Incident of the Letter

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　IT was late in the afternoon, when Mr. Utterson found his way toDr. Jekyll's door, where he was at once admitted by Poole, andcarried down by the kitchen offices and across a yard which hadonce been a garden, to the building which was indifferently knownas the laboratory or the dissecting-rooms. The doctor had boughtthe house from the heirs of a celebrated surgeon; and his owntastes being rather chemical than anatomical, had changed thedestination of the block at the bottom of the garden. It was thefirst time that the lawyer had been received in that part of hisfriend's quarters; and he eyed the dingy, windowless structure withcuriosity, and gazed round with a distasteful sense of strangenessas he crossed the theatre, once crowded with eager students and nowlying gaunt and silent, the tables laden with chemical apparatus,the floor strewn with crates and littered with packing straw, andthe 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 thedoctor's cabinet. It was a large room, fitted round with glasspresses, furnished, among other things, with a cheval-glass and abusiness table, and looking out upon the court by three dustywindows barred with iron. A fire burned in the grate; a lamp wasset lighted on the chimney shelf, for even in the houses the fogbegan to lie thickly; and there, close up to the warmth, sat Dr.Jekyll, looking deadly sick. He did not rise to meet his visitor,but held out a cold hand and bade him welcome in a changed voice."And now," said Mr. Utterson, as soon as Poole had left them, "youhave 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 tohide this fellow?""Utterson, I swear to God, " cried the doctor," I swear to God Iwill never set eyes on him again. I bind my honour to you that I amdone with him in this world. It is all at an end. And indeed he doesnot want my help; you do not know him as I do; he is safe, he isquite safe; mark my words, 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, 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 forcertainty that I cannot share with any one. But there is one thingon which you may advise me. I have -- I have received a letter; andI am at a loss whether I should show it to the police. I should liketo leave it in your hands, Utterson; you would judge wisely, I amsure; I have so great a trust in you.""You fear, I suppose, that it might lead to his detection?" askedthe lawyer."No," said the other." I cannot say that I care what becomes ofHyde; I am quite done with him. I was thinking of my own character,which this hateful business has rather exposed."Utterson ruminated a while; he was surprised at his friend'sselfishness, and yet relieved by it. "Well," said he, at last, "letme see the letter."The letter was written in an odd, upright hand and signed "EdwardHyde": and it signified, briefly enough, that the writer'sbenefactor, Dr. Jekyll, whom he had long so unworthily repaid for athousand generosities, need labour under no alarm for his safety, Ashe had means of escape on which he placed a sure dependence. Thelawyer liked this letter well enough; it put a better colour on theintimacy than he had looked for; and he blamed himself for some ofhis 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 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 hismouth tight and nodded."I knew it," said Utterson. "He meant to murder you. You have had afine escape.""I have had what is far more to the purpose," returned the doctorsolemnly: "I have had a lesson -- O God, Utterson, what a lesson Ihave 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 withPoole. "By the by," said he, "there was a letter handed in to-day:what was the messenger like?" But Poole was positive nothing hadcome 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 hadbeen written 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 onefriend and client; and he could not help a certain apprehension lestthe good name of another should be sucked down in the eddy of thescandal. 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 longingfor 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 anicely calculated distance from the fire, a bottle of a particularold wine that had long dwelt unsunned in the foundations of hishouse. The fog still slept on the wing above the drowned city, wherethe lamps glimmered like carbuncles; and through the muffle andsmother of these fallen clouds, the procession of the town's lifewas still rolling in through the great arteries with a sound as of amighty wind. But the room was gay with firelight. In the bottle theacids were long ago resolved; the imperial dye had softened withtime, As the colour grows richer in stained windows; and the glow ofhot autumn afternoons on hillside vineyards was ready to be set freeand 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. Guesthad often been on business to the doctor's; he knew Poole; he couldscarce have failed to hear of Mr. Hyde's familiarity about thehouse; he might draw conclusions: was it not as well, then, that heshould see a letter which put that mystery to rights? and above allsince Guest, being a great student and critic of handwriting, wouldconsider the step natural and obliging? The clerk, besides, was aman of counsel; he would scarce read so strange a document withoutdropping a remark; and by that remark Mr. Utterson might shape hisfuture 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. "Ihave a document here in his handwriting; it is between ourselves,for I scarce know what to do about it; it is an ugly business atthe best. But there it is; quite in your way a murderer'sautograph."Guest's eyes brightened, and he sat down at once and studied itwith 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 Iknew 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 sheetsof paper alongside and sedulously compared their contents. "Thankyou, sir," he said at last, returning both; "it's a veryinteresting autograph."There was a pause, during which Mr. Utterson struggled withhimself. "Why did you compare them, Guest?" he inquired suddenly."Well, sir," returned the clerk, "there's a rather singularresemblance; the two hands are in many points identical: onlydifferently 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!" he thought." Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer!" And hisblood ran cold in his veins.