Страница:
have heard the news?"
The doctor shuddered. "They were crying it in the square," he said.
"I heard them in my dining-room."
"One word," said the lawyer. "Carew was my client, but so are you,
and I want to know what I am doing. You have not been mad enough to hide
this fellow?"
"Utterson, I swear to God," cried the doctor, "I swear to God I will
never set eyes on him again. I bind my honour to you that I am done with
him in this world. It is all at an end. And indeed he does not want my
help; you do not know him as I do; he is safe, he is quite safe; mark my
words, he will never more be heard of."
The lawyer listened gloomily; he did not like his friend's feverish
manner. "You seem pretty sure of him," said he; "and for your sake, I hope
you may be right. If it came to a trial, your name might appear."
"I am quite sure of him," replied Jekyll; "I have grounds for
certainty that I cannot share with any one. But there is one thing on
which you may advise me. I have-I have received a letter; and I am at a
loss whether I should show it to the police. I should like to leave it in
your hands, Utterson; you would judge wisely, I am sure; I have so great a
trust in you."
"You fear, I suppose, that it might lead to his detection?" asked the
lawyer.
"No," said the other. "I cannot say that I care what becomes of Hyde;
I am quite done with him. I was thinking of my own character, which this
hateful business has rather exposed."
Utterson ruminated awhile; he was surprised at his friend's
selfishness, and yet relieved by it. "Well," said he, at last, let me see
the letter."
The letter was written in an odd, upright hand and signed "Edward
Hyde": and it signified, briefly enough, that the writer's benefactor, Dr.
Jekyll, whom he had long so unworthily repaid for a thousand generosities,
need labour under no alarm for his safety, as he had means of escape on
which he placed a sure dependence. The lawyer liked this letter well
enough; it put a better colour on the intimacy than he had looked for; and
he blamed himself for some of his past suspicions.
"Have you the envelope?" he asked.
"I burned it," replied Jekyll, "before I thought what I was about.
But it bore no postmark. The note was handed in."
"Shall I keep this and sleep upon it?" asked Utterson.
"I wish you to judge for me entirely," was the reply. "I have lost
confidence in myself."
"Well, I shall consider," returned the lawyer. "And now one word
more: it was Hyde who dictated the terms in your will about that
disappearance?"
The doctor seemed seized with a qualm of faintness; he shut his mouth
tight and nodded.
"I knew it," said Utterson. "He meant to murder you. You had a fine
escape."
"I have had what is far more to the purpose," returned the doctor
solemnly: "I have had a lesson-O God, Utterson, what a lesson I have had!"
And he covered his face for a moment with his hands.
On his way out, the lawyer stopped and had a word or two with Poole.
"By the bye," said he, "there was a letter handed in to-day: what was the
messenger like?" But Poole was positive nothing had come except by post;
"and only circulars by that," he added.
This news sent off the visitor with his fears renewed. Plainly the
letter had come by the laboratory door; possibly, indeed, it had been
written in the cabinet; and if that were so, it must be differently
judged, and handled with the more caution. The newsboys, as he went, were
crying themselves hoarse along the footways: "Special edition. Shocking
murder of an M.P." That was the funeral oration of one friend and client;
and he could not help a certain apprehension lest the good name of another
should be sucked down in the eddy of the scandal. It was, at least, a
ticklish decision that he had to make; and self-reliant as he was by
habit, he began to cherish a longing for advice. It was not to be had
directly; but perhaps, he thought, it might be fished for.
Presently after, he sat on one side of his own hearth, with Mr.
Guest, his head clerk, upon the other, and midway between, at a nicely
calculated distance from the fire, a bottle of a particular old wine that
had long dwelt unsunned in the foundations of his house. The fog still
slept on the wing above the drowned city, where the lamps glimmered like
carbuncles; and through the muffle and smother of these fallen clouds, the
procession of the town's life was still rolling in through the great
arteries with a sound as of a mighty wind. But the room was gay with
firelight. In the bottle the acids were long ago resolved; the imperial
dye had softened with time, as the colour grows richer in stained windows;
and the glow of hot autumn afternoons on hillside vineyards, was ready to
be set free and to disperse the fogs of London. Insensibly the lawyer
melted. There was no man from whom he kept fewer secrets than Mr. Guest;
and he was not always sure that he kept as many as he meant. Guest had
often been on business to the doctor's; he knew Poole; he could scarce
have failed to hear of Mr. Hyde's familiarity about the house; he might
draw conclusions: was it not as well, then, that he should see a letter
which put that mystery to right? and above all since Guest, being a great
student and critic of handwriting, would consider the step natural and
obliging? The clerk, besides, was a man of counsel; he could scarce read
so strange a document without dropping a remark; and by that remark Mr.
Utterson might shape his future course.
"This is a sad business about Sir Danvers," he said.
"Yes, sir, indeed. It has elicited a great deal of public feeling,"
returned Guest. "The man, of course, was mad."
"I should like to hear your views on that," replied Utterson. "I have
a document here in his handwriting; it is between ourselves, for I scarce
know what to do about it; it is an ugly business at the best. But there it
is; quite in your way: a murderer's autograph."
Guest's eyes brightened, and he sat down at once and studied it with
passion. "No sir," he said: "not mad; but it is an odd hand."
"And by all accounts a very odd writer," added the lawyer.
Just then the servant entered with a note.
"Is that from Dr. Jekyll, sir?" inquired the clerk. "I thought I knew
the writing. Anything private, Mr. Utterson?
"Only an invitation to dinner. Why? Do you want to see it?"
"One moment. I thank you, sir;" and the clerk laid the two sheets of
paper alongside and sedulously compared their contents. "Thank you, sir,"
he said at last, returning both; "it's a very interesting autograph."
There was a pause, during which Mr. Utterson struggled with himself.
"Why did you compare them, Guest?" he inquired suddenly.
"Well, sir," returned the clerk, "there's a rather singular
resemblance; the two hands are in many points identical: only differently
sloped."
"Rather quaint," said Utterson.
"It is, as you say, rather quaint," returned Guest.
"I wouldn't speak of this note, you know," said the master.
"No, sir," said the clerk. "I understand."
But no sooner was Mr. Utterson alone that night, than he locked the
note into his safe, where it reposed from that time forward. "What!" he
thought. "Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer!" And his blood ran cold in
his veins.
Time ran on; thousands of pounds were offered in reward, for the
death of Sir Danvers was resented as a public injury; but Mr. Hyde had
disappeared out of the ken of the police as though he had never existed.
Much of his past was unearthed, indeed, and all disreputable: tales came
out of the man's cruelty, at once so callous and violent; of his vile
life, of his strange associates, of the hatred that seemed to have
surrounded his career; but of his present whereabouts, not a whisper. From
the time he had left the house in Soho on the morning of the murder, he
was simply blotted out; and gradually, as time drew on, Mr. Utterson began
to recover from the hotness of his alarm, and to grow more at quiet with
himself. The death of Sir Danvers was, to his way of thinking, more than
paid for by the disappearance of Mr. Hyde. Now that that evil influence
had been withdrawn, a new life began for Dr. Jekyll. He came out of his
seclusion, renewed relations with his friends, became once more their
familiar guest and entertainer; and whilst he had always been known for
charities, he was now no less distinguished for religion. He was busy, he
was much in the open air, he did good; his face seemed to open and
brighten, as if with an inward consciousness of service; and for more than
two months, the doctor was at peace.
On the 8th of January Utterson had dined at the doctor's with a small
party; Lanyon had been there; and the face of the host had looked from one
to the other as in the old days when the trio were inseparable friends. On
the 12th, and again on the 14th, the door was shut against the lawyer.
"The doctor was confined to the house," Poole said, "and saw no one." On
the 15th, he tried again, and was again refused; and having now been used
for the last two months to see his friend almost daily, he found this
return of solitude to weigh upon his spirits. The fifth night he had in
Guest to dine with him; and the sixth he betook himself to Dr. Lanyon's.
There at least he was not denied admittance; but when he came in, he
was shocked at the change which had taken place in the doctor's
appearance. He had his death-warrant written legibly upon his face. The
rosy man had grown pale; his flesh had fallen away; he was visibly balder
and older; and yet it was not so much these tokens of a swift physical
decay that arrested the lawyer's notice, as a look in the eye and quality
of manner that seemed to testify to some deep-seated terror of the mind.
It was unlikely that the doctor should fear death; and yet that was what
Utterson was tempted to suspect. "Yes," he thought; he is a doctor, he
must know his own state and that his days are counted; and the knowledge
is more than he can bear." And yet when Utterson remarked on his
ill-looks, it was with an air of great firmness that Lanyon declared
himself a doomed man.
"I have had a shock," he said, "and I shall never recover. It is a
question of weeks. Well, life has been pleasant; I liked it; yes, sir, I
used to like it. I sometimes think if we knew all, we should be more glad
to get away."
"Jekyll is ill, too," observed Utterson. "Have you seen him?"
But Lanyon's face changed, and he held up a trembling hand. "I wish
to see or hear no more of Dr. Jekyll," he said in a loud, unsteady voice.
"I am quite done with that person; and I beg that you will spare me any
allusion to one whom I regard as dead."
"Tut-tut," said Mr. Utterson; and then after a considerable pause,
"Can't I do anything?" he inquired. "We are three very old friends,
Lanyon; we shall not live to make others."
"Nothing can be done," returned Lanyon; "ask himself."
"He will not see me," said the lawyer.
