Chapter 8
One evening, Mr. Utterson sat by his hearth and was having his supper. As he finished, he was startled to see Poole entering through the door.
“What a pleasant surprise Poole!” said Mr. Utterson, “What made you forget your way to my home? Is the doctor alright?”
“I want to discuss something important with you Mr. Utterson,” said Poole in a worried tone.
Mr. Utterson asked him to take a seat and offered him a glass of wine. He said, “Tell me without hesitating and calmly.”
“You are aware of doctor’s strange behaviour nowadays, sir,” replied Poole, “the way he has isolated himself from the rest of the world. He has shut himself up in the office and I hate every bit of it, sir. I am really scared, sir. I am consumed with fear and I just can’t take any more of it.”
The butler seemed very disturbed as he spoke; and he couldn’t even face Mr. Utterson after he had admitted about his fears. The level of wine his glass was the same as he sat gazing on the floor with a plain expression. “I just can’t take it any more,” he said again.
“I reckon there is something you want to tell me Poole,” said the lawyer, “I have a feeling that something is terribly wrong. Share it with me.”
Poole took a huge sigh and said “Sir, there is a case of a foul play.”
“What!” cried Utterson with his face covered in fear,” what are you talking about?”
“I think you should come with me and witness with your own eyes,” answered Poole.
Mr. Utterson got set to leave with his hat and overcoat in no time.
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.
“I hope everything is alright, sir,” he said.
Mr. Utterson nodded in return.
Poole knocked the door with trembling hands. A voice came from inside in return, “Is it you, Poole?”
“Yes, it is me,” said Poole, “you can let me in now.”
Mr. Utterson entered the hall along with Poole and saw all the servants present. The hall 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. The housemaid caught the sight of the lawyer and cried, “Oh dear god! Mr. Utterson.” She cried with a sigh of relief.
“What are you all doing here, eh?” inquired Mr. Utterson,” I don’t think Jekyll would be pleased to see this.”
“Sir, they all share my fears,” said Poole as the lawyer observed everyone was looking at the inner door fearfully.
Blank silence followed, no one protesting; only the maid lifted her voice and now wept loudly.
”Hold your tongue!” Poole said to her, with 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.
Poole requested Mr. Utterson to accompany him while he took a candle and headed towards the back garden.
“Sir, please keep your eyes and ears open but don’t make any sound,” he said, “if he asks you to come in, don’t follow.”
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.. Poole asked him to stay out of sight and just listen to
there conversation as he reached the door and knocked.
“Sir, Mr. Utterson is here to see you,” said Poole, and instantly asked the lawyer to pay attention to the answer.
“You can tell him I don’t want to see anyone presently, or rather I can’t see anyone,” reply came from inside.
“Very well, sir,” said the butler and gazed at Mr. Utterson victoriously. He accompanied the lawyer back to the kitchen with the candle in his hand.
“Now, was that Dr. Jekyll’s voice, sir?” asked Poole looking at Mr. Utterson in hope of an agreement.
“It is seems far more different than his actual voice,” replied Utterson looking back at Poole with curiousity.
“I have been working in this man’s house for the past twenty years. I think I can very well recognize my master’s voice. Sir, I believe my master has been murdered by that man hiding down there about a week ago when we heard a scream in the name of god; and we can’t figure out who is staying down there, and why does it stays after he has killed my master.”
“That does not add up, Poole,” returned Mr. Utterson, “if we consider the strange story that Jekyll has been killed and the killer is taking refuge down in his laboratory, I don’t see a sensible reason for him to stay.”
“I know it is difficult for me to convince you, sir, but I will try my best,” said Poole, “From these past seven days, the creature hiding down there has been going on about some drug all day long. He has been giving all his orders through small sheets of paper that he writes on and throws it in the staircase. The food is catiously retrieved when there is no one around. Sometimes he summons the same medicine more than twice in a day and keeps complaining about my choice of chemists as the drug would not be pure enough. I don’t know what is it, sir, but he wants that medicine badly.”
“Can I take a look at one of those sheet of papers?” asked the lawyer.
The butler gave him a note which read; Dr. Jekyll expresses his gratitude to Messrs Maw. He would like to convey that the last sample is of no use to his purpose as it is not pure. Many years ago, Dr. Jekyll bought a large quantity of the same medicine and urges them to somehow search for the sam quality if left and deliver it to him immediately. Expenses need not be considered. For heaven’s sake find me the old one. The letter showed how Impatient the writer was for this piece of drug.
“This is weird,” said Mr. Utterson; and then asked, “How come you have it without any seal?”
“The chemist was aggravated by this letter and he threw it back at me at once,” replied Poole.
“I reckon it to be doctor’s handwriting, what do you think?” asked Mr. Utterson.
“I agree with you, sir,” said Poole unwillinglu, “but I have seen him with my own eyes, sir, how does the handwriting matter?”
“Really?” replied the lawyer looking surprised.
“Yes, sir,” replied Poole, “a few days ago I came into the theatre and he was there searching for his medicine, with the door of the cabinet left open. As soon as he saw me, he ran back into the cabinet and shut the door behind him. I saw him for a couple of seconds, but it was long enough. Why would the doctor put a mask on his face and run after seeing me? But…” he covered his face with his hands and started crying.
“I know it is a difficult time but I feel I know what is going on around. I have understood that Jekyll is suffering from a disease that disfigures your appearance accompanied by internal pain. I reckon he hides from everyone while looking for this drug desperately is because he it is his only chance to recover and survive. May God be with him! I know it is sad and unfortunate; but it is the only sensible explanation for all the mishappenings around us.”
