prompt:
Chapter: THE LAST NIGHT

MR. UTTERSON was sitting by his fireside one evening after
dinner, when he was surprised to receive a visit from Poole.

"Bless me, Poole, what brings you here?" he cried; and then
taking a second look at him, "What ails you?" he added; "is the
doctor ill?"

"Mr. Utterson," said the man, "there is something wrong."

"Take a seat, and here is a glass of wine for you," said the
lawyer. "Now, take your time, and tell me plainly what you want."

"You know the doctor's ways, sir," replied Poole, "and how he
shuts himself up. Well, he's shut up again in the cabinet; and I
don't like it, sir--I wish I may die if I like it. Mr. Utterson,
sir, I'm afraid."

"Now, my good man," said the lawyer, "be explicit. What are you
afraid of?"

"I've been afraid for about a week," returned Poole, doggedly
disregarding the question, "and I can bear it no more."

The man's appearance amply bore out his

52)

words; his manner was altered for the worse; and except for the
moment when he had first announced his terror, he had not once
looked the lawyer in the face. Even now, he sat with the glass of
wine untasted on his knee, and his eyes directed to a corner of
the floor. "I can bear it no more," he repeated.

"Come," said the lawyer, "I see you have some good reason, Poole;
I see there is something seriously amiss. Try to tell me what it
is."

"I think there's been foul play," said Poole, hoarsely.

"Foul play!" cried the lawyer, a good deal frightened and rather
inclined to be irritated in consequence. "What foul play? What
does the man mean?"

"I daren't say, sir," was the answer; "but will you come along
with me and see for yourself?"

Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his hat and
great-coat; but he observed with wonder the greatness of the
relief that appeared upon the butler's face, and perhaps with no
less, that the wine was still untasted when he set it down to
follow.

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 a 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

53)

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 all 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.

"Well, sir," he said, "here we are, and God grant there be
nothing wrong."

"Amen, Poole," said the lawyer.

Thereupon the servant knocked in a very guarded manner; the door
was opened on the chain; and a voice asked from within, "Is that
you, Poole?"

"It's all right," said Poole. "Open the door." The hall, when
they entered it, was brightly lighted up; the fire was built
high; and about the hearth the whole of the servants, men and

54)

women, stood huddled together like a flock of sheep. At the sight
of Mr. Utterson, the housemaid broke into hysterical whimpering;
and the cook, crying out, "Bless God! it's Mr. Utterson," ran
forward as if to take him in her arms.

"What, what? Are you all here?" said the lawyer peevishly. "Very
irregular, very unseemly; your master would be far from pleased."

"They're all afraid," said Poole.

Blank silence followed, no one protesting; only the maid lifted
up her voice and now wept loudly.

"Hold your tongue!" Poole said to her, with a 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 toward 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.

"Now, sir," said he, "you come as gently as you can. I want you
to hear, and I don't want you to be heard. And see here, sir, if
by any chance he was to ask you in, don't go."

Mr. Utterson's nerves, at this unlooked-for termination, gave a
jerk that nearly threw him from his balance; but he re-collected
his courage

55)

and followed the butler into the laboratory building and through
the surgical theatre, with its lumber of crates and bottles, to
the foot of the stair. Here Poole motioned him to stand on one
side and listen; while he himself, setting down the candle and
making a great and obvious call on his resolution, mounted the
steps and knocked with a somewhat uncertain hand on the red baize
of the cabinet door.

"Mr. Utterson, sir, asking to see you," he called; and even as he
did so, once more violently signed to the lawyer to give ear.

A voice answered from within: "Tell him I cannot see any one," it
said complainingly.

"Thank you, sir," said Poole, with a note of something like
triumph in his voice; and taking up his candle, he led Mr.
Utterson back across the yard and into the great kitchen, where
the fire was out and the beetles were leaping on the floor.

"Sir," he said, looking Mr. Utterson in the eyes, "was that my
master's voice?"

"It seems much changed," replied the lawyer, very pale, but
giving look for look.

"Changed? Well, yes, I think so," said the butler. "Have I been
twenty years in this man's house, to be deceived about his voice?
No, sir; master's made away with; he was made, away with eight
days ago, when we heard him cry out upon the name of God; and
who's in there instead of him, and why it stays there, is a thing
that cries to Heaven, Mr. Utterson!"

56)

"This is a very strange tale, Poole; this is rather a wild tale,
my man," said Mr. Utterson, biting his finger. "Suppose it were
as you suppose, supposing Dr. Jekyll to have been--well,
murdered, what could induce the murderer to stay? That won't hold
water; it doesn't commend itself to reason."

"Well, Mr. Utterson, you are a hard man to satisfy, but I'll do
it yet," said Poole. "All this last week (you must know) him, or
it, or whatever it is that lives in that cabinet, has been crying
night and day for some sort of medicine and cannot get it to his
mind. It was sometimes his way--the master's, that is--to
write his orders on a sheet of paper and throw it on the stair.
We've had nothing else this week back; nothing but papers, and a
closed door, and the very meals left there to be smuggled in when
nobody was looking. Well, sir, every day, ay, and twice and
thrice in the same day, there have been orders and complaints,
and I have been sent flying to all the wholesale chemists in
town. Every time I brought the stuff back, there would be another
paper telling me to return it, because it was not pure, and
another order to a different firm. This drug is wanted bitter
bad, sir, whatever for."

