“Maybe,” Margo said slowly, narrowing her eyes slightly, “she didn’t need the money as much as we thought she did.”
Shahdi’s eyes widened. “The letters,” she whispered, abruptly excited. Her eyes gleamed with quick speculation. “Perhaps these mysterious letters are worth a great deal of money, yes? Clearly, our friend the doctor is most anxious to retrieve them. And he recovered several gold sovereigns from Polly Nichols’ pockets, which she must have been given by him earlier in the evening, as payment for these letters.”
“Blackmail?” Margo breathed. “But blackmail against who? Whom, I mean. And if all these penniless women are being systematically hunted down because they’ve got somebody’s valuable letters, why didn’t they cash in on them? Every one of Jack’s victims was drunk and soliciting just to get enough money for a four penny bed for the night.”
Shahdi Feroz shook her, visibly frustrated. “I do not know. But I intend to find out!”
Margo grinned. “Me, too. Come on, let’s go. My feet are freezing and it’s a long walk to Mitre Square and Goulston Street.”
To reach Mitre Square, they traced one of the possible routes the Ripper might have taken from Berner Street where his bloody work with Elizabeth Stride had been—would be—interrupted by Louis Diemshutz. “One thing I find interesting,” Margo said as they followed Back Church Lane up to Commercial Road and from there hiked down to Aldgate High Street and Aldgate proper, further west. “He knew the area. Knew it well enough to pull a stunt like switching police jurisdictions after getting away from Dutfield’s Yard. He knew he was going to kill again. So he deliberately left Whitechapel and Metropolitan Police jurisdiction and hunted his second victim over in The City proper, where The City police didn’t get on with Scotland Yard at all.”