"I am not surprised at that," was the reply. "Some day, Utterson,
after I am dead, you may perhaps come to learn the right and wrong of
this. I cannot tell you. And in the meantime, if you can sit and talk with
me of other things, for God's sake, stay and do so; but if you cannot keep
clear of this accursed topic, then in God's name, go, for I cannot bear
it."
As soon as he got home, Utterson sat down and wrote to Jekyll,
complaining of his exclusion from the house, and asking the cause of this
unhappy break with Lanyon; and the next day brought him a long answer,
often very pathetically worded, and sometimes darkly mysterious in drift.
The quarrel with Lanyon was incurable. "I do not blame our old friend,"
Jekyll wrote, but I share his view that we must never meet. I mean from
henceforth to lead a life of extreme seclusion; you must not be surprised,
nor must you doubt my friendship, if my door is often shut even to you.
You must suffer me to go my own dark way. I have brought on myself a
punishment and a danger that I cannot name. If I am the chief of sinners,
I am the chief of sufferers also. I could not think that this earth
contained a place for sufferings and terrors so unmanning; and you can do
but one thing, Utterson, to lighten this destiny, and that is to respect
my silence." Utterson was amazed; the dark influence of Hyde had been
withdrawn, the doctor had returned to his old tasks and amities; a week
ago, the prospect had smiled with every promise of a cheerful and an
honoured age; and now in a moment, friendship, and peace of mind, and the
whole tenor of his life were wrecked. So great and unprepared a change
pointed to madness; but in view of Lanyon's manner and words, there must
lie for it some deeper ground.
A week afterwards Dr. Lanyon took to his bed, and in something less
than a fortnight he was dead. The night after the funeral, at which he had
been sadly affected, Utterson locked the door of his business room, and
sitting there by the light of a melancholy candle, drew out and set before
him an envelope addressed by the hand and sealed with the seal of his dead
friend. "PRIVATE: for the hands of G. J. Utterson ALONE, and in case of
his predecease to be destroyed unread," so it was emphatically
superscribed; and the lawyer dreaded to behold the contents. "I have
buried one friend to-day," he thought: "what if this should cost me
another?" And then he condemned the fear as a disloyalty, and broke the
seal. Within there was another enclosure, likewise sealed, and marked upon
the cover as "not to be opened till the death or disappearance of Dr.
Henry Jekyll." Utterson could not trust his eyes. Yes, it was
disappearance; here again, as in the mad will which he had long ago
restored to its author, here again were the idea of a disappearance and
the name of Henry Jekyll bracketted. But in the will, that idea had sprung
from the sinister suggestion of the man Hyde; it was set there with a
purpose all too plain and horrible. Written by the hand of Lanyon, what
should it mean? A great curiosity came on the trustee, to disregard the
prohibition and dive at once to the bottom of these mysteries; but
professional honour and faith to his dead friend were stringent
obligations; and the packet slept in the inmost corner of his private
safe.
It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it; and it
may be doubted if, from that day forth, Utterson desired the society of
his surviving friend with the same eagerness. He thought of him kindly;
but his thoughts were disquieted and fearful. He went to call indeed; but
he was perhaps relieved to be denied admittance; perhaps, in his heart, he
preferred to speak with Poole upon the doorstep and surrounded by the air
and sounds of the open city, rather than to be admitted into that house of
voluntary bondage, and to sit and speak with its inscrutable recluse.
Poole had, indeed, no very pleasant news to communicate. The doctor, it
appeared, now more than ever confined himself to the cabinet over the
laboratory, where he would sometimes even sleep; he was out of spirits, he
had grown very silent, he did not read; it seemed as if he had something
on his mind. Utterson became so used to the unvarying character of these
reports, that he fell off little by little in the frequency of his visits.
It chanced on Sunday, when Mr. Utterson was on his usual walk with
Mr. Enfield, that their way lay once again through the by-street; and that
when they came in front of the door, both stopped to gaze on it.
"Well," said Enfield, "that story's at an end at least. We shall
never see more of Mr. Hyde."
"I hope not," said Utterson. "Did I ever tell you that I once saw
him, and shared your feeling of repulsion?"
"It was impossible to do the one without the other," returned
Enfield. "And by the way, what an ass you must have thought me, not to
know that this was a back way to Dr. Jekyll's! It was partly your own
fault that I found it out, even when I did."
"So you found it out, did you?" said Utterson. "But if that be so, we
may step into the court and take a look at the windows. To tell you the
truth, I am uneasy about poor Jekyll; and even outside, I feel as if the
presence of a friend might do him good."
The court was very cool and a little damp, and full of premature
twilight, although the sky, high up overhead, was still bright with
sunset. The middle one of the three windows was half-way open; and sitting
close beside it, taking the air with an infinite sadness of mien, like
some disconsolate prisoner, Utterson saw Dr. Jekyll.
"What! Jekyll!" he cried. "I trust you are better."
"I am very low, Utterson," replied the doctor drearily, "very low. It
will not last long, thank God."
"You stay too much indoors," said the lawyer. "You should be out,
whipping up the circulation like Mr. Enfield and me. (This is my
cousin-Mr. Enfield-Dr. Jekyll.) Come now; get your hat and take a quick
turn with us."
"You are very good," sighed the other. "I should like to very much;
but no, no, no, it is quite impossible; I dare not. But indeed, Utterson,
I am very glad to see you; this is really a great pleasure; I would ask
you and Mr. Enfield up, but the place is really not fit."
"Why, then," said the lawyer, good-naturedly, "the best thing we can
do is to stay down here and speak with you from where we are."
"That is just what I was about to venture to propose," returned the
doctor with a smile. But the words were hardly uttered, before the smile
was struck out of his face and succeeded by an expression of such abject
terror and despair, as froze the very blood of the two gentlemen below.
They saw it but for a glimpse for the window was instantly thrust down;
but that glimpse had been sufficient, and they turned and left the court
without a word. In silence, too, they traversed the by-street; and it was
not until they had come into a neighbouring thoroughfare, where even upon
a Sunday there were still some stirrings of life, that Mr. Utterson at
last turned and looked at his companion. They were both pale; and there
was an answering horror in their eyes.
"God forgive us, God forgive us," said Mr. Utterson.
But Mr. Enfield only nodded his head very seriously, and walked on
once more in silence.
Mr. Utterson was sitting by his fireside one evening after dinner,
when he was surprised to receive a visit from Poole.
"Bless me, Poole, what brings you here?" he cried; and then taking a
second look at him, "What ails you?" he added; is the doctor ill?"
"Mr. Utterson," said the man, "there is something wrong."
"Take a seat, and here is a glass of wine for you," said the lawyer.
"Now, take your time, and tell me plainly what you want."
"You know the doctor's ways, sir," replied Poole, "and how he shuts
himself up. Well, he's shut up again in the cabinet; and I don't like it,
sir-I wish I may die if I like it. Mr. Utterson, sir, I'm afraid."
"Now, my good man," said the lawyer, "be explicit. What are you
afraid of?"
"I've been afraid for about a week," returned Poole, doggedly
disregarding the question, "and I can bear it no more."
The man's appearance amply bore out his words; his manner was altered
for the worse; and except for the moment when he had first announced his
terror, he had not once looked the lawyer in the face. Even now, he sat
with the glass of wine untasted on his knee, and his eyes directed to a
corner of the floor. "I can bear it no more,"he repeated.
"Come," said the lawyer, "I see you have some good reason, Poole; I
see there is something seriously amiss. Try to tell me what it is."
"I think there's been foul play," said Poole, hoarsely.
"Foul play!" cried the lawyer, a good deal frightened and rather
inclined to be irritated in consequence. "What foul play! What does the
man mean?"
"I daren't say, sir," was the answer; but will you come along with me
and see for yourself?"
Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his hat and greatcoat;
but he observed with wonder the greatness of the relief that appeared upon
the butler's face, and perhaps with no less, that the wine was still
untasted when he set it down to follow.
It was a wild, cold, seasonable night of March, with a pale moon,
lying on her back as though the wind had tilted her, and flying wrack of
the most diaphanous and lawny texture. The wind made talking difficult,
and flecked the blood into the face. It seemed to have swept the streets
unusually bare of passengers, besides; for Mr. Utterson thought he had
never seen that part of London so deserted. He could have wished it
otherwise; never in his life had he been conscious of so sharp a wish to
see and touch his fellow-creatures; for struggle as he might, there was
borne in upon his mind a crushing anticipation of calamity. The square,
when they got there, was full of wind and dust, and the thin trees in the
garden were lashing themselves along the railing. Poole, who had kept all
the way a pace or two ahead, now pulled up in the middle of the pavement,
and in spite of the biting weather, took off his hat and mopped his brow
with a red pocket-handkerchief. But for all the hurry of his coming, these
were not the dews of exertion that he wiped away, but the moisture of some
strangling anguish; for his face was white and his voice, when he spoke,
harsh and broken.
"Well, sir," he said, "here we are, and God grant there be nothing
wrong."
"Amen, Poole," said the lawyer.
Thereupon the servant knocked in a very guarded manner; the door was
opened on the chain; and a voice asked from within, "Is that you, Poole?"
"It's all right," said Poole. "Open the door."
The hall, when they entered it, was brightly lighted up; the fire was
built high; and about the hearth the whole of the servants, men and women,
stood huddled together like a flock of sheep. At the sight of Mr.
Utterson, the housemaid broke into hysterical whimpering; and the cook,
crying out "Bless God! it's Mr. Utterson," ran forward as if to take him
in her arms.