"Have you any of these papers?" asked Mr. Utterson.

Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled note, which
the lawyer, bending nearer

57)

to the candle, carefully examined. Its contents ran thus: "Dr.
Jekyll presents his compliments to Messrs. Maw. He assures them
that their last sample is impure and quite useless for his
present purpose. In the year 18---, Dr. J. purchased a somewhat
large quantity from Messrs. M. He now begs them to search with
the most sedulous care, and should any of the same quality be
left, to forward it to him at once. Expense is no consideration.
The importance of this to Dr. J. can hardly be exaggerated." So
far the letter had run composedly enough, but here with a sudden
splutter of the pen, the writer's emotion had broken loose. "For
God's sake," he had added, "find me some of the old."

"This is a strange note," said Mr. Utterson; and then sharply,
"How do you come to have it open?"

"The man at Maw's was main angry, sir, and he threw it back to me
like so much dirt," returned Poole.

"This is unquestionably the doctor's hand, do you know?" resumed
the lawyer.

"I thought it looked like it," said the servant rather sulkily;
and then, with another voice, "But what matters hand-of-write?"
he said. "I've seen him!"

"Seen him?" repeated Mr. Utterson. "Well?"

"That's it!" said Poole. "It was this way. I came suddenly into
the theatre from the

58)

garden. It seems he had slipped out to look for this drug or
whatever it is; for the cabinet door was open, and there he was
at the far end of the room digging among the crates. He looked up
when I came in, gave a kind of cry, and whipped up-stairs into
the cabinet. It was but for one minute that I saw him, but the
hair stood upon my head like quills. Sir, if that was my master,
why had he a mask upon his face? If it was my master, why did he
cry out like a rat, and run from me? I have served him long
enough. And then..." The man paused and passed his hand over his
face.

"These are all very strange circumstances," said Mr. Utterson,
"but I think I begin to see daylight. Your master, Poole, is
plainly seized with one of those maladies that both torture and
deform the sufferer; hence, for aught I know, the alteration of
his voice; hence the mask and the avoidance of his friends; hence
his eagerness to find this drug, by means of which the poor soul
retains some hope of ultimate recovery--God grant that he be
not deceived! There is my explanation; it is sad enough, Poole,
ay, and appalling to consider; but it is plain and natural, hangs
well together, and delivers us from all exorbitant alarms."

"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

59)

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."

"Poole," replied the lawyer, "if you say that, it will become my
duty to make certain. Much as I desire to spare your master's
feelings, much as I am puzzled by this note which seems to prove
him to be still alive, I shall consider it my duty to break in
that door."

"Ah Mr. Utterson, that's talking!" cried the butler.

"And now comes the second question," resumed Utterson: "Who is
going to do it?"

"Why, you and me," was the undaunted reply.

"That's very well said," returned the lawyer; "and whatever comes
of it, I shall make it my business to see you are no loser."

"There is an axe in the theatre," continued Poole; "and you might
take the kitchen poker for yourself."

The lawyer took that rude but weighty instrument into his hand,
and balanced it. "Do you know, Poole," he said, looking up, "that

60)

you and I are about to place ourselves in a position of some
peril?"

"You may say so, sir, indeed," returned the butler.

"It is well, then, that we should be frank," said the other. "We
both think more than we have said; let us make a clean breast.
This masked figure that you saw, did you recognise it?"

"Well, sir, it went so quick, and the creature was so doubled up,
that I could hardly swear to that," was the answer. "But if you
mean, was it Mr. Hyde?--why, yes, I think it was! You see, it
was much of the same bigness; and it had the same quick, light
way with it; and then who else could have got in by the
laboratory door? You have not forgot, sir that at the time of the
murder he had still the key with him? But that's not all. I don't
know, Mr. Utterson, if ever you met this Mr. Hyde?"

"Yes," said the lawyer, "I once spoke with him."

"Then you must know as well as the rest of us that there was
something queer about that gentleman--something that gave a man
a turn--I don't know rightly how to say it, sir, beyond this:
that you felt it in your marrow kind of cold and thin."

"I own I felt something of what you describe," said Mr. Utterson.

"Quite so, sir," returned Poole. "Well, when

61)

that masked thing like a monkey jumped from among the chemicals
and whipped into the cabinet, it went down my spine like ice. Oh,
I know it's not evidence, Mr. Utterson. I'm book-learned enough
for that; but a man has his feelings, and I give you my
Bible-word it was Mr. Hyde!"

"Ay, ay," said the lawyer. "My fears incline to the same point.
Evil, I fear, founded--evil was sure to come--of that
connection. Ay, truly, I believe you; I believe poor Harry is
killed; and I believe his murderer (for what purpose, God alone
        can tell) is still lurking in his victim's room. Well, let our
name be vengeance. Call Bradshaw."

The footman came at the summons, very white and nervous.

