughter behind them.

I slowly reached for my revolver in my pocket. Holmes was standing as stiff as a statue for the man might have a weapon. The man was middle aged with a moustache and a billy cock hat. He said, " You'll never fix me up you medler." With that he ran off and turned a corner. I fired two quick shots at him but both failed to hit him. Holmes made a quick dash to the corner but our villan had vanished. Fearing for our lives Holmes told me that we would return to the main streets and go to a place known as "the prostitute's church." We dashed through a few alleys and eventually saw the church with a few prostitutes circling it. "Quick, old fellow, we can hide here behind this wall." I followed him behind the structure and he told me to keep a sharp look out on the women circling the church. About ten minutes later a man with the same appearance as our attacker approched a woman. I saw him take her to a side alley into the direction of Mitre Square. Holmes hurridly dashed into the direction they headed to. I saw the woman with her hands on the man's chest and he took her deeper into the square where they were no longer visible. "Get out the revolver," Holmes said. I complied and pulled it out of my pocket and was prepared for anything. He slowly moved into the square and what I saw was the most horrid thing imaginable. The man was taking out the woman's internal organs and placing them on her shoulder. Holmes jumped upon the killer with a great force. The man threw Holmes off his back and drew a knife from his pocket that was dripping with blood. The man lunged at Holmes and cut his arm. I quickly retaliated and punched the man in the chest. He quickly ran down the square and vanished.

Then I went to Holmes' side and picked him up to his feet. Then we went to the hospital to get Holmes' arm bandaged.

Holmes had to stay the night so that the doctors could determine if he was infected in the wound. Fortunately, he was not. As we prepared to leave the next day, Miss Johnson bursed into the room. "Mr. Holmes!" she cried in horror. "Have you been hurt badly?" "No, I shall live. How did you know that I was here?" "I went to your place and Mrs. Hudson told me you were here. I am so sorry if I have caused any of this. After all, I hired you to investigate my father's dissapearence." "No, no, Miss Johnson. It is not your fualt." Holmes paused for a moment. "We have seen the killer." "No!" "Yes, and what's more, your sister visited us the other day and told us about a man named Jack Kelly. Do you know him?" The lady hung her head. "Yes I do." She suddenly looked up as if realizing something. "The man David. He visited my father shortly before the dissappearence. I believe that I have heard Kelly use that name once before. He is an actor at the Whitechapel Theatre." "Does he despise women?" "Oh, yes. It is something both he and Kelly have in common. One night, Kelly had gone to my sister's house quite the worse for drink. He began to tell us about a man named David. To all appearences he was a normal man. But once he has been touched by the influences of opium and strong drink, he becomes one of the most hideously violent men on earth. Kelly is also like that."

"Did Kelly mention how he and David happened to meet?" "Kelly first met David at a pub in Spitalfields. David had no money, so Kelly bought him several drinks, and when the man was quite drunk, Kelly took him in a dogcart to some location. He would not tell us where. Apparently, there is some secret cult there hidden among the buildings. David was initiated into the group after showing his willingness to commit crimes of the most violent caliber. I don't know what they do there. They must be devil-worshippers. I heard Kelly refer to Satan as his father. He said that one men like him would rule the world, but first they had to get rid of certain people. He didn't say what kind of people. He gave me the impression that they would kill for each other."

Holmes sat through the lady's narrative, listening quite intently. Finally he said "Why did you come to see me?" The lady pulled a small white envelope out of her purse. I was in my father's room last night, wondering whatever happened to him, when I found this. Read it." I looked over Holmes' shoulder as he took out a piece of folded paper and opened and read it. The note detailed how the father had to confess to the murders of the women or else his daughters would be among the victims. The note also listed the names of members of the "The Eye" Cult. To our horror, we found that Blair's name was among the members. Holmes jumped up excitedly. "Watson! that man that we questioned at Scotland Yard! He must be one of the murderers! And Blair told him what to say." "What!" I cried. "Do you mena to say that there is more than one killer, and that they have the blessings of certain Scotland Yard officials?" "That is precisley what I am saying Watson."

