The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde

Ms. Hyde's 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, Mrs. 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 her mind, besides, were of the gloomiest dye; and when she glanced at the companion of her drive, she 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 her a dingy street, a gin palace, a low French eating house, a shop for the retail of penny numbers and two-penny 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 her off from her blackguardly surroundings. This was the home of Katherine Jekyll's favourite; of a woman 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 Ms. Hyde's, but she was not at home; she had been in that night very late, but she had gone away again in less than an hour; there was nothing strange in that; her habits were very irregular, and she was often absent; for instance, it was nearly two months since she had seen her till yesterday.

"Very well, then, we wish to see her rooms," said the lawyer; and when the woman began to declare it was impossible, "I had better tell you who this person is," she added. "This is Inspector Newcomen of Scotland Yard."

A flash of odious joy appeared upon the woman's face. "Ah!" said she, "she is in trouble! What has she done?"

Mrs. Utterson and the inspector exchanged glances. "She don't seem a very popular character," observed the latter. "And now, my good woman, just let me and this madam have a look about us."

In the whole extent of the house, which but for the old woman remained otherwise empty, Ms. 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 Katherine 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 her suspicions, the officer declared herself delighted. A visit to the bank, where several thousand pounds were found to be lying to the murderer's credit, completed her gratification.

"You may depend upon it, Madam," she told Mrs. Utterson: "I have her in my hand. She must have lost her head, or she 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 her at the bank, and get out the handbills."

This last, however, was not so easy of accomplishment; for Ms. Hyde had numbered few familiars—even the master of the servant maid had only seen her twice; her family could nowhere be traced; she had never been photographed; and the few who could describe her 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 her beholders.