Chapter 4
THE CAREW MURDER CASE
Nearly a year later, in the month of October,
18—, London was startled by a crime of singular
ferocity and rendered all the more notable
by the high position of the victim. The details
were few and startling. A maid servant living
alone in a house not far from the river, had
gone upstairs to bed about eleven. Although
a fog rolled over the city in the small hours,
the early part of the night was cloudless,
and the lane, which the maid’s window overlooked,
was brilliantly lit by the full moon. It seems
she was romantically given, for she sat down
upon her box, which stood immediately under
the window, and fell into a dream of musing.
Never (she used to say, with streaming tears,
when she narrated that experience), never
had she felt more at peace with all men or
thought more kindly of the world. And as she
so sat she became aware of an aged beautiful
gentleman with white hair, drawing near along
the lane; and advancing to meet him, another
and very small gentleman, to whom at first
she paid less attention. When they had come
within speech (which was just under the maid’s
eyes) the older man bowed and accosted the
other with a very pretty manner of politeness.
It did not seem as if the subject of his address
were of great importance; indeed, from his
pointing, it sometimes appeared as if he were
only inquiring his way; but the moon shone
on his face as he spoke, and the girl was
pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe
such an innocent and old-world kindness of
disposition, yet with something high too,
as of a well-founded self-content. Presently
her eye wandered to the other, and she was
surprised to recognise in him a certain Mr.
Hyde, who had once visited her master and
for whom she had conceived a dislike. He had
in his hand a heavy cane, with which he was
trifling; but he answered never a word, and
seemed to listen with an ill-contained impatience.
And then all of a sudden he broke out in a
great flame of anger, stamping with his foot,
brandishing the cane, and carrying on (as
the maid described it) like a madman. The
old gentleman took a step back, with the air
of one very much surprised and a trifle hurt;
and at that Mr. Hyde broke out of all bounds
and clubbed him to the earth. And next moment,
with ape-like fury, he was trampling his victim
under foot and hailing down a storm of blows,
under which the bones were audibly shattered
and the body jumped upon the roadway. At the
horror of these sights and sounds, the maid
fainted.
It was two o’clock when she came to herself
and called for the police. The murderer was
gone long ago; but there lay his victim in
the middle of the lane, incredibly mangled.
The stick with which the deed had been done,
although it was of some rare and very tough
and heavy wood, had broken in the middle under
the stress of this insensate cruelty; and
one splintered half had rolled in the neighbouring
gutter—the other, without doubt, had been
carried away by the murderer. A purse and
gold watch were found upon the victim: but
no cards or papers, except a sealed and stamped
envelope, which he had been probably carrying
to the post, and which bore the name and address
of Mr. Utterson.
This was brought to the lawyer the next morning,
before he was out of bed; and he had no sooner
seen it and been told the circumstances, than
he shot out a solemn lip. “I shall say nothing
till I have seen the body,” said he; “this
may be very serious. Have the kindness to
wait while I dress.” And with the same grave
countenance he hurried through his breakfast
and drove to the police station, whither the
body had been carried. As soon as he came
into the cell, he nodded.
“Yes,” said he, “I recognise him. I
am sorry to say that this is Sir Danvers Carew.”
“Good God, sir,” exclaimed the officer,
“is it possible?” And the next moment
his eye lighted up with professional ambition.
“This will make a deal of noise,” he said.
“And perhaps you can help us to the man.”
And he briefly narrated what the maid had
seen, and showed the broken stick.
Mr. Utterson had already quailed at the name
of Hyde; but when the stick was laid before
him, he could doubt no longer; broken and
battered as it was, he recognised it for one
that he had himself presented many years before
to Henry Jekyll.
“Is this Mr. Hyde a person of small stature?”
he inquired.
“Particularly small and particularly wicked-looking,
is what the maid calls him,” said the officer.
Mr. Utterson reflected; and then, raising
his head, “If you will come with me in my
cab,” he said, “I think I can take you
to his house.”
It was by this time about nine in the morning,
and the first fog of the season. A great chocolate-coloured
pall lowered over heaven, but the wind was
continually charging and routing these embattled
vapours; so that as the cab crawled from street
to street, Mr. Utterson beheld a marvelous
number of degrees and hues of twilight; for
here it would be dark like the back-end of
evening; and there would be a glow of a rich,
lurid brown, like the light of some strange
conflagration; and here, for a moment, the
fog would be quite broken up, and a haggard
shaft of daylight would glance in between
the swirling wreaths. The dismal quarter of
Soho seen under these changing glimpses, with
its muddy ways, and slatternly passengers,
and its lamps, which had never been extinguished
or had been kindled afresh to combat this
mournful reinvasion of darkness, seemed, in
the lawyer’s eyes, like a district of some
city in a nightmare. The thoughts of his mind,
besides, were of the gloomiest dye; and when
he glanced at the companion of his drive,
he was conscious of some touch of that terror
of the law and the law’s officers, which
may at times assail the most honest.
As the cab drew up before the address indicated,
the fog lifted a little and showed him a dingy
street, a gin palace, a low French eating
house, a shop for the retail of penny numbers
and twopenny salads, many ragged children
huddled in the doorways, and many women of
many different nationalities passing out,
key in hand, to have a morning glass; and
the next moment the fog settled down again
upon that part, as brown as umber, and cut
him off from his blackguardly surroundings.
This was the home of Henry Jekyll’s favourite;
of a man who was heir to a quarter of a million
sterling.
An ivory-faced and silvery-haired old woman
opened the door. She had an evil face, smoothed
by hypocrisy: but her manners were excellent.
Yes, she said, this was Mr. Hyde’s, but
he was not at home; he had been in that night
very late, but he had gone away again in less
than an hour; there was nothing strange in
that; his habits were very irregular, and
he was often absent; for instance, it was
nearly two months since she had seen him till
yesterday.
“Very well, then, we wish to see his rooms,”
said the lawyer; and when the woman began
to declare it was impossible, “I had better
tell you who this person is,” he added.
“This is Inspector Newcomen of Scotland
Yard.”
A flash of odious joy appeared upon the woman’s
face. “Ah!” said she, “he is in trouble!
What has he done?”
Mr. Utterson and the inspector exchanged glances.
“He don’t seem a very popular character,”
observed the latter. “And now, my good woman,
just let me and this gentleman have a look
about us.”
In the whole extent of the house, which but
for the old woman remained otherwise empty,
Mr. Hyde had only used a couple of rooms;
but these were furnished with luxury and good
taste. A closet was filled with wine; the
plate was of silver, the napery elegant; a
good picture hung upon the walls, a gift (as
Utterson supposed) from Henry Jekyll, who
was much of a connoisseur; and the carpets
were of many plies and agreeable in colour.
At this moment, however, the rooms bore every
mark of having been recently and hurriedly
ransacked; clothes lay about the floor, with
their pockets inside out; lock-fast drawers
stood open; and on the hearth there lay a
pile of grey ashes, as though many papers
had been burned. From these embers the inspector
disinterred the butt end of a green cheque
book, which had resisted the action of the
fire; the other half of the stick was found
behind the door; and as this clinched his
suspicions, the officer declared himself delighted.
A visit to the bank, where several thousand
pounds were found to be lying to the murderer’s
credit, completed his gratification.
“You may depend upon it, sir,” he told
Mr. Utterson: “I have him in my hand. He
must have lost his head, or he never would
have left the stick or, above all, burned
the cheque book. Why, money’s life to the
man. We have nothing to do but wait for him
at the bank, and get out the handbills.”
This last, however, was not so easy of accomplishment;
for Mr. Hyde had numbered few familiars—even
the master of the servant maid had only seen
him twice; his family could nowhere be traced;
he had never been photographed; and the few
who could describe him differed widely, as
common observers will. Only on one point were
they agreed; and that was the haunting sense
of unexpressed deformity with which the fugitive
impressed his beholders.
End of chapter 4