"But what of Jack the Ripper?" "Look here! The note says he founded The Eye, and killed all five women. And now, every new member must also kill five women once they reach a certain level. Apparently, Miss Johnson, your father was not informed of this and did not want to harm anyone. Or else he knows more than one member by chance, and Kelly is using his connections to keep control over you and your sister." "So my father may never have been arrested? Certain corrupt officials simply took him, forced him to confess, and he might not even be aive?" She began to sob. "Yes, he may have confessed for your safety, allowing Kelly to not only rule over you, but to lead the real officials in the wrong direction." "And my father may already be dead! No!" She sobbed and I was unable to comfort her. "Watson, we will need to take her and her sister to a place of safety. How is your cousin in the country-side doing?" "Quite well;" said I. "And I am sure that he would be most happy to help anyone for a good cause." "The cause could not be better." We went immediately to Miss Going's house and took them to the train, where they departed for my cousin's country villa. I promptly telegramed him, informing to be there quite before the train arrived and never to let them out of his sight. We returned to Baker Street later in the evening, where we had dinner, and, over his pipe, Holmes settled down to read the contents of the envelope he so long ignored.

As I went to bed that night, it finally occured to me why the true identity of Jack the Ripper was never revealed: certain men in Scotland Yard have covered-up for him, and even destroyed evidence.

That night, while London slept, Holmes was up late into the night, pondering on why many woluld cover up for such evil men. Suddenly, there was a crash, and the sounds of banging going on downstairs. Mrs.Hudson had retired to bed many an hour ago, and all in the building were fast asleep....

Holmes arose. He grabbed the leaden walking stick concealed on top of his chemicals cupboard, and rushed down the stairway to meet whoever the intruder was. He followed the sounds to Mrs Hudson's kitchen. There, the window had been flung open, and a shadow disappeared into the night. Holmes pursued, and caught up with the intruder. He swung his walking stick into the intruder's legs who then collapsed and fainted. Holmes then lifted the man carefully and brought him back to our rooms, where the entire household had been awakened. I had dressed and was just about to head to Scotland Yard as requested by a very distressed Mrs Hudson when I saw my dear friend Holmes coming up the street, carrying a man in his arms. Quickly I ran to him, my task forgotten. Holmes looked at me sternly. "This man is weak, I believe he needs your help." I nodded and hastened ahead to our rooms, and prepared a place for our unexpected visitor to rest. Holmes soon bustled into the room with a protesting Mrs Hudson behind him. He laid his human burden on the cushions I had laid out for him, and then turned to Mrs Hudson and attempted to allay her fears. "I will see that all is well. Now, please Mrs Hudson, could you please be so kind as to fix some midnight feast for our guest? I think it likely he has not eaten for days." Meanwhile, I had poured some brandy into the man's mouth, and he was coming round. The man was quite old, and disheveled in appearance, as one would appear if one had had no proper place to live in and no bath in ages. His forehead was furrowed and his eyes, when they slowly opened, were bloodshot. "Holmes!" I called. He quickly came to my side and studied the mysterious man before us. "Who might he be? What does he want? This is mysterious," I commented. "On the contrary, my dear Watson. We are in the presence of the supposed Mr Jones Johnson."

"Holmes! My dear fellow!" I exclaimed incredulously. "The mystery is not so much, whence one looks upon the matter a certain way. This fellow is certainly the one Miss Johnson showed in the photograph. And, might I add, he is under an influence." "Then, what can you mean by 'supposed?'" "One might ask so, and I will show you why."

Late in the night, in a dingy room, sat a man. The gas light flickered dimly. He gazed out the window into the foggy London night and his mind walked the streets below his window. He, and only he knew the truth about the killer that stalked the women of the streets, for he was that monster. Even at this moment, his decayed and evil mind was longing for another victim.

He went about the bloody business of death without fear, for he knew that no one would suspect him. Even Sherlock Holmes trusted him. What fools they all were. He was right under their noses and yet they did not see him. He picked up a knife from the table and held it up to the light. "Tonight, my friend, we will be back to work." He turned down the gas light and walked out the door into the shadows of night.

The grey light of morning had fallen across London. The sound of police whistles and running feet. Another mutilated body discovered by a police constable walking his beat. Sherlock Holmes had been summoned and now knelt beside the body of a brutally murdered young woman. In his hand he held a crumpled piece of notepaper. He read the scribbled note left by a maniac, "See how good me luck has ran; catch me if you can."

Interesting note-Said Holmes as he reread the words written in the note.-here Watson, we can see this note was written in a big hurry, the man who wrote it used dry paper, see? the ink is not as black as it should; and for what I see, the man can write with both hands, but he can't write so well with his left one. Watson was impressed as usual.-But Holmes, this is more of a challnege. I know.-Responded Holmes.-But why should I waste my time with such a simpleton killer? What?-Asked watson. Watson.-said Holmes.-This note is more than enough to catch the killer. How?-Watson asked. Holmes turned the note and pointed to three finger prints. This fingerprints are from the killer; I'm sure.- Holmes started.-They can't be of the victim because the victim has his hands clean, and these prints were made by a man who was handling charcoal before writing the note.-Holmes smelled the note.-Also, the killer was drinking a low quality whisky, the brand was probably 'queen england' or 'Britanny' cheap wine Watson; worthy of a killer like this. Watson stood impressed.-I see it now. Holmes handed the note to the police officer who had wrote down all that holmes said. There. with that you can start searching for your man, fingerprints, a hint that our killer drinks cheap wine; you have it all to catch him.-said Holmes as he walked away from the crime scene.

The next day, Holmes was sure the police had caught the criminal, but the morning papers said nothing about it. just then, a man knocked the door. I see our friend Lestrade is here.-Holmes said.-His way of knocking the door is so easily recognizable. Watson opened the door and indeed, Lestrade entered the room, his face showed a great concern.-Holmes.-Lestrade said.-I'm afraid the man who wrote the note was not the killer. He was not?-Holmes asked. No, another dead man was found and according to the doctors, he was killed not more than fifteen minutes before the one you examined.

Later that night, sitting at the Green Gate Pub, Holmes and Watson sat discussing the murderous events of the past few weeks. "Watson, the killer escapes by only seconds of minutes before the bodies are discovered. It is my deduction that whoever the murderer is, it must be someone that no one would suspect. Someone commonly seen on the streets and never really noticed. Perhaps someone that is trusted." "Yes, I agree," said Watson. "I hate to think that it may even be someone you and I know and have reason to trust." Sherlock stared into the crowd of people surrounding them. "Yes, someone, but who?"

Yes, it had been an unusually hot afternoon,Holmes mused as stode across the way to his door. Steaming mist rose up and sipped at the cuffs of his trousers as he wiped his feet and entered his rooms. I sat listening for the turn of the knob when instead I heard a low gufaw. "What's this," I then heard him shout, but before I could answer he had flung open the door and was strutting toward me wagging a brown paper torn and wrinkled in his right hand. I opened my mouth to say something no less than remarkable such as, "Well, I don't know," but he caught me on the inhale and saved me from the incrimination by answering his own question, as usual. "He tempts and teases me! This villianness swarm has the nerve to invite me to a contest of wits!" Watson! As I sat up in response to his call I observed how easily I could have escaped any futher of his ruminations as he seemed to be quite content to muse with his chin held up by his thumb and forefinger in the middle of the room. I was about to relax and let him indulge in the silence when suddenly with a flourish he whisked up a pen scribbledsix words on the back of a piece of cardboard. He then thrust the note at me, turned toward the door and taking the long quick strides I was accostomed to observing when he knew he had uncovered the doer of a deed and was hot on the trail of the suffering weed. The door shut briskly behind him as I looked down at the cardborard clenched the fist of my hand and read the following words. "Jack the Ripper is a woman!"

"But besides that, I'm Mr.Sherlock Holmes.And you are.... UNDER ARREST! Watson, hold her down!!!!!!!

"I haven't done anything!"she cried. She started sobbing. "Okay!I'll tell you!Jack the Ripper's real identity is.... Zowch!!!An arrow flew through the window and stabbed the poor woman in the heart.A note tied to the arrow said: It's not that easy to catch me!But before you get me, I will kill you! Signed.....? "Balderdash!I almost discovered his or her identity!" said Holmes angrily.Holmes smoked his pipe for the rest of the night without saying a word.

Holmes how could you she was just just KILLED in our liveing room do you not care do YOU. Many years of botteld up anger bust forth. Holmes you're so cold and far away I can never get close to you. You never care about anything exept your cases and chemicals. I grabbed my hat and stormed out the door I needed a brake at my club. However some thing I did not know was a young lady hiding in the shadows that slipped into our apartments as I went off to relax.

Jack The Ripper is very upset right now. It was never Jak that did all those nasty things, it was really Sherlock. Jak was just a little naive and sherlock used him to meet his own ends so he wouldnt get caught. Jak writes love songs.

The above words, accusing Sherlock Holmes of being the real ripper, was being read by Inspector Baker of Scotland Yard. "Balderdash and poppycock!", exclaimed the Inspector. "Just wait until Holmes hears of this; he will feed this Jak the Ripper fellow to the Baskerville Hound."

"What IS going on?" called Mrs.Hudson, rushing up the staircase.

It was a dark night in Baker Street, darker than usual. The smoke filled the room. The newspaper had been left on the table. The heAdline was dramatic

The headlines of the newspaper read "Sherlock Holmes arrested for questioning in death of young woman" The shadowy figure sitting in the darkened room laughed maniacally. Then he rose quickly from his tattered chair and crossed the room to the window which looked out onto the foggy darkness of the London night. He opened the window and climbed out into a alleyway and disappeared into the shadows.

Sherlock Holmes was released the next day, but this information was not released to the papers. Watson was quite happy to see Holmes. "Holmes!" said Watson angrily. "This is an outrage! Arresting you like some common criminal; for a crime you did not commit!" Holmes just smiled and sat upon the chair next to the fireplace. The curtains were shut tightly, so that not even the slightest amount of light came trough. "Watson, I have something to tell you. But you must promise me that you will not say a word to anyone." Watson promised solemnly. "I had myself arrested for the crime so that the true perpetrators will think they are safe. They will now go about their regular business, thinking that I aout of the way. I sure Inspector Blair will make sure his fellow conspirators know I am safely out of the way. Ophelia found another member of theirs last night. He left through the window of his apartement in Spitalfeilds and went to a meeting at a small building behind the florist's shop at Covent Garden. They were discussing their next move. They plan to kill Jane Green next. She is an actress at the Horse and Wagon Theatre. Watson, these vistims were not selected at random. They were probably stalking them for months before the attack. Even as we speak another poor woman is being followed and studied. This crime is becoming more and more complicated, but we have our nets closing upon them, slowely, but surely. We must figure out how to prevent Ms. Green from being killed without letting them know that we are on their tracks.

To find him, we must gather all the clues and put them togelther like pieces of a puzzle.

Late in the night, Sherlock and Watson sat contemplating the crackling fire before them. "Watson, my good friend, it will take all our skill and deductive powers to catch this Ripper fellow. Never before have I come up against such an illusive criminal mind. It seems that he appears and vanishes like smoke before our very eyes." Watson stared dejectedly into the firelight, "It is very depressing, Holmes, to say the least; however, we must press on and catch the beast before any more of London's young women become victims." Sherlock puffed long and thoughtfully on his pipe, "We must come up with a plan in which we can trap this killer. I have such a plan. We shall let it be known to our friends at the London Gazette that we are called away to Paris to solve an important case. Of course, we will only hide away in the countryside until the Ripper is convinced that we are out of his way. Perhaps he will become careless and some dark night make a fatal mistake." Watson had nodded off by now and Sherlock smiled wryly, "Yes, old friend, sleep soundly, for very soon we shall be in more danger than you could ever imagine." Sherlock rose and walked to the window overlooking the dark street beneath him. Was the Ripper there hiding in the shadows of Baker street? Sherlock stood watching the shadowy figures passing under the street lights long and late into the night.

Early the next morning Holmes awoke in his chair by the fire, his violin lay beside him. He sleepaly got up out of the chair and said to me "Watson, I've been throwing this whole thing around in my mind, the ripper will not be so stupid as to fall for what I sugested last night" "Oh, I don't know about that" I replied "I think you give this fellow too much credit". "Thank you Watson, but I fear it will take more than us hiding in the country, no I think this is going to be a six pipe problem". Never before had I seen Holmes so depresed, and it made me concerned this whole ripper thing was getting to him. "Im going for a walk Watson, I don't know when I'll be back" During this time Holmes left our rooms and I could hear his heavy steps upon the stair case. Suddenly I heard him stop, then I could hear him running back up to the room. In a few more seconds he flung open the door. "Holmes! What ever is the matter?" I asked in amazment of his sudden change of attuide. "Nothing is the matter Watson, nothing at all. meet me tonight at the Burning Arms, you know where it is, oh and bring along Lestrade with you". "Holmes, what are you going to do?" "patients is a virtue Watson". As soon as he had said this he had entered the street and had hailed a handsom cab.