"What, what? Are you all here?" said the lawyer peevishly. "Very
irregular, very unseemly; your master would be far from pleased."
"They're all afraid," said Poole.
Blank silence followed, no one protesting; only the maid lifted her
voice and now wept loudly.
"Hold your tongue!" Poole said to her, with a ferocity of accent that
testified to his own jangled nerves; and indeed, when the girl had so
suddenly raised the note of her lamentation, they had all started and
turned towards the inner door with faces of dreadful expectation. "And
now," continued the butler, addressing the knife-boy, "reach me a candle,
and we'll get this through hands at once." And then he begged Mr. Utterson
to follow him, and led the way to the back garden.
"Now, sir," said he, "you come as gently as you can. I want you to
hear, and I don't want you to be heard. And see here, sir, if by any
chance he was to ask you in, don't go."
Mr. Utterson's nerves, at this unlooked-for termination, gave a jerk
that nearly threw him from his balance; but he recollected his courage and
followed the butler into the laboratory building through the surgical
theatre, with its lumber of crates and bottles, to the foot of the stair.
Here Poole motioned him to stand on one side and listen; while he himself,
setting down the candle and making a great and obvious call on his
resolution, mounted the steps and knocked with a somewhat uncertain hand
on the red baize of the cabinet door.
"Mr. Utterson, sir, asking to see you," he called; and even as he did
so, once more violently signed to the lawyer to give ear.
A voice answered from within: "Tell him I cannot see anyone," it said
complainingly.
"Thank you, sir," said Poole, with a note of something like triumph
in his voice; and taking up his candle, he led Mr. Utterson back across
the yard and into the great kitchen, where the fire was out and the
beetles were leaping on the floor.
"Sir," he said, looking Mr. Utterson in the eyes, "Was that my
master's voice?"
"It seems much changed," replied the lawyer, very pale, but giving
look for look.
"Changed? Well, yes, I think so," said the butler. "Have I been
twenty years in this man's house, to be deceived about his voice? No, sir;
master's made away with; he was made away with eight days ago, when we
heard him cry out upon the name of God; and who's in there instead of him,
and why it stays there, is a thing that cries to Heaven, Mr. Utterson!"
"This is a very strange tale, Poole; this is rather a wild tale my
man," said Mr. Utterson, biting his finger. "Suppose it were as you
suppose, supposing Dr. Jekyll to have been-well, murdered what could
induce the murderer to stay? That won't hold water; it doesn't commend
itself to reason."
"Well, Mr. Utterson, you are a hard man to satisfy, but I'll do it
yet," said Poole. "All this last week (you must know) him, or it, whatever
it is that lives in that cabinet, has been crying night and day for some
sort of medicine and cannot get it to his mind. It was sometimes his
way-the master's, that is-to write his orders on a sheet of paper and
throw it on the stair. We've had nothing else this week back; nothing but
papers, and a closed door, and the very meals left there to be smuggled in
when nobody was looking. Well, sir, every day, ay, and twice and thrice in
the same day, there have been orders and complaints, and I have been sent
flying to all the wholesale chemists in town. Every time I brought the
stuff back, there would be another paper telling me to return it, because
it was not pure, and another order to a different firm. This drug is
wanted bitter bad, sir, whatever for."
"Have you any of these papers?" asked Mr. Utterson.
Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled note, which the
lawyer, bending nearer to the candle, carefully examined. Its contents ran
thus: "Dr. Jekyll presents his compliments to Messrs. Maw. He assures them
that their last sample is impure and quite useless for his present
purpose. In the year 18-, Dr. J. purchased a somewhat large quantity from
Messrs. M. He now begs them to search with most sedulous care,and should
any of the same quality be left, forward it to him at once. Expense is no
consideration. The importance of this to Dr. J. can hardly be exaggerated."
So far the letter had run composedly enough, but here with a sudden
splutter of the pen, the writer's emotion had broken loose. "For God's
sake," he added, "find me some of the old."
"This is a strange note," said Mr. Utterson; and then sharply, "How
do you come to have it open?"
"The man at Maw's was main angry, sir, and he threw it back to me
like so much dirt," returned Poole.
"This is unquestionably the doctor's hand, do you know?" resumed the
lawyer.
"I thought it looked like it," said the servant rather sulkily; and
then, with another voice, "But what matters hand of write?" he said. "I've
seen him!"
"Seen him?" repeated Mr. Utterson. "Well?"
"That's it!" said Poole. "It was this way. I came suddenly into the
theater from the garden. It seems he had slipped out to look for this drug
or whatever it is; for the cabinet door was open, and there he was at the
far end of the room digging among the crates. He looked up when I came in,
gave a kind of cry, and whipped upstairs into the cabinet. It was but for
one minute that I saw him, but the hair stood upon my head like quills.
Sir, if that was my master, why had he a mask upon his face? If it was my
master, why did he cry out like a rat, and run from me? I have served him
long enough. And then..." The man paused and passed his hand over his
face.
"These are all very strange circumstances," said Mr. Utterson, "but I
think I begin to see daylight. Your master, Poole, is plainly seized with
one of those maladies that both torture and deform the sufferer; hence,
for aught I know, the alteration of his voice; hence the mask and the
avoidance of his friends; hence his eagerness to find this drug, by means
of which the poor soul retains some hope of ultimate recovery-God grant
that he be not deceived! There is my explanation; it is sad enough, Poole,
ay, and appalling to consider; but it is plain and natural, hangs well
together, and delivers us from all exorbitant alarms."
"Sir," said the butler, turning to a sort of mottled pallor, "that
thing was not my master, and there's the truth. My master"-here he looked
round him and began to whisper-"is a tall, fine build of a man, and this
was more of a dwarf." Utterson attempted to protest. "O, sir," cried
Poole, "do you think I do not know my master after twenty years? Do you
think I do not know where his head comes to in the cabinet door, where I
saw him every morning of my life? No, sir, that thing in the mask was
never Dr. Jekyll-God knows what it was, but it was never Dr. Jekyll; and
it is the belief of my heart that there was murder done."
"Poole," replied the lawyer, "if you say that, it will become my duty
to make certain. Much as I desire to spare your master's feelings, much as
I am puzzled by this note which seems to prove him to be still alive, I
shall consider it my duty to break in that door."
"Ah, Mr. Utterson, that's talking!" cried the butler.
"And now comes the second question," resumed Utterson: "Who is going
to do it?"
"Why, you and me, sir," was the undaunted reply.
"That's very well said," returned the lawyer; "and whatever comes of
it, I shall make it my business to see you are no loser."
"There is an axe in the theatre," continued Poole; "and you might
take the kitchen poker for yourself."
The lawyer took that rude but weighty instrument into his hand, and
balanced it. "Do you know, Poole," he said, looking up, "that you and I
are about to place ourselves in a position of some peril?"
"You may say so, sir, indeed," returned the butler.
"It is well, then that we should be frank," said the other. "We both
think more than we have said; let us make a clean breast. This masked
figure that you saw, did you recognise it?"
"Well, sir, it went so quick, and the creature was so doubled up,
that I could hardly swear to that," was the answer. "But if you mean, was
it Mr. Hyde?-why, yes, I think it was!" You see, it was much of the same
bigness; and it had the same quick, light way with it; and then who else
could have got in by the laboratory door? You have not forgot, sir, that
at the time of the murder he had still the key with him? But that's not
all. I don't know, Mr. Utterson, if you ever met this Mr. Hyde?"
"Yes," said the lawyer, "I once spoke with him."
"Then you must know as well as the rest of us that there was
something queer about that gentleman-something that gave a man a turn-I
don't know rightly how to say it, sir, beyond this: that you felt in your
marrow kind of cold and thin."
"I own I felt something of what you describe," said Mr. Utterson.
"Quite so, sir," returned Poole. "Well, when that masked thing like a
monkey jumped from among the chemicals and whipped into the cabinet, it
went down my spine like ice. O, I know it's not evidence, Mr. Utterson;
I'm book-learned enough for that; but a man has his feelings, and I give
you my bible-word it was Mr. Hyde!"
"Ay, ay," said the lawyer. "My fears incline to the same point. Evil,
I fear, founded-evil was sure to come-of that connection. Ay truly, I
believe you; I believe poor Harry is killed; and I believe his murderer
(for what purpose, God alone can tell) is still lurking in his victim's
room. Well, let our name be vengeance. Call Bradshaw."
The footman came at the summons, very white and nervous.
"Put yourself together, Bradshaw," said the lawyer. "This suspense, I
know, is telling upon all of you; but it is now our intention to make an
end of it. Poole, here, and I are going to force our way into the cabinet.
If all is well, my shoulders are broad enough to bear the blame.
Meanwhile, lest anything should really be amiss, or any malefactor seek to
escape by the back, you and the boy must go round the corner with a pair
of good sticks and take your post at the laboratory door. We give you ten
minutes, to get to your stations."
As Bradshaw left, the lawyer looked at his watch. "And now, Poole,
let us get to ours," he said; and taking the poker under his arm, led the
way into the yard. The scud had banked over the moon, and it was now quite
dark. The wind, which only broke in puffs and draughts into that deep well
of building, tossed the light of the candle to and fro about their steps,
until they came into the shelter of the theatre, where they sat down
silently to wait. London hummed solemnly all around; but nearer at hand,
the stillness was only broken by the sounds of a footfall moving to and
fro along the cabinet floor.
