The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde - Chapter 04 to 07

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and mister Hyde by
Robert Louis Stephenson, Chapters four to seven, Chapter four The
Krew Murder Case. Nearly a year later, in the month
of October eighteen something, London was startled by a crime

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of singular ferocity, and rendered all the more notable by
the high position of the victim. 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 in

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the small hours, the early part of the night was cloudless,
and the lane which the maid's window overlooked was brilliantly
lit by the full moon. It seems she was romantically given,
for she sat down upon her box, which stood immediately
under the window, and fell into a dream of musing. Never,

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she used to say, with streaming tears when she narrated
the experience, never had she felt more at peace with
all men, or thought more kindly of the world. And
as she so sat, she became aware of an aged
and beautiful gentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane,

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and advancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman,
to whom at first she paid less attention. When they
had come within speech, which was just under the maid's eyes,
the older man bowed and accosted the other with a
very pretty manner of politeness. It did not seem as

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if the subject of his address were of great importance. Indeed,
from his pointing, 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. It seemed to breathe such an innocent and
old world kindness of disposition, yet with something high too,

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as of a well founded self content. Presently, her eye
wandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognize
in him a certain mister 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

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he was trifling, But he answered never a word, and
seemed to listen with an ill contained impatience. Then all
of a sudden 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.

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The old gentleman took a step back with the air
of one very much surprised and a trifle hurt, and
at that mister Hyde broke out of all bounds and
clubbed him to the earth, And next moment, with apelike fury,
he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing down
a storm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered,

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and the body jumped upon the roadway. At the horror
of these sights and sounds, the maid fainted. It was
two o'clock when she came to herself and called for
the police. The murderer was gone long ago, but there
lay his victim in the middle of the lane, incredibly mangled.

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The stick with which the deed had been done, although
it was of some rare and very tough and heavy wood,
had broken in the middle under the stress of this
insensate cruelty, and one splintered half had rolled in the
neighboring gotta. The other, without doubt, had been carried away
by the murderer. A purse and a gold watch were

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found upon the victim, but no cards or papers, except
a sealed and stamped envelope which he had been probably
carrying to the post, and which bore the name and
address of mister Utterson. This was brought to the lawyer
the next morning before he was out of bed, and

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he had no sooner seen it and been told the
circumstances than he shot out a solemn lip. I shall
say nothing till I have seen the body, said he.
This may be very serious. Have the kindness to wait
while I dress. And with the same grave countenance, he
hurried through his breakfast and drove to the police station,

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whither the body had been carried. As soon as he
came into the cell, he nodded, yes, said he I
recognize him. I am sorry to say that this is
Sir Danver's carew good God, sir, exclaimed the officer. Is
it possible? And the next moment is eye lighted up

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with professional ambition. This will make a deal of noise,
he said, And perhaps you can help us to the man.
And he briefly narrated what the maid had seen and
showed the broken stick. Mister Utterson had already quailed at
the name of Hyde, but when the stick was laid
before him he could doubt no longer broken and battered

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as it was, he recognized it for one that he
had himself presented many years before to Henry Jekyll. Is
this mister Hyde a person of small stature, he inquired,
particularly small and particularly wicked looking, is what the maid
calls him. The officer, mister Utterson, reflected, and then raising

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his head, if you will come with me in my cab,
he said, I think I can take you to his house.
It was by this time about nine in the morning,
and the first fog of the season. A great chocolate
colored paul lowered over heaven. But the wind was continually
charging and routing these embattled vapors, so that as the

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cab crawled from street to street, mister Rottereson beheld a
marvelous number of degrees and hues of twilight. For here
it would be dark like the back end of evening,
and there would be a glow of a rich, lurid brown,
like the light of some strange conflagration. And here, for

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a moment the fog would be quite broken up, and
a haggard shaft of daylight would glance in between the
swirling wreaths. The dismal quarter of slusho seen under these
changing glimpses, with its muddy ways and slatternly passengers, and
its lamps which had never been extinguished or had been

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kindled afresh to combat. This mournful reinvasion of darkness seemed
in the lawyer's eyes like a district of some city
in a nightmare. The thoughts of his mind, besides, were
of the gloomiest dye, And when he glanced at the
companion of his drive, he was conscious of some touch

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of that terror of the law and the law's officers,
which may at times assail the most honest. As the
cab drew up before the address indicated, the fog lifted
a little and showed him a dingy street, a gin palace,
a low French eating house, a shop for the retail

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of penny numbers and topenny salads, many ragged children huddled
in the doorways, and many women of many different nationalities
passing out key in hand to have a morning glass.
And the next moment the fog settled down again upon
that part as brown as omber, and cut him off

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from his blackguardly surroundings. This was the home of Henry
Jackal's favorite of a man who was heir to a
quarter of a million sterling, an ivory faced and silvery
haired old woman opened the door. She had an evil
face smoothed by hypocrisy, but her manners were excellent. Yes,