"Pull yourself together, Bradshaw," said the lawyer. "This
suspense, I know, is telling upon all of you; but it is now our
intention to make an end of it. Poole, here, and I are going to
force our way into the cabinet. If all is well, my shoulders are
broad enough to bear the blame. Meanwhile, lest anything should
really be amiss, or any malefactor seek to escape by the back,
you and the boy must go round the corner with a pair of good
sticks and take your post at the laboratory door. We give you ten
minutes to get to your stations."

As Bradshaw left, the lawyer looked at his watch. "And now,
Poole, let us get to ours,"

62)

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.

"So it will walk all day, sir," whispered Poole; "ay, and the
better part of the night. Only when a new sample comes from the
chemist, there's a bit of a break. Ah, it's an ill conscience
that's such an enemy to rest! Ah, sir, there's blood foully shed
in every step of it! But hark again, a little closer--put your
heart in your ears, Mr. Utterson, and tell me, is that the
doctor's foot?"

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. Utterson sighed. "Is there never
anything else?" he asked.

Poole nodded. "Once," he said. "Once I heard it weeping!"

"Weeping? how that?" said the lawyer, conscious of a sudden chill
of horror.

"Weeping like a woman or a lost soul," said

63)

the butler. "I came away with that upon my heart, that I could
have wept too."

But now the ten minutes drew to an end. Poole disinterred the axe
from under a stack of packing straw; the candle was set upon the
nearest table to light them to the attack; and they drew near
with bated breath to where that patient foot was still going up
and down, up and down, in the quiet of the night.

"Jekyll," cried Utterson, with a loud voice, "I demand to see
you." He paused a moment, but there came no reply. "I give you
fair warning, our suspicions are aroused, and I must and shall
see you," he resumed; "if not by fair means, then by foul! if not
of your consent, then by brute force!"

"Utterson," said the voice, "for God's sake, have mercy!"

"Ah, that's not Jekyll's voice--it's Hyde's!" cried Utterson.
"Down with the door, Poole!"

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 in sunder and the wreck
of the door fell inwards on the carpet.

64)

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 midst 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 too 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 have come too late," he said sternly, "whether to save or
punish. Hyde is gone to his account; and it only remains for us
to find the body of your master."

The far greater proportion of the building was occupied by the
theatre, which filled almost the whole ground story and was
lighted from above, and by the cabinet, which formed an upper
story at one end and looked upon the

65)

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 thoroughly 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.

Poole stamped on the flags of the corridor. "He must be buried
here," he said, hearkening to the sound.

"Or he may have fled," said Utterson, and he turned to examine
the door in the by-street. It was locked; and lying near by on
the flags, they found the key, already stained with rust.

"This does not look like use," observed the lawyer.

"Use!" echoed Poole. "Do you not see, sir, it is broken? much as
if a man had stamped on it."

"Ay," continued Utterson, "and the fractures, too, are rusty."
The two men looked at each other with a scare. "This is beyond
me,

66)

Poole," said the lawyer. "Let us go back to the cabinet."

They mounted the stair in silence, and still with an occasional
awe-struck 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.

"That is the same drug that I was always bringing him," said
Poole; and even as he spoke, the kettle with a startling noise
boiled over.

This brought them to the fireside, 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. There were several books on a shelf;
one lay beside the tea-things open, and Utterson was amazed to
find it a copy of a pious work, for which Jekyll had several
times expressed a great esteem, annotated, in his own hand, with
startling blasphemies.

Next, in the course of their review of the chamber, the searchers
came to the cheval glass, into whose depths they looked with an
involuntary horror. But it was so turned as to show them nothing
but the rosy glow playing on the roof, the fire sparkling in a
hundred repetitions along the glazed front of the presses, and
their own pale and fearful countenances stooping to look in.

67)

"This glass have seen some strange things, sir," whispered Poole.

"And surely none stranger than itself," echoed the lawyer in the
same tones. "For what did Jekyll"--he caught himself up at the
word with a start, and then conquering the weakness--"what
could Jekyll want with it?" he said.

"You may say that!" said Poole. Next they turned to the
business-table. On the desk among the neat array of papers, a
large envelope was uppermost, and bore, in the doctor's hand, the
name of Mr. Utterson. The lawyer unsealed it, and several
enclosures fell to the floor. The first was a will, drawn in the
same eccentric terms as the one which he had returned six months
before, to serve as a testament in case of death and as a deed of
gift in case of disappearance; but, in place of the name of
Edward Hyde, the lawyer, with indescribable amazement, read the
name of Gabriel John Utterson. He looked at Poole, and then back
at the paper, and last of all at the dead malefactor stretched
upon the carpet.

"My head goes round," he said. "He has been all these days in
possession; he had no cause to like me; he must have raged to see
himself displaced; and he has not destroyed this document."

He caught up the next paper; it was a brief note in the doctor's
hand and dated at the top.

68)

"O Poole!" the lawyer cried, "he was alive and here this day. He
cannot have been disposed of in so short a space, he must be
still alive, he must have fled! And then, why fled? and how? and
in that case, can we venture to declare this suicide? Oh, we must
be careful. I foresee that we may yet involve your master in some
dire catastrophe."

"Why don't you read it, sir?" asked Poole.