"So it will walk all day, sir," whispered Poole; "ay, and the better
part of the night. Only when a new sample comes from the chemist, there's
a bit of a break. Ah, it's an ill conscience that's such an enemy to rest!
Ah, sir, there's blood foully shed in every step of it! But hark again, a
little closer-put your heart in your ears, Mr. Utterson, and tell me, is
that the doctor's foot?"
The steps fell lightly and oddly, with a certain swing, for all they
went so slowly; it was different indeed from the heavy creaking tread of
Henry Jekyll. Utterson sighed. "Is there never anything else?" he asked.
Poole nodded. "Once," he said. "Once I heard it weeping!"
"Weeping? how that?" said the lawyer, conscious of a sudden chill of
horror.
"Weeping like a woman or a lost soul," said the butler. "I came away
with that upon my heart, that I could have wept too."
But now the ten minutes drew to an end. Poole disinterred the axe
from under a stack of packing straw; the candle was set upon the nearest
table to light them to the attack; and they drew near with bated breath to
where that patient foot was still going up and down, up and down, in the
quiet of the night. "Jekyll," cried Utterson, with a loud voice, "I demand
to see you." He paused a moment, but there came no reply. "I give you fair
warning, our suspicions are aroused, and I must and shall see you," he
resumed; "if not by fair means, then by foul-if not of your consent, then
by brute force!"
"Utterson," said the voice, "for God's sake, have mercy!"
"Ah, that's not Jekyll's voice-it's Hyde's!" cried Utterson. "Down
with the door, Poole!"
Poole swung the axe over his shoulder; the blow shook the building,
and the red baize door leaped against the lock and hinges. A dismal
screech, as of mere animal terror, rang from the cabinet. Up went the axe
again, and again the panels crashed and the frame bounded; four times the
blow fell; but the wood was tough and the fittings were of excellent
workmanship; and it was not until the fifth, that the lock burst and the
wreck of the door fell inwards on the carpet.
The besiegers, appalled by their own riot and the stillness that had
succeeded, stood back a little and peered in. There lay the cabinet before
their eyes in the quiet lamplight, a good fire glowing and chattering on
the hearth, the kettle singing its thin strain, a drawer or two open,
papers neatly set forth on the business table, and nearer the fire, the
things laid out for tea; the quietest room, you would have said, and, but
for the glazed presses full of chemicals, the most commonplace that night
in London.
Right in the middle there lay the body of a man sorely contorted and
still twitching. They drew near on tiptoe, turned it on its back and
beheld the face of Edward Hyde. He was dressed in clothes far to large for
him, clothes of the doctor's bigness; the cords of his face still moved
with a semblance of life, but life was quite gone: and by the crushed
phial in the hand and the strong smell of kernels that hung upon the air,
Utterson knew that he was looking on the body of a self-destroyer.
"We have come too late," he said sternly, "whether to save or punish.
Hyde is gone to his account; and it only remains for us to find the body
of your master."
The far greater proportion of the building was occupied by the
theatre, which filled almost the whole ground storey and was lighted from
above, and by the cabinet, which formed an upper story at one end and
looked upon the court. A corridor joined the theatre to the door on the
by-street; and with this the cabinet communicated separately by a second
flight of stairs. There were besides a few dark closets and a spacious
cellar. All these they now thorougly examined. Each closet needed but a
glance, for all were empty, and all, by the dust that fell from their
doors, had stood long unopened. The cellar, indeed, was filled with crazy
lumber, mostly dating from the times of the surgeon who was Jekyll's
predecessor; but even as they opened the door they were advertised of the
uselessness of further search, by the fall of a perfect mat of cobweb
which had for years sealed up the entrance. No where was there any trace
of Henry Jekyll dead or alive.
Poole stamped on the flags of the corridor. "He must be buried here,"
he said, hearkening to the sound.
"Or he may have fled," said Utterson, and he turned to examine the
door in the by-street. It was locked; and lying near by on the flags, they
found the key, already stained with rust.
"This does not look like use," observed the lawyer.
"Use!" echoed Poole. "Do you not see, sir, it is broken? much as if a
man had stamped on it."
"Ay," continued Utterson, "and the fractures, too, are rusty." The
two men looked at each other with a scare. "This is beyond me, Poole,"
said the lawyer. "Let us go back to the cabinet."
They mounted the stair in silence, and still with an occasional
awestruck glance at the dead body, proceeded more thoroughly to examine
the contents of the cabinet. At one table, there were traces of chemical
work, various measured heaps of some white salt being laid on glass
saucers, as though for an experiment in which the unhappy man had been
prevented.
"That is the same drug that I was always bringing him," said Poole;
and even as he spoke, the kettle with a startling noise boiled over.
This brought them to the fireside, where the easy-chair was drawn
cosily up, and the tea things stood ready to the sitter's elbow, the very
sugar in the cup. There were several books on a shelf; one lay beside the
tea things open, and Utterson was amazed to find it a copy of a pious
work, for which Jekyll had several times expressed a great esteem,
annotated, in his own hand with startling blasphemies.
Next, in the course of their review of the chamber, the searchers
came to the cheval-glass, into whose depths they looked with an
involuntary horror. But it was so turned as to show them nothing but the
rosy glow playing on the roof, the fire sparkling in a hundred repetitions
along the glazed front of the presses, and their own pale and fearful
countenances stooping to look in.
"This glass has seen some strange things, sir," whispered Poole.
"And surely none stranger than itself," echoed the lawyer in the same
tones. "For what did Jekyll"-he caught himself up at the word with a
start, and then conquering the weakness-"what could Jekyll want with it?"
he said.
"You may say that!" said Poole.
Next they turned to the business table. On the desk, among the neat
array of papers, a large envelope was uppermost, and bore, in the doctor's
hand, the name of Mr. Utterson. The lawyer unsealed it, and several
enclosures fell to the floor. The first was a will, drawn in the same
eccentric terms as the one which he had returned six months before, to
serve as a testament in case of death and as a deed of gift in case of
disappearance; but in place of the name of Edward Hyde, the lawyer, with
indescribable amazement read the name of Gabriel John Utterson. He looked
at Poole, and then back at the paper, and last of all at the dead
malefactor stretched upon the carpet.
"My head goes round," he said. "He has been all these days in
possession; he had no cause to like me; he must have raged to see himself
displaced; and he has not destroyed this document."
He caught up the next paper; it was a brief note in the doctor's hand
and dated at the top. "O Poole!" the lawyer cried, "he was alive and here
this day. He cannot have been disposed of in so short a space; he must be
still alive, he must have fled! And then, why fled? and how? and in that
case, can we venture to declare this suicide? O, we must be careful. I
foresee that we may yet involve your master in some dire catastrophe."
"Why don't you read it, sir?" asked Poole.
"Because I fear," replied the lawyer solemnly. "God grant I have no
cause for it!" And with that he brought the paper to his eyes and read as
follows:
"My dear Utterson,-When this shall fall into your hands, I shall have
disappeared, under what circumstances I have not the penetration to
foresee, but my instinct and all the circumstances of my nameless
situation tell me that the end is sure and must be early. Go then, and
first read the narrative which Lanyon warned me he was to place in your
hands; and if you care to hear more, turn to the confession of
"Your unworthy and unhappy friend, "HENRY JEKYLL."
"There was a third enclosure?" asked Utterson.
"Here, sir," said Poole, and gave into his hands a considerable
packet sealed in several places.
The lawyer put it in his pocket. "I would say nothing of this paper.
If your master has fled or is dead, we may at least save his credit. It is
now ten; I must go home and read these documents in quiet; but I shall be
back before midnight, when we shall send for the police."
They went out, locking the door of the theatre behind them; and
Utterson, once more leaving the servants gathered about the fire in the
hall, trudged back to his office to read the two narratives in which this
mystery was now to be explained.
On the ninth of January, now four days ago, I received by the evening
delivery a registered envelope, addressed in the hand of my colleague and
old school companion, Henry Jekyll. I was a good deal surprised by this;
for we were by no means in the habit of correspondence; I had seen the
man, dined with him, indeed, the night before; and I could imagine nothing
in our intercourse that should justify formality of registration. The
contents increased my wonder; for this is how the letter ran:
"10th December, 18-.
"Dear Lanyon,-You are one of my oldest friends; and although we may
have differed at times on scientific questions, I cannot remember, at
least on my side, any break in our affection. There was never a day when,
if you had said to me, `Jekyll, my life, my honour, my reason, depend upon
you,' I would not have sacrificed my left hand to help you. Lanyon my
life, my honour, my reason, are all at your mercy; if you fail me
to-night, I am lost. You might suppose, after this preface, that I am
going to ask you for something dishonourable to grant. Judge for yourself.
"I want you to postpone all other engagements for to-nightay, even if
you were summoned to the bedside of an emperor; to take a cab, unless your
carriage should be actually at the door; and with this letter in your hand
for consultation, to drive straight to my house. Poole, my butler, has his
orders; you will find him waiting your arrival with a locksmith. The door
of my cabinet is then to be forced: and you are to go in alone; to open
the glazed press (letter E) on the left hand, breaking the lock if it be
shut; and to draw out, with all its contents as they stand, the fourth
drawer from the top or (which is the same thing) the third from the
bottom. In my extreme distress of mind, I have a morbid fear of
misdirecting you; but even if I am in error, you may know the right drawer
by its contents: some powders, a phial and a paper book. This drawer I beg
of you to carry back with you to Cavendish Square exactly as it stands.
