CHAPTER FOUR
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 up-stairs 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 and 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 a 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 marvellous 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 re-invasion
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 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 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.
Chapter Five |