"Because I fear," replied the lawyer solemnly. "God grant I have
no cause for it!" And with that he brought the paper to his eyes
and read as follows:

"MY DEAR UTTERSON,--When this shall fall into your hands, I
shall have disappeared, under what circumstances I have not the
penetration to foresee, but my instinct and all the circumstances
of my nameless situation tell me that the end is sure and must be
early. Go then, and first read the narrative which Lanyon warned
me he was to place in your hands; and if you care to hear more,
turn to the confession of

"Your unworthy and unhappy friend,
"HENRY JEKYLL."

"There was a third enclosure?" asked Utterson.

"Here, sir," said Poole, and gave into his hands a considerable
packet sealed in several places.

69)

The lawyer put it in his pocket. "I would say nothing of this
paper. If your master has fled or is dead, we may at least save
his credit. It is now ten; I must go home and read these
documents in quiet; but I shall be back before midnight, when we
shall send for the police."

They went out, locking the door of the theatre behind them; and
Utterson, once more leaving the servants gathered about the fire
in the hall, trudged back to his office to read the two
narratives in which this mystery was now to be explained.

70)

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: One evening after dinner, Utterson is sitting peacefully beside his fireplace when he receives a visit by a very agitated and upset Mr. Poole. He offers Poole a glass of wine to calm him, and although Poole accepts it, he neglects to drink it as he hesitatingly tells Utterson about his fears concerning Dr. Jekyll. Poole is terribly afraid. He fears that there has been "foul play," the nature of which he "daren't say." At this, Utterson grabs up his hat and his greatcoat, and the two men set forth in the wild, cold March night for Jekyll's house. When they arrive at Jekyll's quarters, a servant opens the door very guardedly, asking, "Is that you, Poole?" Once inside, Utterson finds all of Jekyll's servants "huddled together like a flock of sheep," and when they see Utterson, one maid breaks into "hysterical whimpering." This matter is far more serious than Utterson ever imagined. Several of the servants try to speak up, but Poole silences them and leads Utterson through the back garden, warning the lawyer that if "by any chance" Jekyll asks him into his private room, don't go." This advice, along with Poole's barely controlled terror, unnerves Utterson. The two men go to Dr. Jekyll's cabinet door in the laboratory. Poole calls out that Utterson is here, asking to see the doctor. A strange voice within states that Jekyll will see no one. Politely, Poole says, "Thank you." Then, back in the kitchen, he asks Utterson, "Was that my master's voice?" Utterson grows pale. "It seems much changed," he says, trying to conceal his own fears. Poole is blunt. "Changed," he says, is hardly the word for "Jekyll's" voice. Poole says that he has worked for Jekyll for twenty years. The voice which they heard was not Dr. Jekyll's voice. Eight days ago, Poole says, he heard Jekyll cry out the name of God. It is Poole's opinion that Dr. Jekyll was "made away with" at that time, and whoever is in the room now is "a thing known only to heaven." Utterson tries his best to be rational about the mystery. Logically, he says, if someone had murdered Jekyll, why would he still be in there? Poole then explains more about whoever is in the room. "Whatever it is," he says, it "has been crying night after night for some sort of medicine." Earlier, Jekyll used to cry out for certain medicines and would write his orders on a sheet of paper and throw the paper on the stairs. For a week, there's been more papers on the stairs, a closed door, and whimpering. Poole has done his best to find the exact medicine, but no matter what he has brought back, it has not been "the right stuff." "It" always says that Poole has brought something that is "not pure" and, therefore, Poole has continued to receive orders to go on yet another errand to yet another store. "The drug is wanted bitter bad," Poole tells Utterson. Utterson asks for some of these notes, and Poole is able to find one, crumpled up in one of his pockets. At first glance, the note seems to be merely a formal request -- nothing amiss -- asking that the pharmacist search for the drug "with the most sedulous care." Expense is no consideration, the note stresses, and there is a sense of urgency: "The importance of this to Dr. Jekyll can hardly be exaggerated." And then in a scribbled postscript, there is: "For God's sake, find me some of the old ." Utterson finally has to admit that this is indeed murky business. More than murky, says Poole: "I've seen him," he adds, referring to whoever lurks behind Jekyll's door. One day, Poole says, he came into the large room just below Jekyll's private room and there, digging among some crates, was a creature who was so startled at seeing Poole that he cried out "and whipped upstairs." If that were Jekyll, why did it run? Why did it "cry out like a rat?" And why did it wear a mask? Ever the rational lawyer-sleuth, Utterson tries to explain to Poole that, to him, it seems as though Jekyll has been "seized with one of those maladies that both torture and deform the sufferer." The frantically sought-after drug, he hopes, is proof that Jekyll believes that "ultimate recovery" is possible. Despite Utterson's rational explanations, Poole is not convinced: "That thing was not my master . . . this was more of a dwarf . . . do you think I do not know my master? . . . that thing was never Doctor Jekyll -- God knows what it was, but it was never Doctor Jekyll." He is adamant: "In the belief of my heart . . . murder was done." Utterson says that if Poole is convinced, then Utterson has no alternative: He considers it his duty to break down Jekyll's door, and Poole can use an ax which is in the surgery room, while Utterson will use the fireplace poker. Before they commence, though, they confess to one another that they both believe that Hyde is in the room and that it was he who killed Jekyll. They call Bradshaw, one of Jekyll's servants and tell him and a boy to watch the laboratory on the other side of the square. Then they set their watches. In ten minutes, they will assault the red blaize door of Dr. Jekyll's private room. As the minutes pass, Jekyll's room grows quiet until all they can hear are soft, light footfalls, very different from Jekyll's heavy creaking tread, pacing to and fro. "An ill-conscience," Poole whispers, "there's blood foully shed." When ten minutes are up, a candle is set on the nearest table to give them more light. Then Utterson cries out: "Jekyll, I demand to see you." The voice that answers Utterson pleads, "For God's sake, have mercy!" Utterson is stunned: The voice is not Jekyll's. It belongs to Hyde. Instantly, he calls out to Poole: "Down with the door!" Poole crashes his ax four times against the sturdy red door, and each time, dismal, animal-like screeches are heard inside. On the fifth time, the lock bursts open, and the door falls inward. The scene inside is strange and incongruous. A quiet fire is flickering in the hearth, a tea kettle is singing, papers are neatly placed on the business table, and things are laid out for tea. Yet in the midst of this cozy scene, the body of a man is lying face down, terribly contorted and still twitching. The body is indeed dwarf-like, dressed in clothes far too large for him, clothes that would have fit Jekyll's large stature. Clearly, all life is gone, despite the fact that the muscles continue to twitch involuntarily. In one hand are the remains of a crushed vial. To Utterson, it seems to be a clear case of suicide. Sternly, he tells Poole that they have come too late to save or punish Hyde. Only one task remains now: They must find Jekyll's body. They search the entire wing but find nothing: "nowhere was there any trace of Henry Jekyll, dead or alive." They go to the dissecting room and find Hyde's key, broken in half and rusty. The mystery remains. Once more they go up and view Hyde's dead body, then begin examining Jekyll's chemical equipment. Poole points out to Utterson the heaps of "white salt" that Jekyll had sent him on errands for. The teapot suddenly boils over and startles them; Utterson picks up a pious work of literature and is aghast at the blasphemies written in the margin. The "cheval," the full-length mirror, puzzles both men. "This glass has seen some strange things," Poole whispers. Examining Jekyll's business table, Utterson spies a large envelope with his name on it and unseals it; several enclosures fall to the floor. The first thing he reads is a will, a will very similar to the one which Jekyll left with Utterson earlier. However, this time, Utterson -- and not Hyde -- is designated as Jekyll's beneficiary. For a moment, Utterson is dazed. Why would Jekyll make out a new will? Utterson knows that he has nagged and reprimanded Jekyll excessively in the past. Surely Jekyll was angry at Utterson for being so demanding. Yet why did Jekyll make Utterson his beneficiary? Utterson then examines another piece of paper. Shouting at Poole, he is delighted to recognize the doctor's handwriting and the date at the top of the note: Jekyll "was alive and here this day," he cries. Surely, Utterson thinks, the doctor must still be alive; perhaps he has fled. With great anxiety, he decides to read the next enclosure. The message is brief. Jekyll has disappeared, under circumstances that he had the "penetration to foresee." However, his end, he fears, is certain. He asks Utterson to read Dr. Lanyon's note first, for Lanyon has told Jekyll that his note is now in Utterson's possession. If after reading Lanyon's narrative, there are still unanswered questions, Utterson is then to read the large, sealed packet containing Jekyll's "confession." Utterson turns to Poole and asks him to say nothing of this sealed packet; perhaps they can yet save Jekyll's reputation. Glancing at a clock, he sees that it is ten o'clock. He will go home, read the documents, return before midnight, and then they will send for the police.


