SEARCH FOR MR. HYDE

That evening Mr. Utterson came home to his bachelor 
house in sombre spirits and sat down to dinner 
without relish. It was his custom of a Sunday, when 
this meal was over, to sit close by the fire, a volume 
of some dry divinity on his reading desk, until the 
clock of the neighbouring church rang out the hour 
of twelve, when he would go soberly and gratefully to 
bed. On this night however, as soon as the cloth was 
taken away, he took up a candle and went into his 
business room. There he opened his safe, took 
from the most private part of it a document 
endorsed on the envelope as Dr. Jekyll's Will and sat 
down with a clouded brow to study its contents. The 
will was holograph, for Mr. Utterson though he 
took charge of it now that it was made, had 
refused to lend the least assistance in the 
making of it; it provided not only that, in case of 
the decease of Henry Jekyll, M.D., D.C.L., 
L.L.D., F.R.S., etc., all his possessions were to 
pass into the hands of his "friend and benefactor 
Edward Hyde," but that in case of Dr. Jekyll's 
"disappearance or unexplained absence for any 
period exceeding three calendar months," the 
said Edward Hyde should step into the 
said Henry Jekyll's shoes without further delay and 
free from any burthen or obligation beyond the 
payment of a few small sums to the members of the 
doctor's household. This document had long been the 
lawyer's eyesore. It offended him both as a lawyer 
and as a lover of the sane and customary sides of 
life, to whom the fanciful was the immodest. And 
hitherto it was his ignorance of Mr. Hyde that had 
swelled his indignation; now, by a sudden turn, it was 
his knowledge. It was already bad enough when the 
name was but a name of which he could learn no more. 
It was worse when it began to be clothed upon with 
detestable attributes; and out of the shifting, 
insubstantial mists that had so long baffled his eye, 
there leaped up the sudden, definite presentment of 
a fiend. 

"I thought it was madness," he said, as he replaced 
the obnoxious paper in the safe, "and now I begin 
to fear it is disgrace." 

With that he blew out his candle, put on a greatcoat, 
and set forth in the direction of Cavendish Square, 
that citadel of medicine, where his friend, the great 
Dr. Lanyon, had his house and received his crowding 
patients. "If anyone knows, it will be Lanyon," he 
had thought. 

The solemn butler knew and welcomed him; he was 
subjected to no stage of delay, but ushered direct 
from the door to the dining-room where Dr. Lanyon 
sat alone over his wine. This was a hearty, healthy, 
dapper, red-faced gentleman, with a shock of hair 
prematurely white, and a boisterous and decided 
manner. At sight of Mr. Utterson, he sprang up from 
his chair and welcomed him with both hands. The 
geniality, as was the way of the man, was somewhat 
theatrical to the eye; but it reposed on genuine 
feeling. For these two were old friends, old mates 
both at school and college, both thorough respectors 
of themselves and of each other, and what does not 
always follow, men who thoroughly enjoyed each 
other’s company. 

After a little rambling talk, the lawyer led up to the 
subject which so disagreeably preoccupied his mind. 

"I suppose, Lanyon," said he, "you and I must be the 
two oldest friends that Henry Jekyll has?"

"I wish the friends were younger," chuckled 
Dr. Lanyon. "But I suppose we are. And what of that? 
I see little of him now." 

"Indeed?" said Utterson. "I thought you had a bond 
of common interest." 

"We had," was the reply. "But it is more than ten 
years since Henry Jekyll became too fanciful for me. 
He began to go wrong, wrong in mind; and though of 
course I continue to take an interest in him for old 
sake's sake, as they say, I see and I have seen 
devilish little of the man. Such unscientific 
balderdash," added the doctor, flushing suddenly 
purple, "would have estranged Damon and Pythias." 

This little spirit of temper was somewhat of a relief 
to Mr. Utterson. "They have only differed on some 
point of science," he thought; and being a man of no
scientific passions (except in the matter of 
conveyancing), he even added: "It is nothing worse 
than that!" He gave his friend a few seconds to 
recover his composure, and then approached the 
question he had come to put. "Did you ever come 
across a protege of his - one Hyde?" he asked. 

"Hyde?" repeated Lanyon. "No. Never heard of him. 
Since my time." 

That was the amount of information that the lawyer 
carried back with him to the great, dark bed on 
which he tossed to and fro, until the small hours 
of the morning began to grow large. It was a night 
of little ease to his toiling mind, toiling in mere 
darkness and besieged by questions. 

