The Chief Coroner's examination revealed no wounds other than the marks on the victim's left wrist, as if Death itself had gripped him with one bony hand. The coroner announced all those found in White Chapel Alley had met the same fate. "As if these poor blokes had been frightened to death. Not like the Ripper at all." And although the good inspector tried valiantly to uncover the person responsible, matters did not progress.Then a royal summons came to this former colonel, a welcome diversion, asking him to take part in an affair of state, replete in dress uniform and sword. After the event, he departed for home. Despite the thick fog rolling in from the river, he decided not to hail a cab. Deep in thought, he walked without purpose, soon finding himself in the White Chapel section. And he felt compelled to visit the alley.It was one in the morning as he hurried along in splendid dress, his sword at his side. His footsteps echoed in the empty streets as he located first the dirty, little tea shop and then the alley. Cranford unbuckled his sword and strode up to its mouth. Made confident by Scotch, he shouted to whatever might be lurking inside. "I am Inspector Cranford and a colonel, late of her Majesty's Service. Come out now! Let's have a look at you!"At first only silence greeted his shouts and he felt foolish. But then he heard it. A rustling. As if someone small and feeble, was shuffling towards him. He froze in fear, under the street lamp, waiting.To his surprise, a tiny, old woman draped in a shawl crept closer in the dark, stopping just inside the alley and held out one hand. She wore a long dress, with an apron. Her head and face were covered by a ruffled, white-cotton bonnet. She didn't speak, but Cranford thought she needed help. He took a step closer and still she didn't move. She motioned for him to come to her. And so he did.He had no sooner stepped inside the alley, when the creature's hand lashed out. Just bones it was, without flesh, and it gripped his wrist. He gasped, but couldn't break free. She began dragging him, into the alley, into the darkness. The darkness from which no one had ever returned.With a mighty shout, he swung the sword, cleaving the bonnet free. She had no head, no face, and the bonnet fell limply, back into the alley. But still that skeletal hand gripped him, dragging him, step by step, into the darkness. In desperation, he lashed out again, severing her hand at the wrist. As her body reeled backward, Cranford took to his heels and didn't stop until he reached the coroner's office.