The doctor shuddered. "They were crying it in the square," he said.
"I heard them in my dining-room."
"One word," said the lawyer. "Carew was my client, but so are you,
and I want to know what I am doing. You have not been mad enough to hide
this fellow?"
"Utterson, I swear to God," cried the doctor, "I swear to God I will
never set eyes on him again. I bind my honour to you that I am done with
him in this world. It is all at an end. And indeed he does not want my
help; you do not know him as I do; he is safe, he is quite safe; mark my
words, he will never more be heard of."
The lawyer listened gloomily; he did not like his friend's feverish
manner. "You seem pretty sure of him," said he; "and for your sake, I hope
you may be right. If it came to a trial, your name might appear."
"I am quite sure of him," replied Jekyll; "I have grounds for
certainty that I cannot share with any one. But there is one thing on
which you may advise me. I have-I have received a letter; and I am at a
loss whether I should show it to the police. I should like to leave it in
your hands, Utterson; you would judge wisely, I am sure; I have so great a
trust in you."
"You fear, I suppose, that it might lead to his detection?" asked the
lawyer.
"No," said the other. "I cannot say that I care what becomes of Hyde;
I am quite done with him. I was thinking of my own character, which this
hateful business has rather exposed."
Utterson ruminated awhile; he was surprised at his friend's
selfishness, and yet relieved by it. "Well," said he, at last, let me see
the letter."
The letter was written in an odd, upright hand and signed "Edward
Hyde": and it signified, briefly enough, that the writer's benefactor, Dr.
Jekyll, whom he had long so unworthily repaid for a thousand generosities,
need labour under no alarm for his safety, as he had means of escape on
which he placed a sure dependence. The lawyer liked this letter well
enough; it put a better colour on the intimacy than he had looked for; and
he blamed himself for some of his past suspicions.
"Have you the envelope?" he asked.
"I burned it," replied Jekyll, "before I thought what I was about.
But it bore no postmark. The note was handed in."
"Shall I keep this and sleep upon it?" asked Utterson.
"I wish you to judge for me entirely," was the reply. "I have lost
confidence in myself."
"Well, I shall consider," returned the lawyer. "And now one word
more: it was Hyde who dictated the terms in your will about that
disappearance?"
The doctor seemed seized with a qualm of faintness; he shut his mouth
tight and nodded.
"I knew it," said Utterson. "He meant to murder you. You had a fine
escape."
"I have had what is far more to the purpose," returned the doctor
solemnly: "I have had a lesson-O God, Utterson, what a lesson I have had!"
And he covered his face for a moment with his hands.
On his way out, the lawyer stopped and had a word or two with Poole.
"By the bye," said he, "there was a letter handed in to-day: what was the
messenger like?" But Poole was positive nothing had come except by post;
"and only circulars by that," he added.
This news sent off the visitor with his fears renewed. Plainly the
letter had come by the laboratory door; possibly, indeed, it had been
written in the cabinet; and if that were so, it must be differently
judged, and handled with the more caution. The newsboys, as he went, were
crying themselves hoarse along the footways: "Special edition. Shocking
murder of an M.P." That was the funeral oration of one friend and client;
and he could not help a certain apprehension lest the good name of another
should be sucked down in the eddy of the scandal. It was, at least, a
ticklish decision that he had to make; and self-reliant as he was by
habit, he began to cherish a longing for advice. It was not to be had
directly; but perhaps, he thought, it might be fished for.
Presently after, he sat on one side of his own hearth, with Mr.
Guest, his head clerk, upon the other, and midway between, at a nicely
calculated distance from the fire, a bottle of a particular old wine that
had long dwelt unsunned in the foundations of his house. The fog still
slept on the wing above the drowned city, where the lamps glimmered like
carbuncles; and through the muffle and smother of these fallen clouds, the
procession of the town's life was still rolling in through the great
arteries with a sound as of a mighty wind. But the room was gay with
firelight. In the bottle the acids were long ago resolved; the imperial
dye had softened with time, as the colour grows richer in stained windows;
and the glow of hot autumn afternoons on hillside vineyards, was ready to
be set free and to disperse the fogs of London. Insensibly the lawyer
melted. There was no man from whom he kept fewer secrets than Mr. Guest;
and he was not always sure that he kept as many as he meant. Guest had
often been on business to the doctor's; he knew Poole; he could scarce
have failed to hear of Mr. Hyde's familiarity about the house; he might
draw conclusions: was it not as well, then, that he should see a letter
which put that mystery to right? and above all since Guest, being a great
student and critic of handwriting, would consider the step natural and
obliging? The clerk, besides, was a man of counsel; he could scarce read
so strange a document without dropping a remark; and by that remark Mr.
Utterson might shape his future course.
"This is a sad business about Sir Danvers," he said.
"Yes, sir, indeed. It has elicited a great deal of public feeling,"
returned Guest. "The man, of course, was mad."
"I should like to hear your views on that," replied Utterson. "I have
a document here in his handwriting; it is between ourselves, for I scarce
know what to do about it; it is an ugly business at the best. But there it
is; quite in your way: a murderer's autograph."
Guest's eyes brightened, and he sat down at once and studied it with
passion. "No sir," he said: "not mad; but it is an odd hand."
"And by all accounts a very odd writer," added the lawyer.
Just then the servant entered with a note.
"Is that from Dr. Jekyll, sir?" inquired the clerk. "I thought I knew
the writing. Anything private, Mr. Utterson?
"Only an invitation to dinner. Why? Do you want to see it?"
"One moment. I thank you, sir;" and the clerk laid the two sheets of
paper alongside and sedulously compared their contents. "Thank you, sir,"
he said at last, returning both; "it's a very interesting autograph."
There was a pause, during which Mr. Utterson struggled with himself.
"Why did you compare them, Guest?" he inquired suddenly.
"Well, sir," returned the clerk, "there's a rather singular
resemblance; the two hands are in many points identical: only differently
sloped."
"Rather quaint," said Utterson.
"It is, as you say, rather quaint," returned Guest.
"I wouldn't speak of this note, you know," said the master.
"No, sir," said the clerk. "I understand."
But no sooner was Mr. Utterson alone that night, than he locked the
note into his safe, where it reposed from that time forward. "What!" he
thought. "Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer!" And his blood ran cold in
his veins.
Time ran on; thousands of pounds were offered in reward, for the
death of Sir Danvers was resented as a public injury; but Mr. Hyde had
disappeared out of the ken of the police as though he had never existed.
Much of his past was unearthed, indeed, and all disreputable: tales came
out of the man's cruelty, at once so callous and violent; of his vile
life, of his strange associates, of the hatred that seemed to have
surrounded his career; but of his present whereabouts, not a whisper. From
the time he had left the house in Soho on the morning of the murder, he
was simply blotted out; and gradually, as time drew on, Mr. Utterson began
to recover from the hotness of his alarm, and to grow more at quiet with
himself. The death of Sir Danvers was, to his way of thinking, more than
paid for by the disappearance of Mr. Hyde. Now that that evil influence
had been withdrawn, a new life began for Dr. Jekyll. He came out of his
seclusion, renewed relations with his friends, became once more their
familiar guest and entertainer; and whilst he had always been known for
charities, he was now no less distinguished for religion. He was busy, he
was much in the open air, he did good; his face seemed to open and
brighten, as if with an inward consciousness of service; and for more than
two months, the doctor was at peace.
On the 8th of January Utterson had dined at the doctor's with a small
party; Lanyon had been there; and the face of the host had looked from one
to the other as in the old days when the trio were inseparable friends. On
the 12th, and again on the 14th, the door was shut against the lawyer.
"The doctor was confined to the house," Poole said, "and saw no one." On
the 15th, he tried again, and was again refused; and having now been used
for the last two months to see his friend almost daily, he found this
return of solitude to weigh upon his spirits. The fifth night he had in
Guest to dine with him; and the sixth he betook himself to Dr. Lanyon's.
There at least he was not denied admittance; but when he came in, he
was shocked at the change which had taken place in the doctor's
appearance. He had his death-warrant written legibly upon his face. The
rosy man had grown pale; his flesh had fallen away; he was visibly balder
and older; and yet it was not so much these tokens of a swift physical
decay that arrested the lawyer's notice, as a look in the eye and quality
of manner that seemed to testify to some deep-seated terror of the mind.
It was unlikely that the doctor should fear death; and yet that was what
Utterson was tempted to suspect. "Yes," he thought; he is a doctor, he
must know his own state and that his days are counted; and the knowledge
is more than he can bear." And yet when Utterson remarked on his
ill-looks, it was with an air of great firmness that Lanyon declared
himself a doomed man.
"I have had a shock," he said, "and I shall never recover. It is a
question of weeks. Well, life has been pleasant; I liked it; yes, sir, I
used to like it. I sometimes think if we knew all, we should be more glad
to get away."
"Jekyll is ill, too," observed Utterson. "Have you seen him?"
But Lanyon's face changed, and he held up a trembling hand. "I wish
to see or hear no more of Dr. Jekyll," he said in a loud, unsteady voice.
"I am quite done with that person; and I beg that you will spare me any
allusion to one whom I regard as dead."
"Tut-tut," said Mr. Utterson; and then after a considerable pause,
"Can't I do anything?" he inquired. "We are three very old friends,
Lanyon; we shall not live to make others."
"Nothing can be done," returned Lanyon; "ask himself."
"He will not see me," said the lawyer.
