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I remembered a German being found in New York with RACHE written up above him, and it was argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret societies must have done it.

I guessed that what puzzled the New Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped my finger in my own blood and printed it on a convenient place on the wall.

Then I walked down to my cab and found that there was nobody about, and that the night was still very wild.

I had driven some distance when I put my hand into the pocket in which I usually kept Lucy's ring, and found that it was not there.

I was thunderstruck at this, for it was the only memento that I had of her.

Thinking that I might have dropped it when I stooped over Drebber's body, I drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street, I went boldly up to the house - for I was ready to dare anything rather than lose the ring.

When I arrived there, I walked right into the arms of a police-officer who was coming out, and only managed to disarm his suspicions by pretending to be hopelessly drunk.

"That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end.

All I had to do then was to do as much for Stangerson, and so pay off John Ferrier's debt.

I knew that he was staying at Halliday's Private Hotel, and I hung about all day, but he never came out.

I fancy that he suspected something when Drebber failed to put in an appearance.

He was cunning, was Stangerson, and always on his guard.

If he thought he could keep me off by staying indoors he was very much mistaken.

I soon found out which was the window of his bedroom, and early next morning I took advantage of some ladders which were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my way into his room in the grey of the dawn.

I woke him up and told him that the hour had come when he was to answer for the life he had taken so long before.

I described Drebber's death to him, and I gave him the same choice of the poisoned pills.

Instead of grasping at the chance of safety which that offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew at my throat.

In self-defence I stabbed him to the heart.

It would have been the same in any case, for Providence would never have allowed his guilty hand to pick out anything but the poison.

"I have little more to say, and it's as well, for I am about done up.

I went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to keep at it until I could save enough to take me back to America.

I was standing in the yard when a ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there called Jefferson Hope, and said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221B, Baker Street.

I went round, suspecting no harm, and the next thing I knew, this young man here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatly shackled as ever I saw in my life.

That's the whole of my story, gentlemen.

You may consider me to be a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much an officer of justice as you are."

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