Chapter 4 - Page 2

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 recognized 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