I am back, and I have some disturbing news. The picture I drew this morning now looks much like myself. I think Charles changed the picture. I must change the gravestone somehow.

It’s about half past eleven, and I’ve done it.
I said to Charles casually, "I have to go to the bathroom."
He nodded and said, "It’s in the hallway downstairs."
I went downstairs, took a hammer, and smashed my name.

With some charcoal from the hearth, I wrote, "Charles Atkinson." I also changed the birthdate to September fourteenth, though I wasn’t really sure when his birthday was.

After that I came back up here. I have decided to get rid of Charles.

Lytton Street
August 21, 1900

I have survived the night. Let me tell you what happened. I broke off the wooden table leg and hit Charles over the head. When I went to retrieve my journal, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Maria at the steps. I grabbed my journal, ran down the stairs, and came here. I am going to stay here for a while. I think Maria saw me kill Charles.

Gilchrist Road, Clapham
August 13, 1901

I haven’t written in about a year. I am now in jail. Today I went to court. With Maria as a witness and the police’s forensic evidence, there is enough evidence to prove that I killed Charles.

The judge announed, "James Clarence Withencroft will be sentenced tomorrow."