During the morrning his plan ran through his mind, oh how he wished what he had dreamed about was true. That Jack the ripper had confessed, but to Holmes sadness the ripper had not done such a thing. On the corner was a paper boy with news of more ripper murders, two in one night the paper said. "Two" Holmes said to himself "two more killed" shaking his head in utter amazment. His plan had to work, and it had too be tonight or the ripper would be forever out of his grasp.

So that night their plan had to work it just had to, all this preparation could not be for nothing! Holmes was saying to Watson, "Watson do you think that we will catch him before he kills anyone else it's just horific isn't it Watson" He replied with, well... iwould like to catch that darn thing but if we don't we would have had bad luck","BAD LUCK cried Holmes what do mean bad luck we will have no such thing!" So as the night came nearer and nearer Holmes and Watson were shakely awating what could happen and then suddenly there he was...... "Watson now Holmes" shouted histeriacally, "What" said Watson "The plan do it now you fool" "OK" And so it concludes did they catch him or did they not.................................

I looked at Holmes, wondering what he would do next. "Where do you suppose she is?" asked I. Holmes remained silent, and I could tell by his manner that he was deep in thought. I found it was best to remain silent.

There was a sudden knock on the door, turning, I saw Athelny Jones, Gregson and Lestrade entering the room. "There's been another murder;" said Jones. "A young girl of around twenty. She had a red and white scarf about her neck. I can't say she much of a body left to bury. This note was found in her coat-pocket." He handed Holmes the note.

Ripper, Ripper on the wall who is the deadliest of them all? Ripper Ripper in my hand find the next girl in the sand.

what can it mean? said Jones.

Hi,my name is Elizabeth. I'm 9 years old and I live in NY.I wanted to know some things about Jack The Ripper

Then Jones jumped up and said to the little girl Do not DARE speak his name. Elizabeth was a spy for Jack the ripper. Sorry said Elizabeth.

Holmes snatched the note from the fingertips of an expectant Lestrade and sat down against the wall, pouring over the note. after a time he began muttering to himself. from what I could understand, it was the words from this message and the other messages that had been left at the scene of the murders. Behind his eyes I could see the words rolling over and over in his head.

There came a sudden knocking at our door and in rushed two uniformed police officers and a detective of some rank. "Gregson! Lestrade! There's been another one! Inspector Blair has just been found murdered in his office at the Yard!" "What!" said Gregson. "What happened?" asked Jones. "We don't know jsut yet. Terrible screams were heard coming from his office, We arrived in less than a minute, but no-one was found in the room. He was in his chair, his throat horridly slashed. A note was affixed to his chest with a small knife." "Do you have it with you?" inquired Holmes. "Yes, it is here." The man handed the note to Holmes who inspected it carefuly before reading it:

The Eye will never catch me.

Holmes' brows were drawn as he read this, but then I caught a glimpse of recognition in his eye. He held the paper very closely to his face and took out his magnifying lens. He then nodded his head and handed it back to the detective after wiping the outside edge of the letter with his finger. "You may go, now." said he. "What is it?" asked Gregson, curious about the inspection of the letter. "It is nothing" said Holmes, firmly.

After everyone left, with Holmes promising to come to the crime scene in a very short while, he turned to me with an enigmatic smile. I noted that he held his right hand oddly so that his forefinger was outstretched. Slowly, he moved toward his desk and slid his finger on a bone-white strip of paper. "Watson;" said he. "Come here." I came over and he held out the lens for me. "Tell me what you see." He indicated a spot on the paper. "I peered very carefuly, at first not perceiving anything except the grain of the paper. Suddenly, a red line caught my eye. "Holmes! What is it?" "It is a fiber of red feather. The girl killed the Inspector. I know without even having to go to see the place." "Why then, did you promise to go?" "It would arouse supicion if I should 'miss' the 'opportunity' to see it. I cannot risk discovering to them the presence of the girl. She most surely would be sought and arrested, and I would have helped to speed along her demise. She was only defending herself, I am sure, but those sots at Scotland Yard would be the last to know. The members of The Eye want her dead, and now she is carefuly exacting revenge. If Can figure out how to carefuly contact her without risking her safety, she perhaps could lead to the original Jack the Ripper. No doubt, Moriarty wanted her dead instead of me, because she is the only one who can identify them. And now, if Ophelia would only come, she could help us find the girl." Holmes put on his double-bibed deerstalker and cloak, while I put on my own things and we promptly went to Scotland Yard to "investigate".

The scene at Scotland Yard was one of chaos. No-one would ever know about the connection between the late Inspector Blair and Jack the Ripper.

"What's this?" said one of the detectives investigating. He picked up a note from the floor. Holmes snatched it from him. "Jack the Ripper is an extraterrestrial" the note said. "A what?" said Watson, reading the note when Holmes was finished with it. "An extraterrestrial is someone from another planet." said Detective Johnson.

When we were finished investigating the death of Inspector Blair, Holmes and I walked through the streets quickly in search of a cab. "We must find this girl. It is very urgent." said Holmes. As we rode back to our lodging, Holmes sat in silence, thinking hard what he should do. I knew better than to interupt him at such pressing times, so I turned my thoughts, also, to our current problem. "Perhaps she will contact us;" said I when we reached our goal. Holmes gave a grave nod. He spent the rest of the day pacing the sitting room deep in thought. "Are you going to your club?" he asked me as I was about to leave. "Yes I am." "Would you be kind enough to stop by the tobacconist's on the corner? Ask him to send up twelve ounces of shag tobaco, thank you." I left and did as he said, not returning until late that evening.

They all died THE END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When I reached my club, I was surprised to find one of my patients there. He appeared to be quite upset, so I asked him what the matter was. "My brother has gone missing!" he said. "Since when?" "Two days ago. He is an opium addict, but he has never been gone for more than a day, before. Now I fear that he may have fallen afoul of one of those vile opium den-owners. What shall I do? His wife has become very worried about him." "Do you know what den he frequents?" "The Bar of Gold". "I shall see if I can find him." I pledged to send him straight home in a cab withing two hours if I found him. I went to West-End, and having made inquiries, found that the den I was in search of was located in Upper Swandam Lane. As I reached it, I found a great commotion going on. People were yelling and screaming. Women had fainted. I pushed my way to the front of the croud. To my horror, there lay the mutilated body of another of the ripper's victim's. I froze in horror when I saw the face. Icy chills went down my spine, and I felt faint. It was the body of Irene Adler!

I suddenly heard great and hysterical laughter. I looked up. There was a blinding flash of light. When it faded away, I saw that everyone had disappeared. I heard a low humming noise that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "I am the Killer" a voice said. I looked, and there before me stood a tall man, wearing a black ski mask. "I have killed all these women including this one." he continued pointing at the late Adler who lay before us. "And now the witnessess here have been taken away. They shall not be returned." "Who are you?" I asked. the man paused. Slowly, he raised his hand to his neck. He pulled off the mask. I was shocked. It was non other than SHERLOCK HOLMES! "Holmes!" I cried. "Yes, Watson. It was me all along. Why do you think that no-one has caught me? and no one will ever know who I am." "but the Eye" "there is no eye. They were all members of my troop. My sole purpose in coming to earth was to kill these women. I have managed to decieve everyone. No one will ever know where I come from or who I truly am." "I shall tell the police!" "No you won't." "Yes I will" "will not" "will to" "You can't" "and how do intend to stop me?" said I. He just smiled and reached into his the pocket on his flannel pajama tops. "with this" he said. He pulled out a laser-ray stun gun. The next moment, I found myself flying throuh the air. A voice said "Welcome to eternity." I found myself seated on a soft, pillowy cloud eating Philadelphia Cream Cheese. the cream cheese turned into glue. The white fluffy cloud turned into a great black, suffocating smoke cloud. There was fire all around me. "An eternity in Hades, that is!" said a deep, growling voice. "Who are you!" I cried. "I am the hound of the Baskervilles, and I am punishing you for killing me. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Then everything got dark and quiet. I have been sitting in my little corner reminising about the space alien who was simultaneously Sherlock Holmes, the Great Detective and greatest crime fighter, and Jack the Ripper, the most violent of killers. No wonder he had such great deductive powers and no-one ever caught him!

