From Hell Page #2

Thirsty?

That was the thing that was in my dream.

-What's it called again?

-Cleopatra's needle.

Cleopatra. She was a beauty, wasn't she?

It was carved 1,500 years

before the Son of God was born.

Six men died to bring it here...

...from Egypt.

May the good Lord have mercy.

She was like that when I found her.

All murdered.

What kind of monster did this?

The boys have made their rounds

of the taverns...

...and the delightful domiciles

that make up this charming street.

Will it surprise you

that no one heard a sound?

Her throat was cut,

but there's no arterial spray on the wall.

She was killed somewhere else.

It rained last night, didn't it?

She's dry.

She was brought here

in a carriage or something.

Her throat must've been cut

in the carriage.

I imagine they stopped it over there.

They?

There's more than one?

Most definitely.

This was all in your vision?

Jesus!

So, definitely more than one person.

It has to be a message

from the Nichols boys. Right?

What the hell?

That's grapes, isn't it?

What the hell would a bangtail

be doing with grapes?

I'd like to give them an answer.

-What?

-The Nichols boys.

I'd welcome the opportunity to give

them an answer to their bloody message.

There is most definitely a message here.

You're right about that.

What am I wrong about?

Martha Tabram was raped,

tortured and killed.

That's cruel.

But I've seen that sort of cruelty

in the East End before.

This is methodical.

The butchery is irrational, yet...

...meticulous and deliberate.

Altogether a different breed of killer.

As soon as possible,

I'd like to know what he took.

What do you mean "what he took"?

-Didn't you notice?

-What?

He's taken at least one of her organs.

Oh, no.

I want every veterinarian...

...butcher, furrier in the district

interviewed.

Furrier? What did he do, sir? Skin her?

Pipe down, Withers.

When the Inspector is talking

you are listening, understand?

Yes, Sergeant.

He disemboweled her.

After he cut her throat,

stabbed her in the chest...

...cut open her stomach,

and took out her intestines.

At least one of her organs was removed.

I'm waiting for the police surgeon's report

for more details.

I see.

One thing's for certain,

an Englishman didn't do it.

Maybe one of these Red Indians...

...wandered into Whitechapel

and indulged his natural inclinations.

With all due respect, sir...

...I believe this was done by someone with

at least a working knowledge of dissection.

-An educated man, such as a doctor-

-An educated man? That's preposterous.

No well-bred man would do this.

Probably a tradesman or a butcher.

A tradesman is a possibility, sir.

But there's a strong indication against it.

There was a sprig of grapes

under her body.

What are you driving at?

No one in Whitechapel, no matter

what their trade, could afford grapes.

Obviously,

they were given to her by the killer.

It follows that he must be

someone with money.

What about the Jews? A Jew butcher?

Or a Jew tailor might have money.

Plenty of them in Whitechapel.

Sir, for the sake of public safety

in general...

...I'd like to be careful about spreading

the rumor it might be a Jew.

I know your reputation for making guesses

that turn out to be right.

Someone told me

you claim to dream the answers.

Frankly, it doesn't matter to me

what your methods are.

But be certain you don't proceed

without proof. Is that clear?

Of course, sir.

Personally, I don't care. The fewer

pinch-pricks on the streets, the better.

But the sooner you find this butcher

or tailor...

...the sooner we can all celebrate

your promotion.

Keep me informed.

Every cellar, every stable. We'll find him.

It's the bleeding Jews. Let's kill them!

I have wonderful news.

Tell me.

Surely you, of all people, can guess.

I don't want to guess with you.

Dr. Marbury says...

Dr. Marbury says?

Dr. Marbury says

I'm going to have your child.

"Ay, to die

"and go we know not where

"To lie in cold obstruction and to rot"

A simple "rest in peace" would suffice.

Yes, sir.

"In the midst of life we are in death...

"... of whom may we seek for succor,

but of Thee, O Lord...

"... who for our sins art justly displeased?

"Yet, O Lord God most holy...

"... O Lord most mighty... "

Good afternoon, ladies.

I'm Inspector Abberline.

This is Sgt. Godley.

We're investigating the murders

of Polly Nichols and Martha Tabram.

We understand they were both friends

of you ladies.

Close friends.

We're hoping you'd be able to help us.

Don't know nothing.

Me neither.

Why are you bothering us?

You ought to bother McQueen.

-Is he the boss of Nichol Street?

-The heart and soul of the gang.

Isn't it your job to be knowing

that small detail?

What makes you think McQueen did this?

Can't prove nothing by me.

-You're Mary Kelly, right?

-That's right.

Unless one of you is willing to testify

against McQueen...

...I can't do nothing.

Surely, Inspector...

...a strong, handsome man like you...

...could do anything

you put your brilliant mind to.

I'm a coward and a weakling.

I can't help meself.

What's your excuse?

Why are you so bloody useless?

Come on, Mary. They won't help us.

Is that you?

Before my mother died, back in Ireland.

-Is that when you came here?

-Yeah.

-When I was 8.

-When things was good.

We were starving,

but we were starving in fresh air.

I was thinking...

...we ain't never gonna earn enough

to satisfy the Nichols boys...

...and feed our own mouths.

You said those men...

...who took the rich artist man

and her as well...

You said they was clean-shaven,

and their clothes was neat.

-Right.

-They weren't criminals, then.

They weren't the Nichols boys.

They was unusual.

Perhaps even official.

What are you getting at?

Maybe we could go with the papers,

get paid for the story.

"Where's Ann Crook?"

The papers are always desperate

for things bad about the government.

It's a mystery, to boot.

Not a bad plan. What do you think, Mary?

We should talk to that inspector,

the one at Polly's funeral.

F*** me! No.

If we go to the papers, they might hurt Ann

even worse. Or hurt the baby.

Worse than what'll happen to her

in Whitechapel when she sprouts teats?

I don't know for sure.

But I think we're better off

talking to that inspector.

Lord, you are young after all.

Four b*tches.

That's what I thought.

You only paid for one person.

-They're my guests.

-Guests?

Let me welcome your guests.

Go on! Get out!

Get out of here, you bloody whores.

When you have four pence...

...you can come back

with your ladies in waiting, Your Grace.

Shut up.

Back to work then.

Let's try and stay together.

-We can't. You know that.

-Then stay good and clear of Nichol Street.

Come on.

All right, Annie?

Bloody bastard.

-How's your head?

-Very funny.

Boo!

I didn't frighten you, did I?

I've been looking for you.

Been looking all over for you.

You've been looking for me?

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