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she said, this was mister Hyde's, but he was not
at home. He had been in that night very late,
but had gone away again in less than an hour.
There was nothing strange in that his habits were very irregular,
and he was often absent. For instance, it was nearly
two months since she had seen him till yesterday. Very well,

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then we wished to see his rooms, said the lawyer,
And when the woman began to declare it was impossible,
I had better tell you who this person is, he added,
This is Inspector Newcommon of Scotland. Yard. A flash of
odious joy appeared upon the woman's face. Ah said she
he's in trouble. What has he done? Mister Utterson and

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the Inspector exchanged glances. He don't seem a very popular character,
observed the latter. And now, my good woman, just let
me and this gentleman have a look about us. In
the whole extent of the house, which but for the
old woman, remained otherwise empty, mister Hyde had only used

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a couple of rooms, but these were furnished with luxury
and good taste. A closet was filled with wine, the
plate was of silver, the napery excellent. A good picture
hung upon the walls, a gift, as Utterson supposed, from
Henry Jekyl, who was much of a connoisseur, and the

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carpets were of many plies and agreeable in colour. At
this moment, however, the rooms bore every mark of having
been recently and hurriedly ransacked. Clothes lay about the floor
with their pockets inside out. Lockfast drawers stood open, and
on the hearth there lay a pile of gray ashes,

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as though many papers had been burned from these embers.
The inspector disinterred the butt end of a green check book,
which had resisted the action of the fire. The other
half of the stick was found behind the door, and
as this clinched his suspicions, the officer declared himself delighted.

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A visit to the bank, where several thousand pounds were
found to be lying to the murderer's credit, completed his gratification.
You may depend on it, sir, he told mister Utterson,
I have him in my hand. He must have lost
his head, or he would never have left the stick,
or above all, burned the check book. Why money's life

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to the man. We have nothing to do but wait
for him at the bank and get out the handbills.
This last, however, was not so easy of accomplishment, for
mister Hyde had numbered few familiars. Even the master of
the servant maid had only seen him twice. His family
could nowhere be traced, he had never been photographed, and

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the few who could describe him differed widely, as common
observers will. Only on one point were they agreed, and
that was the haunting sense of unexpressed deformity with which
the fugitive impressed his beholders. Chapter five, Incident of the Letter.

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It was late in the afternoon when mister Utterson found
his way to doctor Jekyll's door, where he was at
once admitted by Paul and carried down by the kitchen
offices and across a yard which had once been a
garden to the building which was indifferently known as the
laboratory or the dissecting rooms. The doctor had bought the

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house from the airs of a celebrated surgeon, and his
own tastes being rather chemical than anatomical had changed the
destination of the block at the bottom of the garden.
It was the first time that the lawyer had been
received in that part of his friend's quarters, and he
eyed the dingy, windowless structure with curiosity, and gazed round

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with a distasteful sense of strangeness as he crossed the theater,
once crowded with eager students, and now lying gaunt and silent,
the tables laden with chemical apparatus, the floor strewn with
crates and littered with packing straw, and the light falling
dimly through the foggy cupola. At the further end a

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flight of stairs mounted to a door covered with red baize,
and through this mister Otterson was at last received into
the doctor's cabinet. It was a large room, fitted round
with glass presses, furnished, among other things, with a cheval
glass and a business table, and looking out upon the

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court by three dusty windows barred with iron. The fire
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 up to the warmth,
sat Doctor Jekyl, looking deadly sick. He did not rise

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to meet his visitor, but held out a cold hand
and bade him welcome in a changed voice. And now,
said mister Utterson, as soon as Paul had left them,
you have heard the news, The doctor shuddered. They were
crying it in the square, he said, I heard them

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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 honor to

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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.

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You seem pretty sure of him, he said, 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 of which you may advise me. I have.

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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

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the other. I cannot say that I care what becomes
of Hide. I am quite done with him. I was
thinking of my own character, which this hateful business has
rather exposed. Otterson ruminated a while. He was surprised at
his friend's selfishness, and yet relieved by it. Well said

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he at last let me see the letter. The letter
was written in an old upright hand and signed Edward Hyde,
and it signified briefly enough that the writer's benefactor, doctor Jekyl,
whom he had long so unworthily repaid for a thousand generosities,

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need labor 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 color on the intimacy than he had looked for,
and he blamed himself for some of his past suspicions.

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Have you the envelope, he asked, I burned it, replied Jekyl,
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.

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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 shot his
mouth tight and nodded. I knew it, said Utterson. He
meant to murder you. You have had a fine escape.

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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 with Paul.