prompt:
Chapter: DR. LANYON'S NARRATIVE

ON the ninth of January, now four days ago, I received by the
evening delivery a registered envelope, addressed in the hand of
my colleague and old school-companion, Henry Jekyll. I was a good
deal surprised by this; for we were by no means in the habit of
correspondence; I had seen the man, dined with him, indeed, the
night before; and I could imagine nothing in our intercourse that
should justify formality of registration. The contents increased
my wonder; for this is how the letter ran:

"10th December, 18---

"DEAR LANYON, You are one of my oldest friends; and although we
may have differed at times on scientific questions, I cannot
remember, at least on my side, any break in our affection. There
was never a day when, if you had said to me, 'Jekyll, my life, my
honour, my reason, depend upon you,' I would not have sacrificed
my left hand to help you. Lanyon, my life, my honour my reason,
are all at your mercy;

71)

if you fail me to-night I am lost. You might suppose, after this
preface, that I am going to ask you for something dishonourable
to grant. Judge for yourself.

"I want you to postpone all other engagements for to-night--ay,
even if you were summoned to the bedside of an emperor; to take a
cab, unless your carriage should be actually at the door; and
with this letter in your hand for consultation, to drive straight
to my house. Poole, my butler, has his orders; you will find, him
waiting your arrival with a locksmith. The door of my cabinet is
then to be forced: and you are to go in alone; to open the glazed
press (letter E) on the left hand, breaking the lock if it be
shut; and to draw out, with all its contents as they stand, the
fourth drawer from the top or (which is the same thing) the third
from the bottom. In my extreme distress of wind, I have a morbid
fear of misdirecting you; but even if I am in error, you may know
the right drawer by its contents: some powders, a phial and a
paper book. This drawer I beg of you to carry back with you to
Cavendish Square exactly as it stands.

