From an article entitled "Points about Policemen"
Speaking of the Whitechapel murderer, a few nights ago, Detective Michael Powers, of the Eighth, said impressively: "Mark my words, sir, we have not yet heard the last of this ultra morbid misogynist, this demon incarnate, whose unholy delight it is to to dye his hands in the blood of his foully murdered victims. He has a nature which Moloch might have envied, and in my opinion is not one to rest content with a paltry half dozen offerings. Before long his hellish hands will again find work to do. Soon will the death groans of another unfortunate punctuate the stillness of some Whitechapel purlieu, and next morning palsy stricken London will again cry: 'Where are the police?' The police are not to blame, my boy; they are doing the best they can, but all their efforts are as nothing when pitted against the superhuman cunning of this combination of Nero and Mephistopheles. It may be that this is but a passing mania with which Jack the Ripper is possessed and which in time he may outgrow, but I hardly think so. He was born under a flat star, and such as he (there is not more than one in a century, thank goodness) have always turned out to be utterly and irretrievably bad."
