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said, “What do you know of nuclein, Inspector?”
    “Less than I know about the moon, Miescher. I’ve seen the moon umpteen times; never heard of your … what did you call it?”
    “Nuclein,” said the Swiss, rubbing his hands together. Lestrade had the sinking feeling the man was warming to a subject that was about to shoot right over his head.
    Miescher said, “As a doctor I was worried my deafness would inhibit my profession, so I chose to study the things that we are all made of, the cells and their nuclei. Can you imagine the nucleus of a single cell, Inspector? Imagine how minuscule it is?”
    “I am well used to finding needles in haystacks, Dr. Miescher, so I suppose I can.”
    Miescher nodded. “I began my research into lymphocytes but found them difficult to obtain, so switched to leukocytes—”
    “You’ve lost me already, Doctor,” said Lestrade. “And I really must be getting on … I have a murder investigation—”
    Miescher raised his hand. “Forgive me. They are both types of white blood cell but the latter is somewhat easier to obtain … I used bandages from the hospital and was able to isolate leukocytes from the pus stains.”
    Lestrade made a face. “I still don’t—”
    “I will cut my story short, Inspector Lestrade. Suffice to say, my research has thrown up some fascinating results. From the nuclei of the white blood cells I managed to extract and study what I call nuclein. We all carry nuclein in our bodies, Inspector, in wonderful spirals that would take your breath away were you to behold them through the lenses of my powerful microscopes. Beautiful … and every single one is different. As different as our fingerprints.”
    Lestrade opened his mouth to dismiss the Swiss physician once and for all and then paused, screwing up his eyes. “Different, you say?”
    “Like a signature buried deep inside our most microscopic parts.” Miescher nodded enthusiastically. “So you see…”
    Lestrade rubbed his chin. “So the blood of poor old Emily Dawson could be proved to be different from mine, or yours. I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”
    Miescher’s eyes widened. “I could help you, Inspector. I could help you catch Jack the Ripper. If only there is a single white blood cell…”
    “There is plenty of blood, Doctor, but I fear it belongs to his victim.”
    “Ah, but perhaps she fought back, Inspector. Perhaps she raked her nails along his face. Perhaps there is a tiny fleck of blood beneath those nails, or perhaps a few flakes of skin.”
    Finally, the penny dropped. “So with this … this blood signature, you could identify the killer?”
    “We could if we can match it with another sample,” agreed Miescher.
    Lestrade sighed, deflated. “You do know how many people there are in London, Doctor Miescher? Are you proposing we go and—what? Obtain blood samples from all of ’em?”
    “The process is in its infancy,” admitted the doctor. “But from what I read in the newspapers this morning … you can use all the help you can get, eh?”
    Lestrade stared at the body for a long moment as Ayres and Rubicon began to walk back toward him down the alley. Finally he said, “All right, but not here. Don’t want to give the vultures too much to crow about. We’ll transfer the body to the morgue when we have finished here, and you can do your trickery there. In the meantime…” An idea had struck Lestrade, one that almost made him smile.
    “Constable Ayres,” he said. “I believe your earlier report was of a quantity of blood at Professor Rubicon’s laboratories.”
    “That’s right, sir.”
    “Constable, please take Professor Rubicon and Doctor Miescher to Bishopsgate, where our Swiss friend will be very interested in those blood stains. And Ayres … make sure you talk about this as loudly as possible as you pass Mr. Aloysius Bent.”
    “But sir, I thought you said—”
    “I know what I said, Constable, but I’ve changed my