CHAPTER 4: MR MECHANIC AND A SHORT BUT IMPORTANT MEETING

That boy opened the door, then a bunch of children, big and small, curiously ran towards the door. The tallest was a girl, probably the eldest, around fifteen or sixteen; instead of being cheerful because of a guest came like other children, she scolded the youngest boy who led me home:

- Why are you keep wandering forever, Henry! Dangers are out there don't you know!

The boy boasted:

- I found her.

After that he pulled my hand into the room which I guessed was the living room, then he invited me to sit down, and I took my hat off.

- Who's that? - Another sister, younger than the first, asked.

- Mademoiselle. - He answered - I found her in Mister Winefield's pub. The place where Mom told she usually came.

What was going on?

- Pub? - The eldest sister irritated - and Mister Winefield's? Dad will be angry for this!

- Mademoiselle what? - The younger sister asked - An aristocrat? Is she a noble? Or the wealthy? Maybe not. Because she visits our house.

- I don't know! - Grumpiness appeared in the eldest sister.

The boy innocently replied:

- I don't know too. But I saw her in the newspaper. That over there. I saw Mademoiselle in the newspaper! Inside the papers! The one over there!

The boy pointed to two newspapers which he had pulled out on the table in the morning. How interesting, that was the old newspaper of... last month, and one which was to-day. Maybe the father did not have the habit of throwing old newspaper after reading. And this child was clearly literate. He had pulled out the newspaper which wrote about the case last month, including scene shots, and I stood in a very conspicuous place. Did not know how he knew me to seek help. Maybe it was because the newspaper... or he was just running around the blocks, "accidentally" the place that I would be on hand to investigate. Just as "accidentally", was tonight.

- Why did you call me here? - I asked the boy.

- Mom hasn't returned since yesterday. Eliza told us Mom wouldn't be home anymore.

So what was going on?

- Mom had been killed. I knew the news, I have read the paper!

The elder girl said. It turned out they are the children of the victim, look how fortunate I am!

There was a knock at the door, I am pretty sure it was their father. She even before the opening, added: "You will receive what you deserve if Dad knows." The other children curiously surrounded me. When a silhouette of a man appeared in the living room's door, I knew: there was the father. However I had dimly guessed, this was the family of the victim.

- Who are YOU? Get out of my house! - The father angrily shouted.

The boy ran out, holding his father's hand and said:

- Daddy, I found this lady at Mister Winefield's pub.

- Mr Winefield? How dare you...!

It was time to quench this volcano. I got up from the chair, standing in front of the master of this house, dipping a curtsey, as I said, an usual etiquette, and then said:

- Greetings, sir, I am from Scotland Yard. I came here to investigate a murder in Buck's Row.

- The case this morning, huh? What does Scotland Yard want from me anyway? You ain't Inspector Claramenthe Lestrade.

Clearly he knew "Claramenthe Lestrade" - the only daughter of the late Inspector Lestrade. So... there was hope to open a tough first lock in this case, right Sherly?

- Why not, monsieur? To introduce myself, I am Sherline Victoria Holmes of Baker Street. Loyal advisor of the Inspector Claramenthe.

He faltered for a moment, then, as had remembered, he took off his coat, hung up on the hook, and went straight into the living room, poured the tea.

- Why didn't you let me know earlier? The Baker Street detective's reputation, I have heard. What do you want to ask from me? If I knew, I would answer, could be useful for you.

- No, for Scotland Yard. You have read this morning newspaper, so you might have found something familiar right?

- Why?

- You are the victim's husband.

He was silent for a long while. Then he called the eldest daughter, told her something, and she ran away from home. A short moment later she returned with a basket. Then he turned to speak to me.

- Nobody passes through the eyes of Scotland Yard, no, the famed detective (I swear I never thought that person was female). I will say everything I said. I, William Nichols, printer mechanic.

William Nichols told me all of which he knew. From his marriage with the victim, then the births of their children, how the family was broken because of the all-the-time drunken wife... but the important part which I would like to hear most was something in the night the murder occurred.

That night, the victim left her husband and children, to a pub (which I had just visited) to get drunk. At that time he was coming home and found his wife standing at a street corner. A "moth", nothing was strange with that; but if combined with testimonies of the witnesses that night, gradually separate pieces would fit together, and then the mysterious veil would gradually be pulled up little by little...

- She, who seduced by the devil of gin, who broke the family, who there has neglected her husband, I never considered her as my wife. That foul woman named Mary Ann Nichols. Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols!

Here it was, the key! Knots on the victim's identity was clear. Now I had to rush to Scotland Yard now, oh wait, no, where I had to go at yet moment was... straight to 13 Kensington Street!
Wait, there was a thing that needed to be done.

- You are named Henry, right? - I asked the boy had just dragged me home.

- Henry Alfred Nichols, ma'am.

- Just call me Victoria, or just Sherline only, if you want. - I told him. In fact, "Mademoiselle" was only a formal title (but I often "be" called as such instead of name). Sometimes I felt irritated and annoyed when I saw myself on the news. Was it fine to me? Somehow I seemingly preferred being known as a-somewhat-unknown.

Two little girls, I asked also. They replied in turn:

- I'm Alice Esther Nichols, ma'am. - The big sister, said.

- And I am Eliza Sarah Nichols. - The little child shyly replied - Two big brothers Edward John and George Percy, ain't here for now. They are also mechanics, like Dad.

At here right now was only the mechanic William Nichols worth to know about. He was married to the victim, and perhaps only he knew every reason why the victim was killed. But, in fact he did not know why. He only knew that night his skittish wife had gone somewhere before disappearing completely from this world. If the murderer continued the case, I would decide whether or not partner with Claramenthe's Scotland Yarders and "sweep" across London only to find him. If my inference was still one of my assets, the culprit would probably not an amateur. And perhaps, he would also act, again...

Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols, she was the first victim. I knew the identity of the victim and what had seemingly happened in the night of the murder; however, the identity of the perpetrator, was still a big question mark that I could yet find out. He the murderer that committed the crime, did not leave any clues other than the handiwork of his. Yes, a talented murderer, I admitted. And this would be the unequal battle between me and... him. I briefly thought; if using all of what I had, the battle could be won, and... may be I could also have to stay at home for several days.