"Amazing. Joseon, you say. That's a name I've never heard of."
"Well, it was called the land of the morning calm."
I took a big bite of the Yorkshire pudding and said so.
The gentleman, who seemed calm and taciturn, turned out to be surprisingly curious and knowledgeable.
"Honestly, when I first saw you, I found you quite peculiar. Apologies if this sounds offensive, but compared to the Japanese or Chinese people described in Mrs. Bishop's book, you seemed much taller and more polished, like a completely different person."
"Oh, it's fine. We Koreans don't like Japan or China either. Just like how British people don't like Germans or French."
"Is that so? The world is indeed vast and mysterious, but people's lives are quite similar."
That makes it more interesting. The gentleman said while dipping fries in the sauce.
"Hearing your story makes me want to go back out into the world. If it weren't for my hospital, I'd be tempted to sail again like before."
"Were you a sailor?"
"I was a ship's doctor. I mostly sailed the North Sea on a whaling ship, so it wasn't very exciting. Though, later on, I did go to Africa."
Despite his appearance, the gentleman was quite adventurous and skilled in conversation.
Our conversation added depth to each other's stories, making it easy to talk while eating.
"Still, it wasn't a bad experience. The pay was stable, unlike now where I don't have any patients after opening my own practice."
"That's the hardest part for self-employed people. Not being able to guarantee next month's income. I even considered becoming a civil servant if my career didn't work out."
"A civil servant? You were going to take on such a dull job? No interest in becoming a doctor?"
"Where I'm from, becoming a doctor is extremely difficult."
I shrugged my shoulders as I said that.
Of course, I heard the path to becoming a doctor in England during this era was tough too, but compared to 21st-century Korea, it was like an eight-lane highway.
It also didn't fit my aptitude. I was terrible at biology.
When I mentioned this, the gentleman seemed to ponder for a moment, then showed me the newspaper next to him.
"Indeed, perhaps it was for the best that you didn't become a doctor."
"What's this?"
I tilted my head as I looked at the newspaper.
Let's see, the headline reads...
"Serial Killer Doctor Thomas Neill Cream, Was He Really 'Jack the Ripper'?"
Jack the Ripper? Could this be the Jack the Ripper I know? And who is Thomas Neill Cream?
"Have you heard about Jack the Ripper?"
"I've heard bits and pieces. A perverted murderer who only killed defenseless women, right?"
"That's not incorrect."
Well, he's a staple topic in our field.
Sometimes he's depicted as a duo with another doctor, sometimes as a zombie, and sometimes as a young girl who couldn't even attend elementary school... maybe not the last one. Anyway, he's famously known as the epitome of serial killers even into modern times.
"Jack the Ripper was known for dissecting his victims' bodies with a sharp instrument like a surgical knife. Hence, Scotland Yard suspected the killer to be a doctor or someone with equivalent medical knowledge."
"Ah, so that's why all the doctors were under suspicion?"
"That's correct. I was able to cooperate with the police and get released quickly because of my connections, but other doctors had to endure some hardship."
Then it was definitely better that I wasn't a doctor. I nodded naturally.
When the Jack the Ripper case happened, I wasn't in London, or even in England, but if an unidentified doctor had suddenly appeared, the police would have certainly suspected them.
In a way, I was really fortunate to be a writer.
"So, if this Thomas Neill Cream confessed to being Jack, hasn't he already been executed? Isn't the case closed now?"
The gentleman stroked his mustache with a bitter expression.
"One might think so. But this guy wasn't Jack. Although he was just as despicable."
"Why not?"
"Serial offenders have patterns to their crimes. Jack the Ripper used a knife. But this guy used arsenic. Besides, he had a solid alibi for the times when Jack's murders occurred. He wasn't Jack."
"I see."
I nodded absentmindedly.
To be honest, Jack the Ripper's fame came from disrupting the Belle Époque, not from being particularly intelligent or causing enormous damage. He only had five victims.
In comparison, modern serial killers like Yoo Young-chul or Kang Ho-soon were more vicious and brutal.
In future evaluations, Jack was seen as a case where the British police were simply incompetent.
There were no reports of him reappearing later, either.
Still, seeing this kind gentleman looking so gloomy made me want to help somehow... Was there anything I could do?
Wait, I think I remember something from a documentary or detective novel that might be relevant.
I searched through fragments of my memory and slowly opened my mouth.
"Just because he used a scalpel doesn't necessarily mean he had extensive medical knowledge."
"Hmm? What do you mean?"
Think, think...
From the vague depths of my memory, I recalled another author's research on this case.
"Although the body was dissected, it was the London police who first judged that, right?"
"That's true."
