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attention, both for her own sake as one of the most remarkable characters I have ever known and 
for the influence of her intervention on my affairs. 
Her name was Vittoria Cremers. She claimed to be the bastard of a wealthy English Jew and to have 
married a knavish Austrian baron. She was an intimate friend of Mabel Collins, authoress of The 
Blossom and the Fruit, the novel which has left so deep a mark upon my early ideas about Magick. 
In 1912 she was in her fifties. Her face was stern and square, with terribly intense eyes from which 
glared an expression of indescribably pain and hopeless horror. Her hair was bobbed and dirty 
white, her dress severely 
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masculine save the single concession of a short straight skirt. Her figure was sturdy and her gait 
determined though awkward. Laylah found her in a miserable room on 176th Street or thereabouts. 
Pitifully poor, she had not been able to buy Liber 777 and had therefore worked week after week 
copying in the Astor Library. She impressed Laylah as an ernest seeker and a practical business 
woman. She professed the utmost devotion to me and proposed to come to England and put the 
work of the Order on a sound basis. I thought the idea was excellent, paid her passage to England 
and established her as a manageress. 
Technically, I digress; but I cannot refrain from telling her favourite story. She boasted of her 
virginity and of the intimacy of her relations with Mabel Collins, with whom she lived a long time. 
Mabel had however divided her favours with a very strange man whose career had been 
extraordinary. He had been an officer in a cavalry regiment, a doctor, and I know not how many 
other things in his time. He was now in desperate poverty and depended entirely on Mabel Collins 
for his daily bread. This man claimed to be an advanced Magician, boasting of many mysterious 
powers and even occasionally demonstrating the same. 
At this time London was agog with the exploits of Jack the Ripper. One theory of the motive of the 
murderer was that he was performing an Operation to obtain the Supreme Black Magical Power. The 
seven women had to be killed so that their seven bodies formed a "Calvary cross of seven points" 
with its head to the west. The theory was that after killing the third or the fourth, I forget which, 
the murderer acquired the power of invisibility, and this was confirmed by the fact that in one case 
a policeman heard the shrieks of the dying woman and reached her before life was extinct, yet she 
lay in a cul-de-sac, with no possible exit save to the street; and the policeman saw no signs of the 
assassin, thought he was patrolling outside, expressly on the lookout. 
Miss Collins' friend took great interest in these murders. He discussed them with her and Cremers on 
several occasions. He gave them imitations of how the murderer might have accomplished his task 
without arousing the suspicion of his victims until the last moment. Cremers objected that his 
escape must have been a risky matter, because of his habit of devouring certain portions of the 
ladies before leaving them. What about the blood on his collar and shirt? The lecturer demonstrated 
that any gentleman in evening dress had merely to turn up the collar of a light overcoat to conceal 
any traces of his supper. 
Time passed! Mabel tired of her friend, but did not dare to get rid of him because he had a packet 
of compromising letters written by her. Cremers offered to steal these from him. In the man's 
bedroom was a tin uniform case which he kept under the bed to which he attached it by cords. 
Neither of the 
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women had ever seen this open and Cremers suspected that he kept these letters in it. She got him 
out of the way for a day by a forged telegram, entered the room, untied the cords and drew the box 
from under the bed. To her surprise it was very light, as if empty. She proceeded nevertheless to 
pick the lock and open it. There were no letters; there was nothing in the box, but seven white 
evening dress ties, all stiff and black with clotted blood!