We entered the station. "Why have you done it Sherlock?" asked McDonald "I have no idea. What are you talking about?" answered Sherlock calmly "I don't have to tell you, you're the one that's going to do all the talking around here" "My dear doctor Watson, would you please tell that bafoon what we've been doing all this time?" "Sorry Holmes, you have to pay for what you've done. Isn't this the main thing you've been trying to teach me? Crime isn't worth while." I answered as calm as ever

"I have been here many times in the last three monthes trying to find you! And the reason I have been here is I am asking your forgivness. When I killed your partner, watson, i was merely tring in a last attempt to kill you. But the dog watcon got in the way. I feel bad about killing an inocent man so i have come to apoligze!"

"Ahhh Sasha" said holmes as he remembered her and and the way she would declare her love for him, if only she was still living in England. Still something was a foot and holmes knew that the only way the police could get to the bottom of this mystery was for himself, the greatest detective ever to get involved.....

Eleanor Perkinson, a respectable gentlewoman in upper London society, discovered to her horror one day that her son, Leanord, had disappeared. <p> He had been sleeping in his first-floor room when he disappeared, somewhere between 9:00 at night, when Eleanor had tucked him in, and 8:00 in the morning, when she went to get him up since he had not yet come down for breakfast which was at 7:30. <p> She called Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson immediately. They studied the clues--a bit of Leonard's hair in the window, footsteps on the path outside, and decided that he had run away, but they could not find the missing Leonard Perkinson. <p> To this day he still haunts London....

We suddenly heard a scream. It was McDonald. As he ran from a dark alley, I noticed a red drip that had created a stain on his coat.

"WATSON, COME QUICKLY!" Holmes shouted from the next room. I jumped up from the table where I had been enjoying an early lunch prepared by Mrs. Hudson, and rushed into the room. "What is it Holmes?" "Oh what a fool I've been Watson. What fools we've been. The Ripper a woman? That is about as possible as you or I. I fear there have been many red herrings thrown our way my friend. The obvious has been in front of us for quite some time!" My friend then took a long pause and puffed away ant his pipe. The silence was maddening. "Holmes, don't keep me in suspense like this, say something." He looked toward me, squinting like a hawk, and began to continue. "Watson you will remember a particular evening we spent looking for leads in various pubs?" "Of course," I replied. "And you will then remember I made mention that not only were the women being killed actresses, but they may well have been artist models?" "Yes." "The answer has been so close, I can't believe I didn't see it Watson." Again he paused. "An artist Watson! And unless something Mycroft told me is wrong the most likely one is a fellow who had fallen in with Moriarity. Who other than a man known to these women could lure them so close without they're suspecting? An artist who had approached them before and offered a decent price for such easy work. And who but an artist could have produced so many false leads and forged papers?" "The writing on the walls, and the envelope of papers?" I asked. "Yes Watson, and the various notes sent Scotland Yard and even here to myself. Red herrings one and all!" He jumped from his chair, and rushed around the room like a man possesed, gathering his coat and hat. "Come Watson, the game is a foot! We must hurry and see an artist by the name of Walter Sickert."

"Walter Sickert!" I cried. "But isn't he dead?" Holmes didn't hear me. He was already out the door. I ran fast after him and we hailed a cab. We rode for some time before Holmes told the driver to stop, and we walked six yards before coming to a green door. Holmes silently motioned for me to wait on one side, while he stepped to the other. He knocked on the door. A voice with a familiar ring to it answered. I was surprised by what Holmes did next. Carefully leaning in front of the door, he said, "It is me, Jane Green;" he said in a shockingly, convincing feminine voice. It sounded like a girl of about twenty. "Ah! Jane!" the voice said. The door was thrown open. Before the man could react, Holmes jumped upon him and thrust him into the room. He tore the red and white scarf from the man's face. I gave a violent start when I saw him. It was Lestrade. he shrieked with rage and was white to the lips. I looked up and behold! There was Gregson, dressed like a common woman, sharpening his butcher-knife. "So that is how you follow and hunt them without their suspecting" cried Holmes. Indeed, Gregson's costume was a smrt one. If he had on only make-up and a wig and bonnet, he would have made a convincing woman.

