I have kept this to myself for six months, believing it best not spoken. But I find I can no longer bear the silence.

I was present on the night PC Reeve and Sergeant Melrose lost their lives. The accounts given in the papers do not reflect what occurred.

The London Gazette called it "a shocking discovery." The Evening Standard said, "Jack the Ripper was unmasked — a police constable all along."

I heard of it from customers the following morning.

I did not speak of it, neither to the police nor to others. My reasons for silence are explained below.

I witnessed the events directly. The man responsible was Percival Kerr, formerly Chief Inspector.

I am certain of what I saw. The circumstances of my presence are set out below.

At the time, certain details appeared unusual. It later became clear that the scene had been arranged to implicate PC Reeve.

I was engaged in unlawful activity at the time and would not have been considered a credible witness by the authorities.

My presence at the location was deliberate, owing to criminal intent.

On the evening of Sunday, 25 November 1888, after the public houses had closed and the streets were quiet, I went out intending to steal. The fog was thick over Bishopsgate. My destination was the Magpie, a public house on New Street, just off the main road.

The street was formerly called Hand Alley. Though renamed, the old name remained in common use.

I came in from Bishopsgate, climbed the wall, and positioned myself on the ledge above the front of the building, level with the first storey. I had brought an iron tool to break in through a window.

Before I began, I heard footsteps at the far end of the alley. I remained still. The person did not pass beneath me but halted near the corner.

The alley bends sharply at that point, with the Magpie situated on the corner. I moved along the ledge to get a better view.

From the ledge, I saw PC Reeve standing beside the body of Clara Fenwick. He was holding a lantern. I knew him by sight, having seen him on patrol before. The woman was unfamiliar to me at the time.

He placed the lantern on the ground and knelt beside the woman. At some point, he took up the locket.

He appeared to be examining the woman's injuries and comparing them to the engravings on the locket. I could not see clearly from my position, but reports the next day described the wounds in detail.

The exact sequence is unclear. At one point, Reeve reached for her arm and drew back holding a severed hand.

This is how he came to be in possession of the hand.

The scene appeared staged. The location, formerly known as Hand Alley, may have been chosen intentionally.

Sergeant Melrose arrived at the scene unexpectedly. I did not observe his approach, and Reeve appeared startled.

I did not see Melrose take the lantern, but only one was recovered, broken, the next morning. He was holding it when he stepped back after seeing the severed hand.

He fell, and the lantern struck the cobbles and broke. The flame went out, and the alley was left in darkness.

I recall clearly that a voice was heard shortly after the lantern broke. It was unfamiliar and came without warning.

At the time, I did not know who had spoken, but it was soon evident that the man was Percival Kerr, formerly Chief Inspector.

He lit a candle, and I recognised him by his appearance, which matched the likeness published in the papers upon his retirement.

It appeared he had been present throughout. He stood calmly and did not intervene.

Reeve spoke his name aloud, confirming his identity. Melrose also addressed him directly after regaining composure.

Reeve and Kerr spoke briefly, and their voices were raised.

The words later reported by the young witness, found by police in Rose Alley the next morning, were likely spoken during this exchange.

This detail was noted in the incident report and repeated in most of the papers.

The scene became disorderly. Kerr may have drawn a blade. The candle was extinguished during the struggle, and I could see little thereafter.

I cannot state the exact sequence of events that followed. However, I did observe Kerr standing over the bodies of Reeve and Melrose.

After Kerr left, I also departed. I did not attempt to determine whether either man was still alive.

I returned to the shop, secured the door, and went to my room. I remained awake, thinking of what I had seen.

In the morning, I heard movement downstairs. News of the incident had begun to circulate.

Customers and passers-by spoke of it — fragments of conversation overheard throughout the day.

I knew the published accounts were inaccurate, but I was a thief, present unlawfully at the scene.

Had I approached the authorities, suspicion would likely have fallen on me. I possessed no evidence and therefore remained silent.

I have not forgotten what occurred: Reeve accused in error, Melrose killed while intervening, and Kerr leaving the scene unchallenged.

I did not speak at the time and do not expect to be believed now. But silence has become more difficult to bear than the risk of disbelief. I am unable to present this account in person, and so I leave it to be found after I am gone, in the hope that it may correct the record.