“Mr Utterson,” said Poole, changing his expression, “I can swear on god that person was not my master, He is far taller and well built as compared to this thing.”
Utterson tried to support his theories with a few additions but his protest was again interferred by the butler.
“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.”
“Now that you have such a doubt in your mind,” returned the lawyer, “I have to go through that door and make sure he is alive ignoring this note which is a crucial evidence of the fact that he is still present in this house.”
Poole took a sigh of relief, “Now that’s more like it, sir!”
Mr Utterson took a kitchen knife in his hand and reminded Poole that they both were about to step in a situation with a lot of danger involved.
Poole nodded in approval and was still keen to move forward.
“Did you recognize this masked creature, Poole?”
“The figure was in such a hurry that I cannot say I am sure to have recognized it,” replied Poole, “But if your doubt is that it could be Mr. Hyde, I share that doubt with you. I think it was him. They both seemed similar in many ways. He also had access to the laboratory keys at the time of murder. Have you met this Mr. Hyde, Mr. Utterson?”
“I did once have a brief conversation with him,” said the lawyer.
“Then even you must have suscpicion about the character of that man just like the rest of us?”
“Sir, I felt a shiver through my entire body when he leaped out of the chemicals and ran into the cabinet. I could promise you it was Hyde!”
“I reckon with you, Poole. Even I feel my friend has been murdered at the hands of this person who is still looking for something in Harry’s room. I want you to call Bradshaw. We need to avenge his death.”
Bradshaw came in, breathing haeavily.
“Listen to me very carefully, Bradshaw,” said Mr. Utterson, “Poole and I are going reach for the cabinet door and force our way in. If you see anything suspicious or if it goes wrong, you and others should cover the laboratory door with some knife or sticks in your hands in about 10 minutes.”
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.
“That creature walks to and fro in the cabinet all day long, sir,” said Poole, “Do you think this is Dr. Jekyll’s foot?”
Mr. Utterson could notice the difference of these footsteps from those of Jekyll’s. 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, “Is it always the same?” The lawyer asked.
“Yes, sir, but one day I heard him crying!” returned the butler.
Mr. Utterson had a sudden chill of shock when he heard the word ‘crying’.
After ten long minutes of waiting, Poole pulled out the axe and placed the candle such that everything nearby was visible. They went neared towards the cabinet door where they could still hear the sound of footsteps going to and fro.
“Jekyll, I need to speak with you,” cried the lawyer loudly and then waited for him to reply back but nothing came. He said, “I demand to see you right now. If you do not show yourself by fair means and refuse to cooperate, I shall enter by force and foul means.”
“Utterson,” was the reply, “please leave me alone for heaven’s sake!”
“I reckon that is Hyde’s voice,” cried the lawyer, “Poole, lets open the door.”
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 cabinet was dimly lit, few drawers were open. The kettle laid out beside the hearth along with the rest of the things. In the middle of the room right on the floor, lay body of a man up side down. They reached for the body and turned it over, and saw Mr. Hyde’s face. He was oddly dressed as if wearing Jekyll’s clothes. The man was dead already and he could reckon it to be a suicidal corpse.
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 are late, Hyde is no more and we do not have a clue of the body of your master,” said the lawyer sternly.
They searched out the entire building, every corner that occupied a part of the floor but could not find a trace of Dr. Jekyll. 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. Nowhere was there any trace of Henry Jekyll dead or alive.
“He could be buried in the flags of the corridor,” Poole said.
“Maybe he ran away,” said the lawyer, as he saw the door in the street which was locked. He discovered a worn out rusted key lying near by the door.
“I do not understand what is happening, Poole,” said Utterson, “Let us examine the cabinet one more time.”
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.
“Sir, this is the medic I have been bringing for him,” said the butler. As he spoke, the kettle started singing.
They went beside the hearth, 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. They saw a book lying half open beside the tea and Utterson could reckon it was a favourite of Jekyll’s.
They saw a cheval-glass on the table with a sparkling glow on its bottom reflecting the roof and their faces.
“This glass has been through something unusual, sir” said Poole in a whispering sound.
“I wonder what Jekyll could want with it?” whispered back the lawyer.
Next, they saw a large envelope placed on the business table addressing to Mr. Utterson. The lawyer could identify Jekyll’s hand on the letter. He quickly grabbed the envelope and opened it. The envelope revealed a will just like the old one but with Utterson’s name on it this time instead of Mr. Hyde.
He looked at Poole, and then back at the paper, and last of all at the dead malefactor stretched upon the carpet. He was startled by the document.
“This is all beyond me,” he said, “He had this will with him for so many days and he must have been aggravated with me replacing him in the will, even then he never burnt this piece of paper.”
There was also another piece of paper that came out of the envelope in the form of a note. “Poole,” cried the lawyer, “this note is dated a few days ago. He must be alive, He must have fled! He is grave danger and we may yet increase the danger for him. We should be careful.”
“Read the note, sir,” requested Poole.
He started reading the note which said :—
My Dear Utterson,
When you shal get your eyes upon this note, I
shall no more be around, I cannot say under what situation that would be, but I feel the end is sure and quite near. You can read Lanyon’s narrative as well as his confession.
Your unfortunate friend
Henry Jekyll
The third and final content of the envelope was a sealed packet which the lawyer put into his pocket. “I don’t want to discuss this note. I would go back home now and read these documents in solitary. I shall be back by midnight and we can contact the Police then.”
Poole did not say a word and the both left, locking the door. Utterson left for his home and as soon as he reached his office he started with the two confessions.
