By the time Division or Detective Inspector Burt arrived at 66 Old Compton Street, Constable

so hold him back, a gaggle of eager gulpers.

As reporters feverishly quoted, any pleb, who said they had seen or heard something sinister.

As some reporters even snuck into the Swiss Hotel opposite, to try and spy the corpse through the second floor window.

Six months earlier, a dead Soho prostitute barely filled a few lines.

But now the murders were front page news.

In many local, national, and by the next day, even international papers.

As once again, Soho became infamous, as a den of sex, drugs, and death.

The crime scene was eerily reminiscent.

But as with the others, it was assessed methodically.

Again, there were no signs of a prior break-in, as both sash windows were shut.

The neighbouring flats were inaccessible, with the only tenants being two floors below,

who had slept soundly until the arrival of the police.

And the doors to the flat and the street had been locked by you ever had taken her key.

Inside, the room was dimly lit.

As the sunlight pierced, the partially open curtains.

But again, with the gaslight set to on and the shilling expired, only in death was the room

plunged into near darkness.

This bed-sitting room was small, comprising of a wardrobe and a dresser, which hadn't been

ransacked, a city on which the victims' coats still lay. Under the bed sat three half-full,

untouched suitcases, as the tenants had only just moved in.

And on the mantelpiece, an open hamburger gave the illusion of a robbery.

...