"I am not surprised at that," was the reply. "Some day, Utterson,
after I am dead, you may perhaps come to learn the right and wrong of
this. I cannot tell you. And in the meantime, if you can sit and talk with
me of other things, for God's sake, stay and do so; but if you cannot keep
clear of this accursed topic, then in God's name, go, for I cannot bear
it."
As soon as he got home, Utterson sat down and wrote to Jekyll,
complaining of his exclusion from the house, and asking the cause of this
unhappy break with Lanyon; and the next day brought him a long answer,
often very pathetically worded, and sometimes darkly mysterious in drift.
The quarrel with Lanyon was incurable. "I do not blame our old friend,"
Jekyll wrote, but I share his view that we must never meet. I mean from
henceforth to lead a life of extreme seclusion; you must not be surprised,
nor must you doubt my friendship, if my door is often shut even to you.
You must suffer me to go my own dark way. I have brought on myself a
punishment and a danger that I cannot name. If I am the chief of sinners,
I am the chief of sufferers also. I could not think that this earth
contained a place for sufferings and terrors so unmanning; and you can do
but one thing, Utterson, to lighten this destiny, and that is to respect
my silence." Utterson was amazed; the dark influence of Hyde had been
withdrawn, the doctor had returned to his old tasks and amities; a week
ago, the prospect had smiled with every promise of a cheerful and an
honoured age; and now in a moment, friendship, and peace of mind, and the
whole tenor of his life were wrecked. So great and unprepared a change
pointed to madness; but in view of Lanyon's manner and words, there must
lie for it some deeper ground.
A week afterwards Dr. Lanyon took to his bed, and in something less
than a fortnight he was dead. The night after the funeral, at which he had
been sadly affected, Utterson locked the door of his business room, and
sitting there by the light of a melancholy candle, drew out and set before
him an envelope addressed by the hand and sealed with the seal of his dead
friend. "PRIVATE: for the hands of G. J. Utterson ALONE, and in case of
his predecease to be destroyed unread," so it was emphatically
superscribed; and the lawyer dreaded to behold the contents. "I have
buried one friend to-day," he thought: "what if this should cost me
another?" And then he condemned the fear as a disloyalty, and broke the
seal. Within there was another enclosure, likewise sealed, and marked upon
the cover as "not to be opened till the death or disappearance of Dr.
Henry Jekyll." Utterson could not trust his eyes. Yes, it was
disappearance; here again, as in the mad will which he had long ago
restored to its author, here again were the idea of a disappearance and
the name of Henry Jekyll bracketted. But in the will, that idea had sprung
from the sinister suggestion of the man Hyde; it was set there with a
purpose all too plain and horrible. Written by the hand of Lanyon, what
should it mean? A great curiosity came on the trustee, to disregard the
prohibition and dive at once to the bottom of these mysteries; but
professional honour and faith to his dead friend were stringent
obligations; and the packet slept in the inmost corner of his private
safe.
It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it; and it
may be doubted if, from that day forth, Utterson desired the society of
his surviving friend with the same eagerness. He thought of him kindly;
but his thoughts were disquieted and fearful. He went to call indeed; but
he was perhaps relieved to be denied admittance; perhaps, in his heart, he
preferred to speak with Poole upon the doorstep and surrounded by the air
and sounds of the open city, rather than to be admitted into that house of
voluntary bondage, and to sit and speak with its inscrutable recluse.
Poole had, indeed, no very pleasant news to communicate. The doctor, it
appeared, now more than ever confined himself to the cabinet over the
laboratory, where he would sometimes even sleep; he was out of spirits, he
had grown very silent, he did not read; it seemed as if he had something
on his mind. Utterson became so used to the unvarying character of these
reports, that he fell off little by little in the frequency of his visits.
It chanced on Sunday, when Mr. Utterson was on his usual walk with
Mr. Enfield, that their way lay once again through the by-street; and that
when they came in front of the door, both stopped to gaze on it.
"Well," said Enfield, "that story's at an end at least. We shall
never see more of Mr. Hyde."
"I hope not," said Utterson. "Did I ever tell you that I once saw
him, and shared your feeling of repulsion?"
"It was impossible to do the one without the other," returned
Enfield. "And by the way, what an ass you must have thought me, not to
know that this was a back way to Dr. Jekyll's! It was partly your own
fault that I found it out, even when I did."
"So you found it out, did you?" said Utterson. "But if that be so, we
may step into the court and take a look at the windows. To tell you the
truth, I am uneasy about poor Jekyll; and even outside, I feel as if the
presence of a friend might do him good."
The court was very cool and a little damp, and full of premature
twilight, although the sky, high up overhead, was still bright with
sunset. The middle one of the three windows was half-way open; and sitting
close beside it, taking the air with an infinite sadness of mien, like
some disconsolate prisoner, Utterson saw Dr. Jekyll.
"What! Jekyll!" he cried. "I trust you are better."
"I am very low, Utterson," replied the doctor drearily, "very low. It
will not last long, thank God."
"You stay too much indoors," said the lawyer. "You should be out,
whipping up the circulation like Mr. Enfield and me. (This is my
cousin-Mr. Enfield-Dr. Jekyll.) Come now; get your hat and take a quick
turn with us."
"You are very good," sighed the other. "I should like to very much;
but no, no, no, it is quite impossible; I dare not. But indeed, Utterson,
I am very glad to see you; this is really a great pleasure; I would ask
you and Mr. Enfield up, but the place is really not fit."
"Why, then," said the lawyer, good-naturedly, "the best thing we can
do is to stay down here and speak with you from where we are."
"That is just what I was about to venture to propose," returned the
doctor with a smile. But the words were hardly uttered, before the smile
was struck out of his face and succeeded by an expression of such abject
terror and despair, as froze the very blood of the two gentlemen below.
They saw it but for a glimpse for the window was instantly thrust down;
but that glimpse had been sufficient, and they turned and left the court
without a word. In silence, too, they traversed the by-street; and it was
not until they had come into a neighbouring thoroughfare, where even upon
a Sunday there were still some stirrings of life, that Mr. Utterson at
last turned and looked at his companion. They were both pale; and there
was an answering horror in their eyes.
"God forgive us, God forgive us," said Mr. Utterson.
But Mr. Enfield only nodded his head very seriously, and walked on
once more in silence.
Mr. Utterson was sitting by his fireside one evening after dinner,
when he was surprised to receive a visit from Poole.
"Bless me, Poole, what brings you here?" he cried; and then taking a
second look at him, "What ails you?" he added; is the doctor ill?"
"Mr. Utterson," said the man, "there is something wrong."
"Take a seat, and here is a glass of wine for you," said the lawyer.
"Now, take your time, and tell me plainly what you want."
"You know the doctor's ways, sir," replied Poole, "and how he shuts
himself up. Well, he's shut up again in the cabinet; and I don't like it,
sir-I wish I may die if I like it. Mr. Utterson, sir, I'm afraid."
"Now, my good man," said the lawyer, "be explicit. What are you
afraid of?"
"I've been afraid for about a week," returned Poole, doggedly
disregarding the question, "and I can bear it no more."
The man's appearance amply bore out his words; his manner was altered
for the worse; and except for the moment when he had first announced his
terror, he had not once looked the lawyer in the face. Even now, he sat
with the glass of wine untasted on his knee, and his eyes directed to a
corner of the floor. "I can bear it no more,"he repeated.
"Come," said the lawyer, "I see you have some good reason, Poole; I
see there is something seriously amiss. Try to tell me what it is."
"I think there's been foul play," said Poole, hoarsely.
"Foul play!" cried the lawyer, a good deal frightened and rather
inclined to be irritated in consequence. "What foul play! What does the
man mean?"
"I daren't say, sir," was the answer; but will you come along with me
and see for yourself?"
Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his hat and greatcoat;
but he observed with wonder the greatness of the relief that appeared upon
the butler's face, and perhaps with no less, that the wine was still
untasted when he set it down to follow.
It was a wild, cold, seasonable night of March, with a pale moon,
lying on her back as though the wind had tilted her, and flying wrack of
the most diaphanous and lawny texture. The wind made talking difficult,
and flecked the blood into the face. It seemed to have swept the streets
unusually bare of passengers, besides; for Mr. Utterson thought he had
never seen that part of London so deserted. He could have wished it
otherwise; never in his life had he been conscious of so sharp a wish to
see and touch his fellow-creatures; for struggle as he might, there was
borne in upon his mind a crushing anticipation of calamity. The square,
when they got there, was full of wind and dust, and the thin trees in the
garden were lashing themselves along the railing. Poole, who had kept all
the way a pace or two ahead, now pulled up in the middle of the pavement,
and in spite of the biting weather, took off his hat and mopped his brow
with a red pocket-handkerchief. But for all the hurry of his coming, these
were not the dews of exertion that he wiped away, but the moisture of some
strangling anguish; for his face was white and his voice, when he spoke,
harsh and broken.
"Well, sir," he said, "here we are, and God grant there be nothing
wrong."
"Amen, Poole," said the lawyer.
Thereupon the servant knocked in a very guarded manner; the door was
opened on the chain; and a voice asked from within, "Is that you, Poole?"
"It's all right," said Poole. "Open the door."
The hall, when they entered it, was brightly lighted up; the fire was
built high; and about the hearth the whole of the servants, men and women,
stood huddled together like a flock of sheep. At the sight of Mr.
Utterson, the housemaid broke into hysterical whimpering; and the cook,
crying out "Bless God! it's Mr. Utterson," ran forward as if to take him
in her arms.