Six o'clock struck on the bells of the church that 
was so conveniently near to Mr. Utterson's dwelling, 
and still he was digging at the problem. Hitherto 
it had touched him on the intellectual side alone; 
but now his imagination also was engaged, or 
rather enslaved; and as he lay and tossed in the 
gross darkness of the night and the curtained room, 
Mr. Enfield's tale went by before his mind in a scroll 
of lighted pictures. He would be aware of the great 
field of lamps of a nocturnal city; then of the 
figure of a man walking swiftly; then of a child 
running from the doctor’s; and then these met, and 
that human Juggernaut trod the child down and 
passed on regardless of her screams. Or else he 
would see a room in a rich house, where his friend lay 
asleep, dreaming and smiling at his dreams; and then 
the door of that room would be opened, the curtains 
of the bed plucked apart, the sleeper recalled, and 
lo! there would stand by his side a figure to whom 
power was given, and even at that dead hour, he 
must rise and do its bidding. The figure in these two 
phases haunted the lawyer all night; and if at any 
time he dozed over, it was but to see it glide more 
stealthily through sleeping houses, or move the more 
swiftly and still the more swiftly, even to dizziness, 
through wider labyrinths of lamplighted city, and at 
every street corner crush a child and leave her 
screaming. And still the figure had no face by which 
he might know it; even in his dreams, it had no face, 
or one that baffled him and melted before his eyes; 
and thus it was that there sprang up and grew apace 
in the lawyer's mind a singularly strong, almost an 
inordinate, curiosity to behold the features of the 
real Mr. Hyde. If he could but once set eyes on him, 
he thought the mystery would lighten and perhaps 
roll altogether away, as was the habit of mysterious 
things when well examined. He might see a reason for 
his friend’s strange preference or bondage (call it 
which you please) and even for the startling clause 
of the will. At least it would be a face worth seeing: 
the face of a man who was without bowels of mercy: 
a face which had but to show itself to raise up, in the 
mind of the unimpressionable Enfield, a spirit of 
enduring hatred. 

From that time forward, Mr. Utterson began to haunt 
the door in the by-street of shops. In the morning 
before office hours, at noon when business was 
plenty and time scarce, at night under the face of 
the fogged city moon, by all lights and at all hours 
of solitude or concourse, the lawyer was to be found 
on his chosen post. "If he be Mr. Hyde," he had 
thought, "I shall be Mr. Seek." And at last his 
patience was rewarded. 

It was a fine dry night; frost in the air; the streets 
as clean as a ballroom floor; the lamps, unshaken by 
any wind, drawing a regular pattern of light and 
shadow. By ten o'clock, when the shops were closed, 
the by-street was very solitary and, in spite of the 
low growl of London from all round, very silent. 
Small sounds carried far; domestic sounds out of the 
houses were clearly audible on either side of the 
roadway; and the rumour of the approach of any passenger 
preceded him by a long time. Mr. Utterson had been 
some minutes at his post, when he was aware of an 
odd light footstep drawing near. In the course of his 
nightly patrols, he had long grown accustomed to the 
quaint effect with which the footfalls of a single person, 
while he is still a great way off, suddenly spring out 
distinct from the vast hum and clatter of the city. Yet 
his attention had never before been so sharply and 
decisively arrested; and it was with a strong, superstitious 
prevision of success that he withdrew into the entry of 
the court. 

The steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out 
suddenly louder as they turned the end of the 
street. The lawyer, looking forth from the entry, 
could soon see what manner of man he had to deal 
with. He was small and very plainly dressed and the 
look of him, even at that distance, went somehow 
strongly against the watcher’s inclination. But 
he made straight for the door, crossing the roadway 
to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his 
pocket like one approaching home.
 
Mr. Utterson stepped out and touched him on the 
shoulder as he passed. "Mr. Hyde, I think?" 

Mr. Hyde shrank back with a hissing intake of the 
breath. But his fear was only momentary; and though 
he did not look the lawyer in the face, he 
answered coolly enough: "That is my name. What do 
you want?"

"I see you are going in," returned the lawyer. "I am an 
old friend of Dr. Jekyll"s - Mr. Utterson of Gaunt 
Street - you must have heard of my name; and meeting 
you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me."

"You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home," replied 
Mr. Hyde, blowing in the key. And then suddenly, but 
still without looking up, "How did you know me?" he 
asked. 

"On your side," said Mr. Utterson "will you do me a 
favour?" 