"That is the first part of the service: now for the second. You
should be back, if you set out at once on the receipt of this,
long before midnight; but I will leave you that amount of margin,
not only in the fear of one of those obstacles that can neither
be prevented nor fore-

72)

seen, but because an hour when your servants are in bed is to be
preferred for what will then remain to do. At midnight, then, I
have to ask you to be alone in your consulting-room, to admit
with your own hand into the house a man who will present himself
in my name, and to place in his hands the drawer that you will
have brought with you from my cabinet. Then you will have played
your part and earned my gratitude completely. Five minutes
afterwards, if you insist upon an explanation, you will have
understood that these arrangements are of capital importance; and
that by the neglect of one of them, fantastic as they must
appear, you might have charged your conscience with my death or
the shipwreck of my reason.

"Confident as I am that you will not trifle with this appeal, my
heart sinks and my hand trembles at the bare thought of such a
possibility. Think of me at this hour, in a strange place,
labouring under a blackness of distress that no fancy can
exaggerate, and yet well aware that, if you will but punctually
serve me, my troubles will roll away like a story that is told.
Serve me, my dear Lanyon, and save
"Your friend,

"H. J.

"P. S. I had already sealed this up when a fresh terror struck
upon my soul. It is possible that the postoffice may fail me, and
this letter

73)

not come into your hands until to-morrow morning. In that case,
dear Lanyon, do my errand when it shall be most convenient for
you in the course of the day; and once more expect my messenger
at midnight. It may then already be too late; and if that night
passes without event, you will know that you have seen the last
of Henry Jekyll."

Upon the reading of this letter, I made sure my colleague was
insane; but till that was proved beyond the possibility of doubt,
I felt bound to do as he requested. The less I understood of this
farrago, the less I was in a position to judge of its importance;
and an appeal so worded could not be set aside without a grave
responsibility. I rose accordingly from table, got into a hansom,
and drove straight to Jekyll's house. The butler was awaiting my
arrival; he had received by the same post as mine a registered
letter of instruction, and had sent at once for a locksmith and a
carpenter. The tradesmen came while we were yet speaking; and we
moved in a body to old Dr. Denman's surgical theatre, from which
(as you are doubtless aware) Jekyll's private cabinet is most
conveniently entered. The door was very strong, the lock
excellent; the carpenter avowed he would have great trouble and
have to do much damage, if force were to be used; and the
locksmith was near despair. But this last was a handy fellow,

74)

and after two hours' work, the door stood open. The press marked
E was unlocked; and I took out the drawer, had it filled up with
straw and tied in a sheet, and returned with it to Cavendish
Square.

Here I proceeded to examine its contents. The powders were neatly
enough made up, but not with the nicety of the dispensing
chemist; so that it was plain they were of Jekyll's private
manufacture; and when I opened one of the wrappers I found what
seemed to me a simple crystalline salt of a white colour. The
phial, to which I next turned my attention, might have been about
half-full of a blood-red liquor, which was highly pungent to the
sense of smell and seemed to me to contain phosphorus and some
volatile ether. At the other ingredients I could make no guess.
The book was an ordinary version-book and contained little but a
series of dates. These covered a period of many years, but I
observed that the entries ceased nearly a year ago and quite
abruptly. Here and there a brief remark was appended to a date,
usually no more than a single word: "double" occurring perhaps
six times in a total of several hundred entries; and once very
early in the list and followed by several marks of exclamation,
"total failure!!!" All this, though it whetted my curiosity, told
me little that was definite. Here were a phial of some tincture,
a paper of some salt, and the record of a series of experi-

75)

ments that had led (like too many of Jekyll's investigations) to
no end of practical usefulness. How could the presence of these
articles in my house affect either the honour, the sanity, or the
life of my flighty colleague? If his messenger could go to one
place, why could he not go to another? And even granting some
impediment, why was this gentleman to be received by me in
secret? The more I reflected the more convinced I grew that I was
dealing with a case of cerebral disease: and though I dismissed
my servants to bed, I loaded an old revolver, that I might be
found in some posture of self-defence.

Twelve o'clock had scarce rung out over London, ere the knocker
sounded very gently on the door. I went myself at the summons,
and found a small man crouching against the pillars of the
portico.

"Are you come from Dr. Jekyll?" I asked.

He told me "yes" by a constrained gesture; and when I had bidden
him enter, he did not obey me without a searching backward glance
into the darkness of the square. There was a policeman not far
off, advancing with his bull's eye open; and at the sight, I
thought my visitor started and made greater haste.

These particulars struck me, I confess, disagreeably; and as I
followed him into the bright light of the consulting-room, I kept
my hand ready on my weapon. Here, at last, I had a

76)

chance of clearly seeing him. I had never set eyes on him before,
so much was certain. He was small, as I have said; I was struck
besides with the shocking expression of his face, with his
remarkable combination of great muscular activity and great
apparent debility of constitution, and--last but not least--
with the odd, subjective disturbance caused by his neighbourhood.
This bore some resemblance to incipient rigour, and was
accompanied by a marked sinking of the pulse. At the time, I set
it down to some idiosyncratic, personal distaste, and merely
wondered at the acuteness of the symptoms; but I have since had
reason to believe the cause to lie much deeper in the nature of
man, and to turn on some nobler hinge than the principle of
hatred.

