He snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house.
The lawyer stood awhile when Mr. Hyde had left him, in disquietude. Then he began slowly to mount the street, pausing every step or two and putting his hand to his brow like a man in mental perplexity. The problem he was thus debating as he walked, was one of a class that is rarely solved. Mr. Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of deformity without any nameable malformation, he had a displeasing smile; all these were points against him, but not all of these together could explain the hitherto unknown disgust, loathing, and fear with which Mr. Utterson regarded him.
“There must be something else,” said the perplexed gentleman. “There is something more, if I could find a name for it. This man seems hardly human! Something troglodytic! O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if ever I read Satan’s signature upon a face, it is on that of your new friend.”
Round the corner from the by-street, there was a square of ancient, handsome houses. One house, second from the corner, wore a great air of wealth and comfort, though it was now plunged in darkness. Mr. Utterson stopped and knocked. A well-dressed, elderly servant opened the door.
“Is Dr. Jekyll at home, Poole[13]?” asked the lawyer.
“I will see, Mr. Utterson,” said Poole, admitting the visitor, as he spoke, into a large, comfortable hall. “Will you wait here by the fire, sir? Or in the dining room?”
“Here, thank you,” said the lawyer, and he drew near and leaned on the tall fender. The face of Hyde sat heavy on his memory; he felt (what was rare with him) a nausea and distaste of life.
Poole returned to announce that Dr. Jekyll was gone out.
“I saw Mr. Hyde go in by the old dissecting-room[14] door, Poole,” he said. “Is that right, when Dr. Jekyll is from home?”
“Quite right, Mr. Utterson, sir,” replied the servant. “Mr. Hyde has a key.”
“Your master seems to repose a great deal of trust in that young man, Poole,” resumed the other musingly.
“Yes, sir,” said Poole. “We have orders to obey him.”
“I do not think I ever met Mr. Hyde?” asked Utterson.
“O, dear no, sir. He never dines here,” replied the butler. “Indeed we see very little of him on this side of the house; he mostly comes and goes by the laboratory.”
“Well, good-night, Poole.”
“Good-night, Mr. Utterson.”
And the lawyer set out homeward with a very heavy heart.
“Poor Harry Jekyll,” he thought, “my mind tells me he is in a trouble! This Master Hyde, if he were studied,” thought he, “must have secrets of his own; black secrets, by the look of him; secrets compared to which poor Jekyll’s worst would be like sunshine. Poor Harry! And if this Hyde suspects the existence of the will, he may grow impatient to inherit. Oh, I must do something if Jekyll will let me,” he added, “if Jekyll will let me.”
Dr. Jekyll was Quite at Ease
A fortnight later, the doctor gave one of his pleasant dinners to some five or six old friends, all intelligent, reputable men; and Mr. Utterson remained behind after the others had departed. This was not new. Where Utterson was liked, he was liked well. Hosts loved to detain the dry lawyer, they liked to sit a while in his unobtrusive company. To this rule, Dr. Jekyll was no exception; and as he now sat on the opposite side of the fire—a large, well-made, smooth-faced man of fifty.
“I have been wanting to speak to you, Jekyll,” began Mr. Utterson. “Do you remember that will of yours?”
A close observer might have noticed that the topic was distasteful.
“My poor Utterson,” said the doctor, I never saw a man so distressed as you were by my will; unless it were that pedant, Lanyon, at what he called my scientific heresies. Oh, I know he’s a good fellow—an excellent fellow, and I always mean to see more of him; but he is a pedant; an ignorant, blatant pedant. I was never more disappointed in any man than Lanyon.”
“You know I never approved of it,” pursued Utterson, ruthlessly disregarding the fresh topic.
“My will? Yes, certainly, I know that,” said the doctor sharply. “You have told me so.”
“Well, I tell you so again,” continued the lawyer. “I have been learning something of young Hyde.”
The large handsome face of Dr. Jekyll grew pale to the very lips, and there came a blackness about his eyes.
“I do not care to hear more,” said he. “This is a matter I thought we had agreed to drop.”
“What I heard was abominable,” said Utterson.
“It can make no change. You do not understand my position,” returned the doctor. “Utterson, my position is a very strange—a very strange one.”
“Jekyll,” said Utterson, “you know me: I am a man to be trusted. And I can get you out of it.”
“My good Utterson,” said the doctor, “this is very good of you, and I cannot find words to thank you. I believe you fully; I would trust you before any man alive, before myself, if I could make the choice; but indeed it isn’t what you fancy. It is not so bad as that. I will tell you one thing: the moment I choose, I can be rid of Mr. Hyde. I thank you again and again; and I will just add one little word, Utterson. This is a private matter, and let us forget it.”
Utterson reflected a little, looking in the fire.
“I have no doubt you are perfectly right,” he said at last, getting to his feet.
“Well, but since we have touched upon this business, and for the last time I hope,” continued the doctor, “there is one point I should like you to understand. I have really a very great interest in poor Hyde. I know you have seen him; he told me so; and I fear he was rude. But, I do sincerely take a great, a very great interest in that young man, Utterson.”
“I can’t pretend that I shall ever like him,” said the lawyer.
“I don’t ask that,” pleaded Jekyll, laying his hand upon the other’s arm; “I only ask for justice; I only ask you to help him for my sake, when I am no longer here.”
“Well,” said Utterson, “I promise.”
The Carew Murder Case
Nearly a year later, in the month of October, 18—, London was startled by a crime of singular ferocity. The details were few and startling. A maid servant living alone in a house not far from the river, had gone upstairs to bed about eleven. Although a fog rolled over the city, the early part of the night was cloudless, and the lane, which the maid’s window overlooked, was brilliantly lit by the full moon. So she sat down upon her box, which stood under the window, and fell into a dream. Never (she used to say, with streaming tears, when she narrated that experience), never had she felt more at peace with all men or thought more kindly of the world. And as she so sat she saw an aged and beautiful gentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane; and advancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to whom at first she paid less attention. The older man bowed and accosted the other with a very pretty manner of politeness. It sometimes appeared as if he were only inquiring his way; but the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and the girl was pleased to watch it. Presently her eye wandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognise in him a certain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she had conceived a dislike. He had in his hand a heavy cane, with which he was trifling; but he did not answer a word, and seemed to listen with an ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden[15] he broke out in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing the cane, and carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman. The old gentleman took a step back, with the air of one very much surprised and hurt; and at that Mr. Hyde broke out of all bounds and clubbed him to the earth. And next moment, with fury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing down a storm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the body jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of these sights and sounds, the maid fainted.