"Holmes?" I whispered, unable to tell if my friend was dead or under the influence of his dread habit. Either way he gave no response. "HOLMES!" I shouted again as I began to reach for my medical bag. Just then his eyes began to flicker and he started to come around. "watson..." His voice still weak. "watson...i fear i may have lost our lead." "Hush" I said. "You appear to be delirious...have you been?" He looked at me with what may have been a sad expression. "No old friend. No. Doctor's orders you know." He made this slight joke to ease my mind. I felt a bit of shame in asking him, but... "Watson, old man, I would not blame you for such thoughts, but in truth I believe I was drugged." "Drugged? By whom?" "That is just the latest entry in this ever winding mystery, and one I intend to uncover quickly. Now if you could just help me to my feet, we can begin before the trail runs cold." I helped Holmes up and we began to piece together what little of the previous night he remembered. "I had gone back to the first pub we had been to disguised as a peg-legged sailor." He said as he paced the floor, puffing intently at his pipe. "I overheard two men in heated conversation mention a series of words and phrases that caused me to prick up my ears; THE EYE, Saucy Jack, a painter whose name I didn't hear but we must presume it was Sickert, and most interestingly, and in the very same breath, Moriarity and Chief Constable...BLAST IT MAN! That is where my memory begins to blank and all I remember is the ridiculous visions of Lestrade and Gregson in womens dressing gowns." "WHAT?" I cried out, the very notion quite absurd. "Yes, Watson, like I said...RIDICULOUS! But then who could ever claim that poison and drug produced clarity and logic of the mind? No, only chaos and hallucination." He carefully selected a few items and placed them in his bag. Holmes then crossed the room to his dressing table, splashed water on his face, and began to put on his coat. "I trust you have your service pistol?" "Yes, but why?" "Because my good man we are going into Whitechapel this night to put an end to these murders once and for all!"

With that he threw on his hat and ran out the door!

He ran because he was being chased by a giant white rabbit. It kept screaming: "Holmes! Holmes! Holmes! Holmes! How could you even think of taking more cocaine when you know it's bad for you! You and your seven percent solutions!" The rabbit said this about two hundred times in a row. I felt weird, and I started hollering at the top of my lungs. The rabbit opened its mouth wide and swallowed me whole.

I woke up with a violent start. I was soaked in cold sweat. I gasped for breath trying to recollect my thoughts. I had just had a strange nightmare. It must have started when Holmes and I went to see the artist and found Lestrade and Gregson there instead. That was almost the strangest point in the dream, until the rabbit chased Holmes. I had dreamed that Holmes was drugged. Could it have happened to me?

how are u ? said sherlock holmes

Holmes and Watson ran down the street. The screams of a woman could be heard not too far in the distance. Just as they rached the alley where the cries were coming from, the screams stoped. They entered quietly, with guns drawn. At first they saw nothing. But then they could perceive a shadow in the darkness. Bent over and moving rapidly. the shadowiy figure stood up suddenly and faced them. After a moment of tense silence, the figure let out a low laugh, and spoke to them. "So you have finally caught me. Good work Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I suppose, however, all the credit will go elsewhere." The man walked slowly towards them and held out his fists. Holmes quickly handcuffed the man and they brought him to the police station.

They talked with the man for awhile, and then left. As Holmes and Watson were leaving, Holmes pulled a photograph, taken from a newspaper, out of his pocket and showed it to Watson. "John Capshaw. Student at the University of London. He was close to graduation when several factors, which I will not mention at present, forced him to leave. He became an apprentice to a butcher, and did a lot of heavy, physical labour. He sustained a severe head injury several month ago that forced him to quite his job. One of his hobbied, in fact it was a deep passion, was art. He leart several forms, and has been supporting himself since his injury by means of it. Several of the pictures that he sold, were of women who looked remarkably a lot like the victims. For the past two months, his work has become more violent and he seems to be focusing more and more on portraits of young women and actresses. Several such women where seen entering and exiting his residence, which is marked by a green door. At least half of them turned out to be the Ripper's victims." "But what about the Eye cult? And what of the feather girl who killed Blair?" Holmes just smiled an enigmatic smile, and said "that is a whole other issue altogether. The Eye has nothing more to do with the Ripper than the squirrels at Hyde Park. They were simply using the events to their advantage. Had the case not been such a high profile one, I am sure they would have thought of something else." "Shall we continue our investigation into that?" said Watson. "Yes." They walked down the streets of London, and were soon lost in the crowd.