“Wait here with Michael,” whispered Holmes. He soon returned. “Come!”
We followed him to a closed door; a line of light shone upon our boot-tips. Holmes pressed us back against the wall and tapped upon the panel. There was quick movement inside. The door opened, and a female voice queried, “Tommy?”
Holmes’s hand was in like a snake and locked over a shadowed face. “Do not scream, Madam,” said he, in a commanding whisper. “We mean you no harm. But we must speak to you.”
Holmes warily relaxed the pressure of his hand. The woman’s voice asked, “Who are you?” in understandable fear.
“I am Sherlock Holmes. I have brought your husband.”
I heard a gasp. “You have brought Michael―here? In God’s name, why?”
“It was the prudent thing to do.”
Holmes entered the room and nodded to me to follow. Grasping Michael’s arm, I did so.
Two oil-lamps were burning, and in their light I saw a woman, wearing a veil whose gauzy texture did not quite conceal a hideous scar. It was undoubtedly Angela Osbourne.
At the sight of the imbecile―her husband―she grasped the arms of the chair in which she sat, and half-arose. But then she sank back and sat with the rigidity of a corpse, her hands gripped together.
“He does not recognise me,” she murmured in despair.
Michael Osbourne stood silently by me, regarding her with his empty eyes.
“As well you know, Madam,” said Holmes. “But the time is short. You must speak. We know that Klein is responsible for both your husband’s condition and your disfigurement. Tell me about the interlude in Paris.”
The woman wrung her hands. “I will not waste time making excuses for myself, sir. There are none. As you can perhaps see, I am not like those poor girls downstairs who fell into their shameful calling through poverty and ignorance. I am what I have become because of that beast, Max Klein.
“You wish to know about Paris. I went there because Max had arranged an assignation for me with a wealthy French merchant. Whilst this was taking place, I met Michael Osbourne, and he was taken with me. Believe me, sir, I had no intention of shaming him; but when Max Klein arrived in Paris, he saw an opportunity to use the smitten youth for his own ends. Our marriage was the first step in his plan, and he compelled me to use my wiles. Michael and I were married, despite my tearful protestations to Max.
“Then, with Michael safely in his clutch, Max sprang his trap. It was the most blatant blackmail, Mr. Holmes. He would acquaint the Duke of Shires with the facts, said he, and threaten to reveal his son’s wife for what I was, parading me before all the world, unless his Grace paid.”
“But this never came about,” said Holmes, eyes gleaming.
“No. Michael had more spine than Max had anticipated. He threatened to kill Max, even made the attempt. It was a dreadful scene! Michael stood no chance before Max’s brute strength. He felled Michael with a blow. But then Max’s temper, his sheer savagery of nature, seized him, and he administered the terrible beating that resulted in Michael’s present condition. Indeed, the beating would have ended in Michael’s death, had I not intervened. Whereupon Max plucked a knife from the table, and rendered me as you see. His rage left him in the nick of time, averting a double murder.”
“His beating of Michael and mutilation of you did not make him abandon his plan?”
“No, Mr. Holmes. Had it done so, I am sure Max would have left us in Paris. Instead, using the considerable sum of money he took from Michael, he brought us back to Whitechapel and purchased this public-house.”
“That money was not gained through blackmail, then?”
“No. The Duke of Shires was generous with Michael until he disowned him. Max stripped Michael of every penny he had. Then he imprisoned us here, in The Angel and Crown, plotting, no doubt, to go on with whatever infamous plan he had in mind.”
“You said he brought you back to Whitechapel, Mrs. Osbourne,” said Holmes. “Is this Klein’s habitat?”
“Oh, yes, he was born here. He knows its every street and alley. He is greatly feared in this district. There are few who dare cross him.”
“What was his plan? Do you know?”
“Blackmail, I am sure. But something happened to balk him; I never discovered what it was. Then Max came to me one morning, fiercely elated. He said that his fortune was made, that he needed Michael no longer, and planned to murder him. I pleaded with him. Perhaps I was able to touch off a spark of humanity in his heart; in any case, he humoured me, as he put it, and delivered Michael to Dr. Murray’s hostel, knowing his memory was gone.”
“The good fortune that elated Klein, Mrs. Osbourne. What was its nature?”
“I never learned. I did ask him if the Duke of Shires had agreed to pay him a large sum of money. He slapped me and told me to mind my affairs.”
“Since that time you have been a prisoner in this place?”
“A willing one, Mr. Holmes. Max has forbidden me to leave this room, it is true, but my mutilated face is my true gaoler.” The woman bowed her veiled head. “That is all I can tell you, sir.”
“Not quite, Madam!”
“What else?” said she, head rising.
“There is the matter of the surgeon’s-case. Also, of an unsigned note informing Lord Carfax of his brother Michael’s whereabouts.”
“I have no idea, sir―” she began.
“Pray do not evade me, Madam. I must know everything.”
“There seems to be no way of keeping a secret from you!” cried Angela Osbourne. “What are you, man or devil? If Max were to get wind of this, he would surely kill me!”
“We are your friends, Madam. He will not hear it from us. How did you discover that the case had been pledged with Joseph Beck?”
“I have a friend. He comes here at the risk of his life, to talk to me and do my errands.”
“No doubt the ‘Tommy’ you expected when I knocked upon your door?”
“Please do not involve him, Mr. Holmes, I beg of you!”
“I see no reason to involve him. But I wish to know more about him.”
“Tommy helps out at times at the Montague Street Hostel.”
“You sent him there originally?”
“Yes, for news of Michael. After Max delivered him to the hostel, I slipped out one night, at great risk to myself, and posted the note you refer to. I felt I owed Michael at least that. I was sure Max would never find out, because I could see no way in which Lord Carfax might trace us, with Michael’s memory gone.”
“And the surgeon’s-case?”
“Tommy overheard Sally Young discuss with Dr. Murray the possibility of pawning it. It occurred to me that it might be a means of interesting you to turn your talents, Mr. Holmes, to the apprehension of Jack the Ripper. Again I slipped out, redeemed the case, and posted it to you.”
“Removing the post-mortem scalpel was deliberate?”
“Yes. I was sure you would understand. Then, when I heard no word of your entrance into the case, I became desperate, and I sent the missing scalpel to you.”
Holmes leaned forward, his hawk’s-face keen. “Madam, when did you decide that Max Klein is the Ripper?”
Angela Osbourne put her hands to her veil, and moaned. “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know!”
“What made you decide he was the monster?” asked Holmes, inexorably.
“The nature of the crimes! I can conceive of no one save Max as being capable of such atrocities. His maniacal temper. His dreadful rages…”
We were not destined to hear any more from Angela Osbourne. The door burst open, and Max Klein sprang into the room. His face was contorted by an unholy passion that he was just able, it appeared, to hold in leash. He had a cocked pistol in his hand.
“If either of you moves so much as a finger,” cried he, “I’ll blow you both to Hell!”