The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

  INCIDENT OF THE LETTER

  It was late in the afternoon, when Mr. Utterson found his way to Dr.Jekyll's door, where he was at once admitted by Poole, and carried downby the kitchen offices and across a yard which had once been a garden,to the building which was indifferently known as the laboratory ordissecting rooms. The doctor had bought the house from the heirs ofa celebrated surgeon; and his own tastes being rather chemical thananatomical, had changed the destination of the block at the bottom ofthe garden. It was the first time that the lawyer had been received inthat part of his friend's quarters; and he eyed the dingy, windowlessstructure with curiosity, and gazed round with a distasteful sense ofstrangeness as he crossed the theatre, once crowded with eagerstudents and now lying gaunt and silent, the tables laden with chemicalapparatus, the floor strewn with crates and littered with packing straw,and the light falling dimly through the foggy cupola. At the furtherend, a flight of stairs mounted to a door covered with red baize;and through this, Mr. Utterson was at last received into the doctor'scabinet. It was a large room fitted round with glass presses, furnished,among other things, with a cheval-glass and a business table, andlooking out upon the court by three dusty windows barred with iron. Thefire burned in the grate; a lamp was set lighted on the chimney shelf,for even in the houses the fog began to lie thickly; and there, close upto the warmth, sat Dr. Jekyll, looking deathly sick. He did not riseto meet his visitor, but held out a cold hand and bade him welcome in achanged voice.

  "And now," said Mr. Utterson, as soon as Poole had left them, "you haveheard the news?"

  The doctor shuddered. "They were crying it in the square," he said. "Iheard them in my dining-room."

  "One word," said the lawyer. "Carew was my client, but so are you, and Iwant to know what I am doing. You have not been mad enough to hide thisfellow?"

  "Utterson, I swear to God," cried the doctor, "I swear to God I willnever set eyes on him again. I bind my honour to you that I am done withhim in this world. It is all at an end. And indeed he does not want myhelp; you do not know him as I do; he is safe, he is quite safe; mark mywords, he will never more be heard of."

  The lawyer listened gloomily; he did not like his friend's feverishmanner. "You seem pretty sure of him," said he; "and for your sake, Ihope 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 certaintythat I cannot share with any one. But there is one thing on which youmay advise me. I have--I have received a letter; and I am at a losswhether I should show it to the police. I should like to leave it inyour hands, Utterson; you would judge wisely, I am sure; I have so greata trust in you."

  "You fear, I suppose, that it might lead to his detection?" asked thelawyer.

  "No," said the other. "I cannot say that I care what becomes of Hyde; Iam quite done with him. I was thinking of my own character, which thishateful 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 theletter."

  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 thousandgenerosities, need labour under no alarm for his safety, as he had meansof escape on which he placed a sure dependence. The lawyer liked thisletter well enough; it put a better colour on the intimacy than he hadlooked 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. Butit 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 lostconfidence in myself."

  "Well, I shall consider," returned the lawyer. "And now one wordmore: it was Hyde who dictated the terms in your will about thatdisappearance?"

  The doctor seemed seized with a qualm of faintness; he shut his mouthtight and nodded.

  "I knew it," said Utterson. "He meant to murder you. You had a fineescape."

  "I have had what is far more to the purpose," returned the doctorsolemnly: "I have had a lesson--O God, Utterson, what a lesson I havehad!" 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. "Bythe bye," said he, "there was a letter handed in to-day: what was themessenger 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 theletter had come by the laboratory door; possibly, indeed, it had beenwritten in the cabinet; and if that were so, it must be differentlyjudged, 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 friendand client; and he could not help a certain apprehension lest the goodname of another should be sucked down in the eddy of the scandal. Itwas, at least, a ticklish decision that he had to make; and self-reliantas he was by habit, he began to cherish a longing for advice. It was notto 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 nicelycalculated distance from the fire, a bottle of a particular old winethat had long dwelt unsunned in the foundations of his house. Thefog still slept on the wing above the drowned city, where the lampsglimmered like carbuncles; and through the muffle and smother of thesefallen clouds, the procession of the town's life was still rolling inthrough the great arteries with a sound as of a mighty wind. But theroom was gay with firelight. In the bottle the acids were long agoresolved; the imperial dye had softened with time, as the colour growsricher in stained windows; and the glow of hot autumn afternoons onhillside vineyards, was ready to be set free and to disperse the fogs ofLondon. Insensibly the lawyer melted. There was no man from whom he keptfewer secrets than Mr. Guest; and he was not always sure that he kept asmany 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'sfamiliarity about the house; he might draw conclusions: was it not aswell, then, that he should see a letter which put that mystery toright? and above all since Guest, being a great student and critic ofhandwriting, would consider the step natural and obliging? The clerk,besides, was a man of counsel; he could scarce read so strange adocument without dropping a remark; and by that remark Mr. Uttersonmight 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 adocument here in his handwriting; it is between ourselves, for I scarceknow what to do about it; it is an ugly business at the best. But thereit is; quite in your way: a murderer's autograph."

  Guest's eyes brightened, and he sat down at once and studied it withpassion. "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 knewthe 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 ofpaper alongside and sedulously compared their contents. "Thank you,sir," he said at last, returning both; "it's a very interestingautograph."

  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: o
nly 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 thenote into his safe, where it reposed from that time forward. "What!" hethought. "Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer!" And his blood ran cold inhis veins.