"What, what? Are you all here?" said the lawyer peevishly. "Very
irregular, very unseemly; your master would be far from pleased."
"They're all afraid," said Poole.
Blank silence followed, no one protesting; only the maid lifted her
voice and now wept loudly.
"Hold your tongue!" Poole said to her, with a ferocity of accent that
testified to his own jangled nerves; and indeed, when the girl had so
suddenly raised the note of her lamentation, they had all started and
turned towards the inner door with faces of dreadful expectation. "And
now," continued the butler, addressing the knife-boy, "reach me a candle,
and we'll get this through hands at once." And then he begged Mr. Utterson
to follow him, and led the way to the back garden.
"Now, sir," said he, "you come as gently as you can. I want you to
hear, and I don't want you to be heard. And see here, sir, if by any
chance he was to ask you in, don't go."
Mr. Utterson's nerves, at this unlooked-for termination, gave a jerk
that nearly threw him from his balance; but he recollected his courage and
followed the butler into the laboratory building through the surgical
theatre, with its lumber of crates and bottles, to the foot of the stair.
Here Poole motioned him to stand on one side and listen; while he himself,
setting down the candle and making a great and obvious call on his
resolution, mounted the steps and knocked with a somewhat uncertain hand
on the red baize of the cabinet door.
"Mr. Utterson, sir, asking to see you," he called; and even as he did
so, once more violently signed to the lawyer to give ear.
A voice answered from within: "Tell him I cannot see anyone," it said
complainingly.
"Thank you, sir," said Poole, with a note of something like triumph
in his voice; and taking up his candle, he led Mr. Utterson back across
the yard and into the great kitchen, where the fire was out and the
beetles were leaping on the floor.
"Sir," he said, looking Mr. Utterson in the eyes, "Was that my
master's voice?"
"It seems much changed," replied the lawyer, very pale, but giving
look for look.
"Changed? Well, yes, I think so," said the butler. "Have I been
twenty years in this man's house, to be deceived about his voice? No, sir;
master's made away with; he was made away with eight days ago, when we
heard him cry out upon the name of God; and who's in there instead of him,
and why it stays there, is a thing that cries to Heaven, Mr. Utterson!"
"This is a very strange tale, Poole; this is rather a wild tale my
man," said Mr. Utterson, biting his finger. "Suppose it were as you
suppose, supposing Dr. Jekyll to have been-well, murdered what could
induce the murderer to stay? That won't hold water; it doesn't commend
itself to reason."
"Well, Mr. Utterson, you are a hard man to satisfy, but I'll do it
yet," said Poole. "All this last week (you must know) him, or it, whatever
it is that lives in that cabinet, has been crying night and day for some
sort of medicine and cannot get it to his mind. It was sometimes his
way-the master's, that is-to write his orders on a sheet of paper and
throw it on the stair. We've had nothing else this week back; nothing but
papers, and a closed door, and the very meals left there to be smuggled in
when nobody was looking. Well, sir, every day, ay, and twice and thrice in
the same day, there have been orders and complaints, and I have been sent
flying to all the wholesale chemists in town. Every time I brought the
stuff back, there would be another paper telling me to return it, because
it was not pure, and another order to a different firm. This drug is
wanted bitter bad, sir, whatever for."
"Have you any of these papers?" asked Mr. Utterson.
Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled note, which the
lawyer, bending nearer to the candle, carefully examined. Its contents ran
thus: "Dr. Jekyll presents his compliments to Messrs. Maw. He assures them
that their last sample is impure and quite useless for his present
purpose. In the year 18-, Dr. J. purchased a somewhat large quantity from
Messrs. M. He now begs them to search with most sedulous care,and should
any of the same quality be left, forward it to him at once. Expense is no
consideration. The importance of this to Dr. J. can hardly be exaggerated."
So far the letter had run composedly enough, but here with a sudden
splutter of the pen, the writer's emotion had broken loose. "For God's
sake," he added, "find me some of the old."
"This is a strange note," said Mr. Utterson; and then sharply, "How
do you come to have it open?"
"The man at Maw's was main angry, sir, and he threw it back to me
like so much dirt," returned Poole.
"This is unquestionably the doctor's hand, do you know?" resumed the
lawyer.
"I thought it looked like it," said the servant rather sulkily; and
then, with another voice, "But what matters hand of write?" he said. "I've
seen him!"
"Seen him?" repeated Mr. Utterson. "Well?"
"That's it!" said Poole. "It was this way. I came suddenly into the
theater from the garden. It seems he had slipped out to look for this drug
or whatever it is; for the cabinet door was open, and there he was at the
far end of the room digging among the crates. He looked up when I came in,
gave a kind of cry, and whipped upstairs into the cabinet. It was but for
one minute that I saw him, but the hair stood upon my head like quills.
Sir, if that was my master, why had he a mask upon his face? If it was my
master, why did he cry out like a rat, and run from me? I have served him
long enough. And then..." The man paused and passed his hand over his
face.
"These are all very strange circumstances," said Mr. Utterson, "but I
think I begin to see daylight. Your master, Poole, is plainly seized with
one of those maladies that both torture and deform the sufferer; hence,
for aught I know, the alteration of his voice; hence the mask and the
avoidance of his friends; hence his eagerness to find this drug, by means
of which the poor soul retains some hope of ultimate recovery-God grant
that he be not deceived! There is my explanation; it is sad enough, Poole,
ay, and appalling to consider; but it is plain and natural, hangs well
together, and delivers us from all exorbitant alarms."
"Sir," said the butler, turning to a sort of mottled pallor, "that
thing was not my master, and there's the truth. My master"-here he looked
round him and began to whisper-"is a tall, fine build of a man, and this
was more of a dwarf." Utterson attempted to protest. "O, sir," cried
Poole, "do you think I do not know my master after twenty years? Do you
think I do not know where his head comes to in the cabinet door, where I
saw him every morning of my life? No, sir, that thing in the mask was
never Dr. Jekyll-God knows what it was, but it was never Dr. Jekyll; and
it is the belief of my heart that there was murder done."
"Poole," replied the lawyer, "if you say that, it will become my duty
to make certain. Much as I desire to spare your master's feelings, much as
I am puzzled by this note which seems to prove him to be still alive, I
shall consider it my duty to break in that door."
"Ah, Mr. Utterson, that's talking!" cried the butler.
"And now comes the second question," resumed Utterson: "Who is going
to do it?"
"Why, you and me, sir," was the undaunted reply.
"That's very well said," returned the lawyer; "and whatever comes of
it, I shall make it my business to see you are no loser."
"There is an axe in the theatre," continued Poole; "and you might
take the kitchen poker for yourself."
The lawyer took that rude but weighty instrument into his hand, and
balanced it. "Do you know, Poole," he said, looking up, "that you and I
are about to place ourselves in a position of some peril?"
"You may say so, sir, indeed," returned the butler.
"It is well, then that we should be frank," said the other. "We both
think more than we have said; let us make a clean breast. This masked
figure that you saw, did you recognise it?"
"Well, sir, it went so quick, and the creature was so doubled up,
that I could hardly swear to that," was the answer. "But if you mean, was
it Mr. Hyde?-why, yes, I think it was!" You see, it was much of the same
bigness; and it had the same quick, light way with it; and then who else
could have got in by the laboratory door? You have not forgot, sir, that
at the time of the murder he had still the key with him? But that's not
all. I don't know, Mr. Utterson, if you ever met this Mr. Hyde?"
"Yes," said the lawyer, "I once spoke with him."
"Then you must know as well as the rest of us that there was
something queer about that gentleman-something that gave a man a turn-I
don't know rightly how to say it, sir, beyond this: that you felt in your
marrow kind of cold and thin."
"I own I felt something of what you describe," said Mr. Utterson.
"Quite so, sir," returned Poole. "Well, when that masked thing like a
monkey jumped from among the chemicals and whipped into the cabinet, it
went down my spine like ice. O, I know it's not evidence, Mr. Utterson;
I'm book-learned enough for that; but a man has his feelings, and I give
you my bible-word it was Mr. Hyde!"
"Ay, ay," said the lawyer. "My fears incline to the same point. Evil,
I fear, founded-evil was sure to come-of that connection. Ay truly, I
believe you; I believe poor Harry is killed; and I believe his murderer
(for what purpose, God alone can tell) is still lurking in his victim's
room. Well, let our name be vengeance. Call Bradshaw."
The footman came at the summons, very white and nervous.
"Put yourself together, Bradshaw," said the lawyer. "This suspense, I
know, is telling upon all of you; but it is now our intention to make an
end of it. Poole, here, and I are going to force our way into the cabinet.
If all is well, my shoulders are broad enough to bear the blame.
Meanwhile, lest anything should really be amiss, or any malefactor seek to
escape by the back, you and the boy must go round the corner with a pair
of good sticks and take your post at the laboratory door. We give you ten
minutes, to get to your stations."
As Bradshaw left, the lawyer looked at his watch. "And now, Poole,
let us get to ours," he said; and taking the poker under his arm, led the
way into the yard. The scud had banked over the moon, and it was now quite
dark. The wind, which only broke in puffs and draughts into that deep well
of building, tossed the light of the candle to and fro about their steps,
until they came into the shelter of the theatre, where they sat down
silently to wait. London hummed solemnly all around; but nearer at hand,
the stillness was only broken by the sounds of a footfall moving to and
fro along the cabinet floor.