This person (who had thus, from the first moment of his entrance,
    struck in me what I can only describe as a disgustful curiosity)
was dressed in a fashion that would have made an ordinary person
laughable; his clothes, that is to say, although they were of
rich and sober fabric, were enormously too large for him in every
measurement--the trousers hanging on his legs and rolled up to
keep them from the ground, the waist of the coat below his
haunches, and the collar sprawling wide upon his shoulders.
Strange to relate, this ludicrous accoutrement was far from
moving me to laughter. Rather, as there was something abnormal
and misbe-

77)

gotten in the very essence of the creature that now faced me--
something seizing, surprising, and revolting--this fresh
disparity seemed but to fit in with and to reinforce it; so that
to my interest in the man's nature and character, there was added
a curiosity as to his origin, his life, his fortune and status in
the world.

These observations, though they have taken so great a space to be
set down in, were yet the work of a few seconds. My visitor was,
indeed, on fire with sombre excitement.

"Have you got it?" he cried. "Have you got it?" And so lively was
his impatience that he even laid his hand upon my arm and sought
to shake me.

I put him back, conscious at his touch of a certain icy pang
along my blood. "Come, sir," said I. "You forget that I have not
yet the pleasure of your acquaintance. Be seated, if you please."
And I showed him an example, and sat down myself in my customary
seat and with as fair an imitation of my ordinary manner to a
patient, as the lateness of the hour, the nature of my
pre-occupations, and the horror I had of my visitor, would suffer
me to muster.

"I beg your pardon, Dr. Lanyon," he replied civilly enough. "What
you say is very well founded; and my impatience has shown its
heels to my politeness. I come here at the instance of your
colleague, Dr. Henry Jekyll, on a piece of business of some
moment; and I under-

78)

stood..." He paused and put his hand to his throat, and I could
see, in spite of his collected manner, that he was wrestling
against the approaches of the hysteria--"I understood, a
drawer..."

But here I took pity on my visitor's suspense, and some perhaps
on my own growing curiosity.

"There it is, sir," said I, pointing to the drawer, where it lay
on the floor behind a table and still covered with the sheet.

He sprang to it, and then paused, and laid his hand upon his
heart: I could hear his teeth grate with the convulsive action of
his jaws; and his face was so ghastly to see that I grew alarmed
both for his life and reason.

"Compose yourself," said I.

He turned a dreadful smile to me, and as if with the decision of
despair, plucked away the sheet. At sight of the contents, he
uttered one loud sob of such immense relief that I sat petrified.
And the next moment, in a voice that was already fairly well
under control, "Have you a graduated glass?" he asked.

I rose from my place with something of an effort and gave him
what he asked.

He thanked me with a smiling nod, measured out a few minims of
the red tincture and added one of the powders. The mixture, which
was at first of a reddish hue, began, in proportion as the
crystals melted, to brighten in colour, to effervesce audibly,
and to throw off small

79)

fumes of vapour. Suddenly and at the same moment, the ebullition
ceased and the compound changed to a dark purple, which faded
again more slowly to a watery green. My visitor, who had watched
these metamorphoses with a keen eye, smiled, set down the glass
upon the table, and then turned and looked upon me with an air of
scrutiny.

"And now," said he, "to settle what remains. Will you be wise?
will you be guided? will you suffer me to take this glass in my
hand and to go forth from your house without further parley? or
has the greed of curiosity too much command of you? Think before
you answer, for it shall be done as you decide. As you decide,
you shall be left as you were before, and neither richer nor
wiser, unless the sense of service rendered to a man in mortal
distress may be counted as a kind of riches of the soul. Or, if
you shall so prefer to choose, a new province of knowledge and
new avenues to fame and power shall be laid open to you, here, in
this room, upon the instant; and your sight shall be blasted by a
prodigy to stagger the unbelief of Satan."

"Sir," said I, affecting a coolness that I was far from truly
possessing, "you speak enigmas, and you will perhaps not wonder
that I hear you with no very strong impression of belief. But I
have gone too far in the way of inexplicable services to pause
before I see the end."

"It is well," replied my visitor. "Lanyon,

80)

you remember your vows: what follows is under the seal of our
profession. And now, you who have so long been bound to the most
narrow and material views, you who have denied the virtue of
transcendental medicine, you who have derided your superiors--
behold!"

He put the glass to his lips and drank at one gulp. A cry
followed; he reeled, staggered, clutched at the table and held
on, staring with injected eyes, gasping with open mouth; and as I
looked there came, I thought, a change--he seemed to swell--
his face became suddenly black and the features seemed to melt
and alter--and the next moment, I had sprung to my feet and
leaped back against the wall, my arm raised to shield me from
that prodigy, my mind submerged in terror.

"O God!" I screamed, and "O God!" again and again; for there
before my eyes--pale and shaken, and half-fainting, and groping
before him with his hands, like a man restored from death--
there stood Henry Jekyll!

