Jack The Ripper: Newly Discovered Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free PDF Page B

identified them in the carnage. Our perpetrator could be a doctor, a butcher, a medical student, and there are even more possibilities beyond that.”
    “Yes, I thought of that too—that he must have some sort of specialized education or skill. He quite possibly lives in the area too, since these identical murders are less than a mile apart.”
    “Perhaps,” said Holmes. “Though he would be a bold and reckless killer to make his hunting grounds anywhere near his own home.”
    Annie’s body was removed, and Holmes remained at the scene until he was sure he had left no clue behind; it was still quite early in the morning. He then went home to pick up Dr. Watson, for he knew his friend would be there waiting on him. Then they would go to Scotland Yard and work up a profile—it was finally time to employ a technique taught to him by his old friend, Edmond Dantes.
    As Holmes waited for Dr. Watson to finish the breakfast Mrs. Parker had prepared for them, Sherlock began to look through several days’ worth of mail; though he was a tidy man, it often slipped his mind to sort it. When a postcard slipped from the mix, Holmes reached down to his feet to retrieve it— how odd , he thought. None of my acquaintances have gone abroad or on any sort of trip . The postcard had a picture of a bubbling brook on the front. Scrawled on the card were the words, “The game has begun.”
    A flash of confusion jolted through him. Who would send him such a cryptic message? Was this from the killer? Had he zeroed in on Holmes as a contact? It was not news that Holmes was working on the cases with the police—he was a prominent figure in London after so many successful investigations in the past—so it would have been quite simple to find out his address. There was no postmark, so someone had dropped the card directly into his mail slot. Holmes was intimidated by no man, but he was irritated that anyone would dare to disturb the privacy and comfort of his home, even with something as small as a postcard.
    “Look, Watson,” he said to his friend.
    After Dr. Watson had read the card, he looked puzzled. “Do you believe this is from the killer? Could he be targeting you?”
    “I can’t think of who else would send me such an obscure message—and any friends or acquaintances would know I would not be amused by any sort of riddle or game.”
    “Oh, Holmes. That worries me so. We have to find this killer before he does anything to you.”
    “I don’t believe he wants to hurt me—we mustn’t jump to that conclusion. I think he knows of my skill as an investigator and is daring me to catch him. It probably amuses him to taunt me as he waits to find his next victim. Let’s be off to the Yard and get to work on that profile.”
    “Immediately, of course,” Dr. Watson said, pushing himself away from the table.
    “Also, let’s not mention this card to Inspector Grant for the time being. I want to decide what to do on my own,” Holmes told his friend.
    “Rightly so. It is your business, after all, and I can’t see how Inspector Grant knowing of the message would help him solve the crime.”
    Once Holmes reached his desk at Scotland Yard, he pulled out his notebook and pen and started jotting down thoughts as they came into his head. The great Count of Monte Cristo had taught him a few things about a method of investigation called criminal profiling, and he intended to finally put this knowledge to use. He wished his dear friend could be with him now—he was sure the Count would have some insight even the great Sherlock Holmes couldn’t deduce on his own.
    “Watson, I do not believe this person is married. If he ever was, it was most likely to a woman much older, and the union failed a short time after it was started.”
    Dr. Watson furrowed his brow. “And how have you concluded this?” he asked. “I’m not sure I follow your reasoning.”
    “Both of the victims have been women in middle age,” Holmes answered. “There are