How do you do? How often does it happen in serious crimes, especially murder, that meekness, mildness, respectability, open kindness,

intelligence and charm are the outward characteristic of a man who as they say

would be the last person in the world you'd suspect.

It happens time and time again.

But how much more seldom does it occur that the murderer looks like a ruffian, behaves like a ruffian, is recognized as a

rascal of low mentality and meanwhile manages without resorting to the least craft

or guile tool get away with it over and over again without exciting suspicion.

It is the story of such a man that I'm going to tell you.

But before I introduce our sordid cavalier, let us recall a contemporary of his in the London of 1888,

one who, like our gentleman,

moved in the east end of London during that year,

moved and struck by night.

There's a...

There's you, sir. Did you ever, go or did you ever see such a sight to ripped

to ribbons? Yes, yes that's his work all right Johnson. Can't mistake it.

Jack the ripper all over. We've got to get him.

Of course the whole world knows that they didn't get Jack the Ripper and yet I wonder, did they?

I wonder.

Take the year 1888.

That's when the Ripper's razor began to flicker across the throat

to some of the pretty girls of London's East End.

And that is the year that there arrived from Poland to take up a job in a white chapel

...