"So, isn't it possible the dissection wasn't necessarily done with proper medical knowledge, but rather an amateurish attempt? The crime scenes were quite damaged, if I remember correctly..."
"Hmm!"
The gentleman's crossed leg relaxed, and he leaned towards me.
I carefully explained everything I could recall.
"He would have been someone who frequently used knives. Otherwise, he wouldn't have attempted to kill with a short knife like a scalpel."
"Indeed. Humans are large creatures that don't die easily."
"Moreover, he intentionally killed, dismembered, and displayed the bodies, revealing his crimes. This indicates that he wanted to show his deeds to someone, not a specific person, but just to the general public."
A narcissist.
Someone who deliberately posts their crimes on social media to invite criticism. These fools believe they control others' emotions by angering them.
It was already profiled in the future that Jack the Ripper was such a person.
However, there was no social media in this era.
This means it would be difficult for such a narcissist to immediately catch the criticism from the public. So, how would they act?
"He would have stayed close to the crime scenes."
He would have hidden among the crowd.
Becoming a tree hidden in the forest... eavesdropping on the other trees' criticisms to satisfy his desires.
In summary,
"He was someone who lived near the crime scenes. Someone skilled with knives. But not a doctor. A lone wolf who couldn't adapt to society and craved attention. That's who I think Jack the Ripper was."
"Hmm..."
The gentleman furrowed his brow deeply. He seemed to be taking this very seriously... I finished the remaining meat in my mouth and said,
"Oh, it's just an amateur's light speculation. Please take it with a grain of salt..."
"No, what you pointed out is certainly worth checking."
He took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, then took out a small notebook from his pocket and started jotting something down hastily.
"So, do you have any other opinions? Like how to identify the culprit, for example."
"Huh? The culprit? Well..."
If I had that, I would have already written a detective novel when I was in Korea.
Although it would be easier to adapt into a drama or movie, it wasn't trendy in web novels, so I gave up.
But those eyes, those expectant eyes gazing at me with such anticipation made me feel compelled to say something.
"People like this usually look obviously deranged, don't they?"
"Indeed."
"In that case, they might already be caught for another crime or committed to a mental institution, don't you think?"
That often happened in the future.
"... Aha!"
The gentleman opened his mouth wide.
Hmm, seeing him so surprised is a bit embarrassing.
He soon fell into his own thoughts. This pattern means we won't be able to continue our conversation for a while.
I leisurely finished my remaining ale.
It was then.
A familiar chime, like the one I heard so often in school, rang in my ears.
What's this?
I turned my head to see Big Ben's large clock tower indicating the time...
What?! It's already 9 PM!?
"I'm in big trouble!"
"What's wrong? What's the matter?"
"Ah, I'm sorry. I have an appointment, so I must go! Please excuse me!!"
"Hey, wait!!"
I heard him shouting something behind me, but I ignored it and ran hurriedly.
Thinking about my appointment with Mr. Miller, running as fast as I could was my only option.
***
"Haha. What a whirlwind of a young man."
The gentleman left alone let out a helpless laugh. The pub owner approached him and spoke.
"Sir, are you alright?"
"What do you mean?"
"Being seen with such an Oriental..."
"Those who would fuss over such trivial matters are unnecessary to begin with."
More importantly,
The gentleman stroked his chin and organized the stories he had just heard.
He used a scalpel, but he didn't necessarily have to be a doctor.
A coward who frightened and terrorized the public, enjoying it.
And possibly, someone who might already be caught.
"It's an interesting story."
Tap, tap.
It made perfect sense. In fact, it made me wonder why I hadn't thought of it before.
No, maybe he was already on the list of suspects.
But the investigation might have been halted due to another suspect committing suicide unnecessarily. We might not have even investigated properly. We should have considered this...
The gentleman sighed and muttered.
'London's criminals are fools. Their images vaguely appear and then disappear into the fog again.' … The fool was me. I forgot that if a person can disappear into the fog, the criminal himself can too.
And he didn't foresee that someone might derive pleasure from that fog.
Despite the fact that such irrational psychology surely exists in human hearts.
"Sir, are you alright?"
"That's alright, Jim. Ah, please wait a moment."
The mustached gentleman's mind began to race. It felt as if his brain cells, which had turned white, were regaining their color, like he was finding lost vitality.
When he came to his senses, he took out a handkerchief and a fountain pen from his pocket and scribbled something down.
Then, he handed it to the pub owner.
"Take this to Scotland Yard immediately. Find Inspector George and show him this handkerchief. I will follow as soon as I am ready."
"That's not a difficult task. I'll go right away."
Despite the suddenness of the request, the pub owner nodded politely.
"Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle."