David Bullock - The Man Who Would Be Jack: The hunt for the real Ripper

A s if imitating death the patient, who earlier had tried to slit his mothers throat, lay motionless upon an iron bed, his arms loose at his sides, his eyes wide, staring passively ahead. The only sign of life being the small beads of sweat that prickled upon his forehead.

He was younger than most in the infirmary, tall, thin and, from the quality of his clothing, a man of means. Though he had the appearance of an imbecile, the behaviour of the four orderlies who, armed with cudgels, surrounded his bed, indicated that he was anything but an average patient.

Earlier he had fought them, kicking out as the warders attempted to remove him from his home in Kennington. Arriving under the silence of dawn the guards believed that, by catching the patient in a state of sleep, he would present a far easier prospect.

As the four orderlies, clad in white-belted coats, entered the darkness of his room, they found the patient awake, dressed and, to their surprise, ready to fight.

At first the sheer number of guards proved overwhelming , grabbing at the patients ankles and arms as he crawled backwards on his bed. As he thrashed in a frenzy of kicks and blind punches, the patient berated the guards with an onslaught of obscenities. One he bit, before striking another, the largest of the group who had half unbuckled his belt in order to strap the patients feet.

Seizing his opportunity to escape, the patient bolted towards the door, only to be stopped by a stern blow to the face that not only subdued him but wrenched a tooth from his mouth.

In the time that had elapsed between leaving Kennington and reaching the Infirmary, the patients mood had changed dramatically. Gone was the anger, the aggression, even his groans had ceased, with the only sound filling the near-empty ward being the heavy breaths of the four orderlies, reverberating against the grey walls.

Though the guards were vigilant, what they hadnt noticed as they carried the lifeless man from the carriage to his bed were his brilliant blue eyes taking note of the route, making a mental map of his new environment: the small stone fireplace to his left, the large barred window to the rear of the ward, ablaze with March sunlight, and the door in the farthest corner that led to the main Infirmary corridor and importantly offered the only opportunity of escape.

For two hours he remained silent. Stripped of all clothing except a shirt, he lay quietly upon his bed under the gaze of his jailers, patiently waiting for his moment.

By noon it had arrived.

When he struck, he did so with such speed as to leave his warders reeling. With an animal ferocity he bolted from his bed, knocking two guards to the ground.

Before they knew what had hit them the shoeless and trouserless patient was already through the ward doors, shirt-tails flying as he took off down the corridor. The orderlies made chase and by the time the patient had reached the laundry block, two of them, the fittest of the four, were almost upon him.

It was only on entering the laundry room itself that he felt it, a cool breeze invading the warmth of the two wood-burning stoves used to heat irons. Beyond a forest of washboards and mangles, of ceiling racks adorned with damp garments, a window had been left ajar. As the panicked voices neared, he eased the window frame upwards, before stepping lightly onto the roof of the adjoining boiler house.

After a short drop the patient was out, running barefoot along the gravelled terrace. With no obstacles to block his route he reached the eight-foot boundary wall in no time and only then, as he stared at the wall looking for a foothold, did he hear the alarm being raised, with shouts and whistles engulfing the infirmary yard behind him.

On looking back he could see that other warders were now in pursuit, those better positioned for such a chase. Two had come from the house block, while another a bear of a man had emerged from the ground-floor labour ward.

What they saw would later be reported upon and used as a means of describing the agility and athleticism of a man who, according to his guards, managed to scale the boundary wall with the ease and nimbleness of a monkey.

Once over, his feet hit the cobbles running. Although there were many strange and wonderful sights in the teeming streets of Lambeth, a man sprinting between over-laden carriages and market stalls wearing nothing but a shirt drew bemused and shocked attention.

As the alert spread, first via shouts then by policemens whistles, constables ran to the scene. In no time every police station in London was aware of the escape, with the patients description having been wired from Lambeth Police Station along with a note indicating the need for his urgent capture.

Aware that a mob was starting to form behind him, the patient made for the first building he could see, a school. Bursting through the front doors he darted his gaze to each corner of the classroom, from the mighty blackboard that ran the length of the top wall and stood watch over rows of empty desks, to the back of the room.

Faint shrieks could be heard coming, not from the street but the rear of the school, the backyard where, being midday, the children were enjoying playtime.

As the semi-naked fugitive smashed through the back door the joyful cries soon turned to screams of panic. Some of the pupils ran, while others remained, frozen with fear, as the escapee frantically took in his surroundings.

The open front door of the school had allowed the screams to travel, alerting a patrolling constable who immediately followed the trail of cries. By the time he reached the yard the fugitive was gone, with only the extended arms of several older boys indicating his whereabouts.

With trembling fingers, the boys pointed to the wall that separated the yard from a residential garden.

Assuming incorrectly that the escapee had entered the adjourning garden in order to break into the house, the constable ran back to the street and, after summoning two colleagues, charged through the front door.

The fugitive, however, had had other ideas. Instead of entering the house, he had vaulted over a series of garden walls before crashing into a randomly chosen property via the back door.

Fortunately for him it was empty. The residents, their curiosity pricked by the commotion outside, had taken to the street. Inside, his luck improved further as folded neatly upon a wooden chest lay a pair of striped trousers, as well as a check jacket and a brown overcoat next to a black felt hat and a pair of worn leather boots.

Losing no time he dressed, pulling the hat low over his brow in order to cover his eyes, before exiting smartly out of the front door. Only as he pulled the door to did the fugitive stop for the first time, pausing for the briefest of moments in order to take in the chaotic scene outside.

To his left, three constables were struggling to make entry into another property, believing he was inside. In front, a large crowd had gathered, a gaggle of women whispering excitedly under their breath, gasping and pointing at the petrified school children who had formed a circle, enclosing their distraught teacher. Next to them another group had formed: men and boys, some armed with clubs ready to assist the police in bringing their quarry to justice.

Standing quite still, the fugitive raised the collar of his newly acquired coat, before calmly walking past the excited crowd. Under the very noses of his pursuers he crossed the road, away from the whistles and cries, before vanishing into the teeming streets of Lambeth.