"With pleasure," replied the other. "What shall it be?" 

"Will you let me see your face?" asked the lawyer. 

Mr. Hyde appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon 
some sudden reflection, fronted about with an air 
of defiance; and the pair stared at each other 
pretty fixedly for a few seconds. "Now I shall know 
you again," said Mr. Utterson. "It may be useful." 

"Yes," returned Mr. Hyde, "It is as well we have met; 
and a propos, you should have my address." And he 
gave a number of a street in Soho.
 
"Good God!" thought Mr. Utterson, "can he, too, have 
been thinking of the will?" But he kept his feelings 
to himself and only grunted in acknowledgment of the 
address. 

"And now," said the other, "how did you know me?" 

"By description," was the reply.
 
"Whose description?"
 
"We have common friends," said Mr. Utterson. 

"Common friends," echoed Mr. Hyde, a little hoarsely. 
"Who are they?"

"Jekyll, for instance," said the lawyer. 

"He never told you," cried Mr. Hyde, with a flush of 
anger. "I did not think you would have lied." 

"Come," said Mr. Utterson, "that is not fitting 
language." 

The other 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, 
the picture of 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, he had borne himself to the lawyer 
with a sort of murderous mixture of timidity and boldness, 
and he spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken 
voice; 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. God bless me, the man seems hardly human! Something 
troglodytic, shall we say? or can it be the old story of 
Dr. Fell? or is it the mere radiance of a foul soul that 
thus transpires through, and transfigures, its clay continent? 
The last, I think; for, 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, now for the 
most part decayed from their high estate and let 
in flats and chambers to all sorts and conditions 
of men; map-engravers, architects, shady lawyers 
and the agents of obscure enterprises. One house, 
however, second from the corner, was still occupied 
entire; and at the door of this, which wore a great 
air of wealth and comfort, though it was now plunged 
in darkness except for the fanlight, Mr. Utterson 
stopped and knocked. A well-dressed, elderly servant 
opened the door. "Is Dr. Jekyll at home, Poole?" 
asked the lawyer. 

"I will see, Mr. Utterson," said Poole, admitting the 
visitor, as he spoke, into a large, low-roofed, 
comfortable hall paved with flags, warmed (after 
the fashion of a country house) by a bright, open 
fire, and furnished with costly cabinets of oak. "Will 
you wait here by the fire, sir? or shall I give you a 
light in the dining-room?" 

"Here, thank you," said the lawyer, and he drew near 
and leaned on the tall fender. This hall, in which 
he was now left alone, was a pet fancy of his friend 
the doctor's; and Utterson himself was wont to speak 
of it as the pleasantest room in London. But tonight 
there was a shudder in his blood; the face of Hyde 
sat heavy on his memory; he felt (what was rare with 
him) a nausea and distaste of life; and in the gloom of 
his spirits, he seemed to read a menace in the flickering 
of the firelight on the polished cabinets and the 
uneasy starting of the shadow on the roof. He was 
ashamed of his relief, when Poole presently returned 
to announce that Dr. Jekyll was gone out. 

"I saw Mr. Hyde go in by the old dissecting room, 
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, he does indeed," said Poole. "We have all 
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 
misgives me he is in deep waters! He was wild 
when he was young; a long while ago to be sure; 
but in the law of God, there is no statute 
of limitations. Ay, it must be that; the ghost of some 
old sin, the cancer of some concealed disgrace: 
punishment coming, pede claudo, years after memory 
has forgotten and self-love condoned the fault." And 
the lawyer, scared by the thought, brooded awhile on his 
own past, groping in all the corners of memory, least 
by chance some Jack-in-the-Box of an old iniquity 
should leap to light there. His past was fairly 
blameless; few men could read the rolls of their life 
with less apprehension; yet he was humbled to the 
dust by the many ill things he had done, and raised up 
again into a sober and fearful gratitude by the many he 
had come so near to doing yet avoided. And then by a 
return on his former subject, he conceived a spark of hope. 
"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. Things cannot continue as they are. It turns me cold 
to think of this creature stealing like a thief to 
Harry's bedside; poor Harry, what a wakening! And the 
danger of it; for if this Hyde suspects the existence of 
the will, he may grow impatient to inherit. Ay, 
I must put my shoulders to the wheel - if Jekyll 
will but let me," he added, "if Jekyll will only 
let me." For once more he saw before his 
mind's eye, as clear as transparency, the strange 
clauses of the will. 