THE STRANGE CASE OF DOCTOR JEKYLL AND MISTER HYDE BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, PART SIX, INCIDENT OF DR. LANYON

THE STRANGE CASE OF DOCTOR JEKYLL AND MISTER HYDE

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

PART SIX

INCIDENT OF DR. LANYON

Time ran on; thousands of pounds were offered in reward, for the

death of Sir Danvers was resented as a public injury; but Mr. Hyde had

disappeared 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 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, Mr.

Utterson began to recover from the hotness of his alarm, 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 Mr. Hyde. Now that

that evil influence had been withdrawn, a new life began for Dr. Jekyll.

He came out of his seclusion, 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, as if with an inward consciousness of service; and

for more than two months, the doctor was at peace.

On the 8th of January Utterson 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. On the 12th, and again on the 14th, the door was shut against

the lawyer. "The doctor was confined to the house," Poole said, "and saw

no one." On the 15th, he tried again, and was again refused; and having

now been used for the last two months to 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 Dr.

Lanyon's.

There at least he was not denied admittance; but when he came in, he 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 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," 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 Utterson remarked on his

ill-looks, it was with an air of great firmness that Lanyon declared

himself a doomed man.

"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," observed Utterson. "Have you seen him?"

But Lanyon's face changed, and he held up a trembling hand. "I wish to

see or hear no more of Dr. 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," said Mr. Utterson; and then after a considerable pause,

"Can't I do anything?" he inquired. "We are three very old friends,

Lanyon; we shall not live to make others."

"Nothing can be done," returned Lanyon; "ask himself."

"He will not see me," said the lawyer.

"I am 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 I cannot bear

it."

As soon as he got home, Utterson sat down and wrote to Jekyll,

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

in drift. The quarrel with Lanyon was incurable. "I do not blame our old

friend," Jekyll 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 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 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 Hyde had been withdrawn, the doctor had returned to his old tasks

and amities; a week ago, the prospect had smiled with every promise of a

cheerful and an honoured 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 manner

and words, there must lie for it some deeper ground.

A week afterwards Dr. Lanyon 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, Utterson locked the door of his business room,

and sitting 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 dead friend. "PRIVATE: for the hands of G. J. Utterson ALONE, and in

case of his predecease to be destroyed unread," so it 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 enclosure, likewise sealed, and marked

upon the cover as "not to be opened till the death or disappearance

of Dr. Henry Jekyll." Utterson 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

and the name of Henry Jekyll bracketted. But in the will, that idea had

sprung from the sinister suggestion of the man Hyde; it was set there

with a purpose all too plain and horrible. Written by the hand of

Lanyon, what should it mean? A great curiosity came on the trustee,

to disregard the prohibition and dive at once to the bottom of these

mysteries; but professional honour and faith to his dead friend were

stringent obligations; and the packet slept in the inmost corner of his

private safe.

It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it; and it may

be doubted if, from that day forth, Utterson 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, he

preferred to speak with Poole 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. Poole had, indeed, no very pleasant news to communicate. The

doctor, it appeared, now more than ever confined 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 used to the unvarying

character of these reports, that he fell off little by little in the

frequency of his visits.