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By the bye, said he there was a letter handed
in to day. What was the messenger like? But Paul
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

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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 MP. That was the

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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 was at least a ticklish decision that he had
to make. And self reliant as he was by habit,

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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 mister Guest his head
clerk upon the other, and midway between, at a nicely

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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,

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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 color grows richer
in stained windows, and the glow of hot autumn afternoons

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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 mister Guest, and he was not always sure that
he kept as many as he meant. Guests had often

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been on business to the doctors. He knew Paul, he
could scarcely have failed to hear of mister 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 writs? And above all, since Guest,
being a great student and critic of handwriting, would consider

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them step natural and obliging. The clerk, besides, was a
man of counsel. He would Scarce read so strange a
document without dropping a remark, and by that remark mister
Utterson might shape his future course. This is a sad business,

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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 Otterson. I have a document here
in his handwriting. It is between ourselves. For I Scarce

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knew 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

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and by all accounts, a very odd writer, added the lawyer.
Just then the servant entered with a note. Is that
from doctor Jackal? Sir? Inquired the clerk. I thought I
knew the writing anything private, mister Utterson, only an invitation
to dinner. Why do you want to see it? One moment,

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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 mister Utterson struggled with himself.

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Why did you compare them, guessed 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.

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I wouldn't speak of this note, you know, said the master. No, sir,
said the clerk. I understand, but no. Sooner was mister
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

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blood ran cold in his veins. Chapter six remarkable incident
of doctor Lanyon. Time ran on. Thousands of pounds were
offered in reward for the death of Sir Danvers was
resented as a public injury, but mister Hyde had disappeared

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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

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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, mister
Uttereson began to recover from the hotness of his alarm

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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 mister Hyde. Now
that that evil influence had been withdrawn, a new life
began for doctor Jekyll. He came out of his seclusion,

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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,

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as if with an inward consciousness of service, and for
more than two months the doctor was at peace. On
the eighth of January, Otterson 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.

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On the twelfth, and again on the fourteenth, the door
was shut against the lawyer. The doctor was con fined
to the house, Paul said, and saw no one. On
the fifteenth he tried again and was again refused. And
having now been used for the last two months to

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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 doctor Lanion's. There at least he
was not denied admittance, But when he came in, he

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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

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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,

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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
Otterson remarked on his ill looks, it was with an
air of great firmness that Lanyon declared himself a doomed man.

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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,

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observed Otterson. Have you seen him? But Lanion's face changed
and he held up a trembling hand. I wish to
see or hear no more of doctor 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,

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said mister Utterson. And then, after a considerable pause, can't
I do anything? He inquired, We are three very old friends, Lanion,
we shall not live to make others. Nothing can be done,
returned Lanion, ask himself. He will not see me, said

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the doctor. I'm 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

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I cannot bear it. As soon as he got home,
Otterson sat down and wrote to Jekyl, 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.

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In drift, the quarrel with Lanyon was incurable. I do
not blame our old friend, Jackyl 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

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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

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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 hide had been withdrawn.
The doctor had returned to his old tasks and amateurs.

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A week ago, the prospect had smiled with every promise
of a cheerful and an honored 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

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manner and words, they must lie for it some deeper ground.
A week afterwards, doctor Lanion 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,
Otterson locked the door of his business room, and, sitting

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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 dear friend private
for the hands of J. G. Utterson alone, and in
case of his predecease, to be destroyed unread. So it

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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 end, closure likewise sealed and marked upon

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the cover as not to be opened till the death
or disappearance of doctor Henry Jekyl. Otterson 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,

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and the name of Henry Jekyl bracketed. But in the will.
That idea had sprung from the sinister suggestion of the
man Hide. It was set there with a purpose all
too plain and horrible, written by the hand of Lanyon.
What could it mean? A great curiosity came on the

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trustee to disregard the prohibition and dive at once to
the bottom of these mysteries. But professional honor and faith
to his dead friend were stringent obligations, and Packet slept
in the inmost corner of his private safe. It is
one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it. And

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it may be doubted if from that day forth Otterson
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

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he preferred to speak with Paul 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.
Paul had indeed no very pleasant news to communicate. The

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doctor it appeared now more than ever can and find
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

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used to the unvarying character of these reports that he
fell off little by little in the frequency of his visits.
Chapter seven incident at the window. It chanced on Sunday,

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when mister Utterson was on his usual walk with mister 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 at it. Well, said Enfield, that
story is at an end. At least we shall never
see more of mister Hyde. I hope not, said Utterson.

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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
doctor Jeckylls. It was partly your own fault that I
found out. Even when I did so, you found it out.

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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 Jekyl, 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

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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 Jeckyll. What Jeckyll, he cried,

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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 mister
Enfield and me. This is my cousin, mister Enfield, Doctor Jeckyll.

(36:34):
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 mister Enfield up,

(36:55):
But the place is really not fit. Why, then, said
the lawyer 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

(37:17):
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

(37:38):
the court without a word. In silence too, they traversed
the by street, and it was not until they had
come into a neighboring thoroughfare, where, even upon a Sunday,
there were still some stirrings of life that mister Utterson
at last turned and looked at his companion. They were
both pale, and there was an answering horror in their eyes.

(38:03):
God forgive us, God forgive us, said mister Ruttereson. But
mister Enfield only nodded his head very seriously and walked
on once more in silence. End of Chapter seven