"So it will walk all day, sir," whispered Poole; "ay, and the better
part of the night. Only when a new sample comes from the chemist, there's
a bit of a break. Ah, it's an ill conscience that's such an enemy to rest!
Ah, sir, there's blood foully shed in every step of it! But hark again, a
little closer-put your heart in your ears, Mr. Utterson, and tell me, is
that the doctor's foot?"
The steps fell lightly and oddly, with a certain swing, for all they
went so slowly; it was different indeed from the heavy creaking tread of
Henry Jekyll. Utterson sighed. "Is there never anything else?" he asked.
Poole nodded. "Once," he said. "Once I heard it weeping!"
"Weeping? how that?" said the lawyer, conscious of a sudden chill of
horror.
"Weeping like a woman or a lost soul," said the butler. "I came away
with that upon my heart, that I could have wept too."
But now the ten minutes drew to an end. Poole disinterred the axe
from under a stack of packing straw; the candle was set upon the nearest
table to light them to the attack; and they drew near with bated breath to
where that patient foot was still going up and down, up and down, in the
quiet of the night. "Jekyll," cried Utterson, with a loud voice, "I demand
to see you." He paused a moment, but there came no reply. "I give you fair
warning, our suspicions are aroused, and I must and shall see you," he
resumed; "if not by fair means, then by foul-if not of your consent, then
by brute force!"
"Utterson," said the voice, "for God's sake, have mercy!"
"Ah, that's not Jekyll's voice-it's Hyde's!" cried Utterson. "Down
with the door, Poole!"
Poole swung the axe over his shoulder; the blow shook the building,
and the red baize door leaped against the lock and hinges. A dismal
screech, as of mere animal terror, rang from the cabinet. Up went the axe
again, and again the panels crashed and the frame bounded; four times the
blow fell; but the wood was tough and the fittings were of excellent
workmanship; and it was not until the fifth, that the lock burst and the
wreck of the door fell inwards on the carpet.
The besiegers, appalled by their own riot and the stillness that had
succeeded, stood back a little and peered in. There lay the cabinet before
their eyes in the quiet lamplight, a good fire glowing and chattering on
the hearth, the kettle singing its thin strain, a drawer or two open,
papers neatly set forth on the business table, and nearer the fire, the
things laid out for tea; the quietest room, you would have said, and, but
for the glazed presses full of chemicals, the most commonplace that night
in London.
Right in the middle there lay the body of a man sorely contorted and
still twitching. They drew near on tiptoe, turned it on its back and
beheld the face of Edward Hyde. He was dressed in clothes far to large for
him, clothes of the doctor's bigness; the cords of his face still moved
with a semblance of life, but life was quite gone: and by the crushed
phial in the hand and the strong smell of kernels that hung upon the air,
Utterson knew that he was looking on the body of a self-destroyer.
"We have come too late," he said sternly, "whether to save or punish.
Hyde is gone to his account; and it only remains for us to find the body
of your master."
The far greater proportion of the building was occupied by the
theatre, which filled almost the whole ground storey and was lighted from
above, and by the cabinet, which formed an upper story at one end and
looked upon the court. A corridor joined the theatre to the door on the
by-street; and with this the cabinet communicated separately by a second
flight of stairs. There were besides a few dark closets and a spacious
cellar. All these they now thorougly examined. Each closet needed but a
glance, for all were empty, and all, by the dust that fell from their
doors, had stood long unopened. The cellar, indeed, was filled with crazy
lumber, mostly dating from the times of the surgeon who was Jekyll's
predecessor; but even as they opened the door they were advertised of the
uselessness of further search, by the fall of a perfect mat of cobweb
which had for years sealed up the entrance. No where was there any trace
of Henry Jekyll dead or alive.
Poole stamped on the flags of the corridor. "He must be buried here,"
he said, hearkening to the sound.
"Or he may have fled," said Utterson, and he turned to examine the
door in the by-street. It was locked; and lying near by on the flags, they
found the key, already stained with rust.
"This does not look like use," observed the lawyer.
"Use!" echoed Poole. "Do you not see, sir, it is broken? much as if a
man had stamped on it."
"Ay," continued Utterson, "and the fractures, too, are rusty." The
two men looked at each other with a scare. "This is beyond me, Poole,"
said the lawyer. "Let us go back to the cabinet."
They mounted the stair in silence, and still with an occasional
awestruck glance at the dead body, proceeded more thoroughly to examine
the contents of the cabinet. At one table, there were traces of chemical
work, various measured heaps of some white salt being laid on glass
saucers, as though for an experiment in which the unhappy man had been
prevented.
"That is the same drug that I was always bringing him," said Poole;
and even as he spoke, the kettle with a startling noise boiled over.
This brought them to the fireside, where the easy-chair was drawn
cosily up, and the tea things stood ready to the sitter's elbow, the very
sugar in the cup. There were several books on a shelf; one lay beside the
tea things open, and Utterson was amazed to find it a copy of a pious
work, for which Jekyll had several times expressed a great esteem,
annotated, in his own hand with startling blasphemies.
Next, in the course of their review of the chamber, the searchers
came to the cheval-glass, into whose depths they looked with an
involuntary horror. But it was so turned as to show them nothing but the
rosy glow playing on the roof, the fire sparkling in a hundred repetitions
along the glazed front of the presses, and their own pale and fearful
countenances stooping to look in.
"This glass has seen some strange things, sir," whispered Poole.
"And surely none stranger than itself," echoed the lawyer in the same
tones. "For what did Jekyll"-he caught himself up at the word with a
start, and then conquering the weakness-"what could Jekyll want with it?"
he said.
"You may say that!" said Poole.
Next they turned to the business table. On the desk, among the neat
array of papers, a large envelope was uppermost, and bore, in the doctor's
hand, the name of Mr. Utterson. The lawyer unsealed it, and several
enclosures fell to the floor. The first was a will, drawn in the same
eccentric terms as the one which he had returned six months before, to
serve as a testament in case of death and as a deed of gift in case of
disappearance; but in place of the name of Edward Hyde, the lawyer, with
indescribable amazement read the name of Gabriel John Utterson. He looked
at Poole, and then back at the paper, and last of all at the dead
malefactor stretched upon the carpet.
"My head goes round," he said. "He has been all these days in
possession; he had no cause to like me; he must have raged to see himself
displaced; and he has not destroyed this document."
He caught up the next paper; it was a brief note in the doctor's hand
and dated at the top. "O Poole!" the lawyer cried, "he was alive and here
this day. He cannot have been disposed of in so short a space; he must be
still alive, he must have fled! And then, why fled? and how? and in that
case, can we venture to declare this suicide? O, we must be careful. I
foresee that we may yet involve your master in some dire catastrophe."
"Why don't you read it, sir?" asked Poole.
"Because I fear," replied the lawyer solemnly. "God grant I have no
cause for it!" And with that he brought the paper to his eyes and read as
follows:
"My dear Utterson,-When this shall fall into your hands, I shall have
disappeared, under what circumstances I have not the penetration to
foresee, but my instinct and all the circumstances of my nameless
situation tell me that the end is sure and must be early. Go then, and
first read the narrative which Lanyon warned me he was to place in your
hands; and if you care to hear more, turn to the confession of
"Your unworthy and unhappy friend, "HENRY JEKYLL."
"There was a third enclosure?" asked Utterson.
"Here, sir," said Poole, and gave into his hands a considerable
packet sealed in several places.
The lawyer put it in his pocket. "I would say nothing of this paper.
If your master has fled or is dead, we may at least save his credit. It is
now ten; I must go home and read these documents in quiet; but I shall be
back before midnight, when we shall send for the police."
They went out, locking the door of the theatre behind them; and
Utterson, once more leaving the servants gathered about the fire in the
hall, trudged back to his office to read the two narratives in which this
mystery was now to be explained.
On the ninth of January, now four days ago, I received by the evening
delivery a registered envelope, addressed in the hand of my colleague and
old school companion, Henry Jekyll. I was a good deal surprised by this;
for we were by no means in the habit of correspondence; I had seen the
man, dined with him, indeed, the night before; and I could imagine nothing
in our intercourse that should justify formality of registration. The
contents increased my wonder; for this is how the letter ran:
"10th December, 18-.
"Dear Lanyon,-You are one of my oldest friends; and although we may
have differed at times on scientific questions, I cannot remember, at
least on my side, any break in our affection. There was never a day when,
if you had said to me, `Jekyll, my life, my honour, my reason, depend upon
you,' I would not have sacrificed my left hand to help you. Lanyon my
life, my honour, my reason, are all at your mercy; if you fail me
to-night, I am lost. You might suppose, after this preface, that I am
going to ask you for something dishonourable to grant. Judge for yourself.
"I want you to postpone all other engagements for to-nightay, even if
you were summoned to the bedside of an emperor; to take a cab, unless your
carriage should be actually at the door; and with this letter in your hand
for consultation, to drive straight to my house. Poole, my butler, has his
orders; you will find him waiting your arrival with a locksmith. The door
of my cabinet is then to be forced: and you are to go in alone; to open
the glazed press (letter E) on the left hand, breaking the lock if it be
shut; and to draw out, with all its contents as they stand, the fourth
drawer from the top or (which is the same thing) the third from the
bottom. In my extreme distress of mind, I have a morbid fear of
misdirecting you; but even if I am in error, you may know the right drawer
by its contents: some powders, a phial and a paper book. This drawer I beg
of you to carry back with you to Cavendish Square exactly as it stands.