“Is that what you came here to tell me?”
“No. There’s something else. As I say, there’ve been no more visions. But a strange feeling came to me when I stood there in the courtyard, staring at the numeral on the door of Mary Jane Kelly’s room. The number seemed to change — and suddenly I saw the address I’d been trying to evoke ever since the day that I encountered Jack the Ripper and tried to follow him to his destination.”
Abberline spoke swiftly. “The address — can you give it to me?”
“I’ll do better than that.” Lees nodded. “I may not be a bloodhound, Inspector — but if you’ll come with me now, I’ll take you to the house where Jack the Ripper lives.”
~ THIRTY-FIVE ~
Spain, A.D. 1808. In Toledo, in an underground chamber of the Inquisition, was a life-size wooden statue of the Virgin Mary, her head haloed in gold. A heretic would be led before her by the priests, given the sacrament, and asked to recant, at which time the Virgin stirred, opening her arms to the sinner. “A miracle has come to pass!” the priests exclaimed. “Behold she welcomes you to her arms — her bosom, all sinners confess!” As they urged their prisoner forward, the arms of the statue closed upon him like a vise and steel spikes rose from the Blessed Virgin’s breast to skewer the victim alive.
Outside the Yard a light rain fell as Abberline requisitioned the services of a cab.
Lees seemed concerned. “Aren’t you going to take an official vehicle?”
The inspector shook his head. “This isn’t an official call,” he said.
The psychic voiced his reservations. “But if our man is on the premises now, it could be dangerous. If we came with an armed constable—”
“Don’t worry. There’s three of us. I doubt that he’d risk going up against such odds. Besides, if we arrive in an ordinary hack, he won’t suspect the purpose of our visit.”
Mark had his doubts, but Lees seemed satisfied. And as they entered the carriage it was he who gave the driver an address.
“Seventy-four Brook Street,” he said.
Abberline’s forehead creased with concern. “Off Grosvenor Square, isn’t it? That’s hardly where I’d expect to find the Ripper in residence.”
“If I’m not mistaken, some of our staff physicians live in that area,” Mark said. “I gather it runs a close second to Harley Street.”
“That’s not surprising.” Lees nodded. “After all, the man we’re looking for is a doctor.”
“How do you know?”
“I can’t tell you how I arrive at such conclusions,” Lees answered. “It would be more accurate to say that the conclusions come to me. That’s how the force operates — just as it did when it revealed the name of Mary Jane Kelly’s landlord and the number of the room where she met her fate.”
During the drive he repeated the story of his visit with Abberline on the night of the murder. “I assure you this is no fabrication,” Lees concluded. “Everything I’ve told you is true.”
Mark glanced at Abberline and the inspector shrugged. “That’s why we’re making this trip. Mind you, it’s off the record. I’d hate to think what Matthews would say if he knew about this wild goose-chase.”
Robert James Lees frowned. “I suggest you reserve judgment until we arrive,” he murmured. “Remember, this is not my doing. I am only an instrument of the powers that guide me.”
There was silence then, save for the rumbling of cab wheels over wet pavement. And in the stillness Mark found himself reflecting on their mission with growing eagerness.
Powers that guide. Powers of the mind — unrecognized, unexplored, unexplained. And largely ignored by medical scientists, except for the few who ventured beyond physical manifestations into the uncharted areas of psychological phenomena.
Wasn’t that exactly what he himself wanted to do? Behind what we call thought was a vast unseen world, a realm of instinct, intuition, inexplicable insight; the domain of dreams. It was easy to dismiss such matters, label them as superstition and old wives’ tales. But as a matter of record — a record which orthodox science chose to overlook — some of the old wives’ tales proved to be correct. History attested that predictions and prophecies, so-called second sight, often had a basis in truth. Mark didn’t have reason to believe in spiritualism or communication with the dead, but there were genuine instances of messages from beyond. Not necessarily from beyond the grave, but beyond the reaches of the conscious mind. If so, this force might very well manifest itself in the form of visions. How else to explain the power Lees had demonstrated? It was guiding them now. And if it was real—
The carriage pulled up, depositing them before the house off Grosvenor Square. As it drove away the three men moved up to the shelter of the doorway, and for a moment Mark felt a twinge of doubt.
All of the dwellings here were imposing; ornate examples of Georgian architecture nestling amid well-kept surroundings in a quiet, well-lighted setting. As Abberline had said, this house held no hint of being the residence of the Ripper.
“Seventy-four,” the inspector was murmuring. “I know that address from somewhere—”
Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “By God, now I remember! It just came to me.” He faced Lees, his eyes narrowing. “Do you know who lives here? This is the home of Sir William Gull!”
“The Queen’s physician?”
Abberline nodded, then started to turn away.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the Yard, of course. Do you think I’d chivvy a man like Gull and accuse him of—”
“Not accuse.” Lees put his hand on the inspector’s arm. “Merely inquire. Obviously he’s not the one I saw. But Gull may be giving him shelter.”
Abberline halted. “You still believe the Ripper lives in this house?”
Lees hesitated before replying. “I could be wrong about his residence. But I know he’s been here — the aura is unmistakable.”
“So now you’re changing your story, is that it?” Abberline scowled. “Yet you’re still asking me to go through with this?”
The medium’s eyes were lambent in the dim light of the doorway. “You know I was right in the past. The forces that guided me then will not lead us astray now. I beg of you, don’t turn your back on this opportunity. It may be your only chance of learning the truth.”
Abberline glanced at Mark.
“I agree,” the younger man said. “We’ve come this far. Unless we go on now, we’ll never know.”
Abberline sighed. “Very well, I’ll chance it. But heaven help us all if you’re wrong.”
Moving to the door, he raised the brass knocker and let it fall.
For a moment they stood expectantly, and then the door swung open.
“Gentlemen?” The uniformed parlor maid’s look of inquiry was transformed into one of concern when Abberline identified himself.
“We should like to see Sir William if we may,” Abberline said. “Is he at home?”
The girl hesitated uncertainly, then turned as another figure moved up behind her.
“Who is it, Maud?” The elderly matron in the campanular-skirted gown peered out at the visitors.
Patiently, Abberline introduced himself once more, then gave the names of his companions.
The older woman smiled. “I am Lady Gull,” she said. “Please come in.” As they entered the hall she addressed the maid. “That will do, Maud.”
Dipping her head in acknowledgment, the maid retreated along the corridor to disappear through a doorway beneath the circular staircase which rose at the far end of the lofty hall.
Lady Gull led her guests into the drawing room at the right of the entryway. As they entered, Mark’s first impression was one of elegance — the crystal chandelier, the ornate carving on the arms of the high wingbacked chairs, Landseer landscapes in great gilded frames dominating the side walls, the brasswork gleaming before a huge fireplace beneath a massive mantel. He had no opportunity for further appraisal because Abberline was already speaking.