The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, Part Nine, The Last Night by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde

Part Nine, The Last Night 

By Robert Louis Stevenson

"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 you ever 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 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 that masked thing like a

monkey jumped from among the chemicals and whipped into the cabinet, it

went down my spine like ice. O, 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.

"Put 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," 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 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 and the

wreck of the door fell inwards on the carpet.

The besiegers, appalled by their own riot and the stillness that had

succeeded, stood back a little and peered in. There lay the cabinet

before their eyes in the quiet lamplight, a good fire glowing and

chattering on the hearth, the kettle singing its thin strain, a drawer

or two open, papers neatly set forth on the business table, and nearer

the fire, the things laid out for tea; the quietest room, you would

have said, and, but for the glazed presses full of chemicals, the most

commonplace that night in London.

Right in the middle there lay the body of a man sorely contorted and

still twitching.