What he told me in the next hour, I cannot bring my mind to set
on paper. I saw what I saw, I heard what I heard, and my soul
sickened at it; and yet now when that sight has faded from my
eyes, I ask myself if I believe it, and I cannot answer. My life
is shaken to its roots; sleep has left me; the deadliest terror
sits by me at all hours of the day and night; I feel that my days
are numbered, and that I

81)

must die; and yet I shall die incredulous. As for the moral
turpitude that man unveiled to me, even with tears of penitence,
I cannot, even in memory, dwell on it without a start of horror.
I will say but one thing, Utterson, and that (if you can bring
        your mind to credit it) will be more than enough. The creature
who crept into my house that night was, on Jekyll's own
confession, known by the name of Hyde and hunted for in every
corner of the land as the murderer of Carew.
HASTIE LANYON

82)

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: On the night of January 9, Lanyon writes, I received a registered letter. Immediately, I recognized the handwriting of my old school-companion Henry Jekyll on the envelope. This surprised me. Henry and I weren't in the habit of corresponding; after all, we both live in London and I had just seen him the night before at one of his dinner parties. Whatever could be the reason for such a formality as sending a registered letter? My curiosity was high. Dear Lanyon , Despite the fact that we have differed on scientific matters in the past, you are one of my oldest friends, and that is why I am asking you to do a favor for me. It is a favor on which my honor rests. If you fail me, I am lost. Please help me. Take a cab to my house, Poole will let you in, and then go to my room. If the door is locked, force it open. Open the drawer marked "E" , and take out all its contents -- some powders, a vial, and a paper book. Take everything home with you. Then, at midnight, a man will arrive at your house, ordered to do so by me. Give him the drawer you took from my room. That is all. If you do this, you will have earned my complete gratitude. I know that what I am asking borders on the fantastic, but if you fail to carry it out, either my death or my madness will be on your conscience. I tremble at the thought that you might fail me. If you do this, however, my troubles will be over. Your friend, H.J. P.S. If the post office fails to deliver this on schedule, do as I ask anyway. Expect my messenger at midnight. It may be too late; I cannot say. If it is, you will have seen the last of Henry Jekyll. After I finished reading Jekyll's letter, I reflected on the possibility that Dr. Jekyll was insane. Yet until that was proved, I felt bound to do what my old friend asked me to do. Thus, I went immediately to Jekyll's house; a locksmith had been called and after two hours, the door to Jekyll's private study was opened. I took out the drawer described in Jekyll's letter, tied it carefully in a sheet, and returned home with it. There, I examined it carefully. What I found whetted my curiosity, but it told me little that was definite. There was a simple-looking sort of salt, a vial half-full of blood-red, highly pungent liquor, and the notebook contained little -- a series of dates, covering a period of many years, which ceased quite abruptly nearly a year go. A few brief remarks were beside the dates; the word "double" occurred perhaps six times in a total of several hundred entries and once, very early in the list, were the words, "total failure," followed by several exclamation marks. For the life of me, I couldn't imagine how any of this could affect the honor, the sanity, or the life of my old friend Dr. Jekyll. And why all the secrecy? The more I thought about it, I wondered if Jekyll might not be suffering from some sort of cerebral disease. Yet I was determined to do as he asked -- but not before loading my old revolver. At midnight, the knocker on my door sounded very gently. Outside was a small man crouching against one of the porch pillars. I asked him if he was Jekyll's agent. He gestured a tortured "yes" and, looking furtively behind him, slipped inside. Keeping a hand on my revolver, I took a close look at the small man. I had never seen him before. He was certainly a distasteful creature; his face jerked in convulsions, he seemed physically ill, and as a doctor, I wondered about these symptoms. His clothes, which were obviously expensive, were much too large for him. His trousers were rolled up ridiculously, and the waist of his coat fell below his hips. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed at his clown-like appearance, but this man was clearly abnormal, disgustingly so. Again, as a medical man, I couldn't help being curious about his origin, his life, and his livelihood. The strange little man was unusually excited, asking again and again if I had "it." I tried to calm him, but he seemed to be on the verge of hysteria, so I pointed to where it lay, on the floor behind a table. Instantly, he sprang on it, then laid his hand on his heart, and I could hear his teeth grate and his jaws convulse. Then he began mixing the powders with the liquid, which changed colors before my eyes. I was fascinated, and he noted this and asked, "Will you be wise? Will you be guided? I can take this glass and leave. Or I can swallow it before you and show you a new land of knowledge, new paths to fame. What you see will stagger the Devil himself." I confess that my curiosity again got the best of me. I asked him to continue. He agreed but reminded me of my professional vows and of my deep-rooted belief in traditional medicine, for what I was about to see would be a wonder from the realm of transcendental medicine. Then he drank the potion in one long swallow and cried out, reeled, staggered, clutched at the table, and suddenly his face became black, his features began to melt, and in the next moment, Henry Jekyll stood before me. What he told me during the next hour, I cannot bring myself to put on paper. I can only relate what I saw and how my soul was sickened. I ask myself if I believe it, and I cannot answer. Terror haunts me constantly. My faith in medicine and mankind has been sundered. I feel my days are numbered. Only one thing remains to be said. That "creature" who came on an errand for Jekyll, by Jekyll's own admission, was none other than Edward Hyde, the murderer of Sir Danvers Carew!