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.

Nearly a year later, in October, 18—, London was shocked by a crime of unusual brutality. The victim’s high social standing made the crime even more remarkable. The details were few and shocking. A maid living alone in a house near the river had gone upstairs to bed at about eleven. Although fog spread over the city in the early morning hours, the first part of the night was cloudless. The full moon brightly lit the lane below the maid’s window. She seems to have had a romantic nature. She sat on her storage chest just beneath the window and drifted into a daydream. Never had she felt more at peace with everyone or thought more kindly of the world. She would say this with tears streaming down her face whenever she described that night. As she sat there, she noticed a handsome elderly gentleman with white hair approaching along the lane. Another gentleman, very small, was coming toward him, but at first she paid less attention to the smaller man. When the men were close enough to speak, directly below her window, the older man bowed. He spoke to the other man with charming politeness. His subject did not seem very important. Indeed, judging by his gestures, he sometimes seemed to be merely asking for directions. But the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and the maid enjoyed watching him. His face seemed to express an innocent, old-fashioned kindness. Yet there was also something dignified about him, as though he had good reason to be pleased with himself. Soon she glanced at the other man and was surprised to recognize Mr. Hyde. He had once visited her employer, and she had taken a dislike to him. He was idly handling a heavy cane, but he said nothing and seemed to listen with barely controlled impatience. Then, suddenly, he burst into a terrible rage. He stamped his foot, waved the cane, and behaved, as the maid described it, like a madman. The old gentleman stepped back, looking very surprised and a little hurt. At that, Mr. Hyde lost all control and struck him to the ground with the cane. The next moment, with an ape’s fury, he was trampling his victim and raining blows down on him. The bones could be heard breaking under the blows, and the body jolted on the road. Horrified by 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.

It was two o’clock when she regained consciousness and called for the police. The murderer was long gone, but his victim lay in the middle of the lane, horribly mangled. The stick used in the murder was made of a rare, very tough, heavy wood. But the blows of this senseless cruelty had snapped it in half. One splintered half had rolled into the nearby gutter. The murderer had undoubtedly carried away the other half. A purse and a gold watch were found on the victim, but no cards or papers except a sealed, stamped envelope. He had probably been carrying the envelope to the post office. The envelope bore Mr. Utterson’s name and address.

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.

This was brought to the lawyer the next morning, before he was out of bed. As soon as he saw it and heard the circumstances, he pushed out his lower lip with a grave expression. “I shall say nothing until I have seen the body,” he said. “This may be very serious. Please wait while I get dressed.” With the same grave expression, he hurried through breakfast and drove to the police station. The body had been taken there. As soon as he entered the cell, he nodded.

“Yes,” said he, “I recognise him. I am sorry to say that this is Sir Danvers Carew.”

“Yes,” he said, “I recognize him. I’m 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.

“Good God, sir,” exclaimed the officer, “is it possible?” A moment later, his eyes lit up with professional ambition. “This will attract a lot of attention,” he said. “And perhaps you can help us find the man.” Then he briefly described 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.

Mr. Utterson had already recoiled at the name of Hyde. But when the walking stick was placed before him, he could no longer doubt it was Hyde’s. Though the stick was broken and battered, he recognized it. He himself had given it to Henry Jekyll many years before.

“Is this Mr. Hyde a person of small stature?” he inquired.

“Is this Mr. Hyde a short man?” he asked.

“Particularly small and particularly wicked-looking, is what the maid calls him,” said the officer.

“Very small and very evil-looking, according to the maid,” 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.”

Mr. Utterson thought for a moment. Then he raised his head. “If you 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.

It was now about nine in the morning, and the first fog of the season had arrived. A great chocolate-brown shroud hung low over the sky. But the wind kept attacking and scattering the massed fog. So as the cab crawled from street to street, Mr. Utterson saw a remarkable range of twilight shades and colours. Here it was as dark as late evening. There a deep, sinister brown glow shone like the light of some strange fire. Elsewhere, for a moment, the fog broke apart completely. A pale, sickly shaft of daylight flashed between the swirling wisps. Seen in these shifting glimpses, the dreary neighbourhood of Soho looked to the lawyer like part of a nightmare city. Its streets were muddy, and the people passing through were shabby and unkempt. Its street lamps had either never been put out or had been lit again to fight the gloomy return of darkness. His thoughts, too, were deeply gloomy. And when he glanced at his companion in the cab, he felt a touch of fear of the law and its officers. Such fear may at times strike even the most honest person.

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.

As the cab stopped at the address he had been given, the fog lifted a little, revealing a dingy street. He saw a gin palace, a shabby French restaurant, and a shop selling penny magazines and twopenny salads. Many ragged children huddled in the doorways. Many women of many different nationalities came out, keys in hand, to have a morning drink. A moment later, the dark brown fog settled over the area again, hiding his disreputable surroundings from view. Here was the home of Henry Jekyll’s favorite, a man who was heir to a quarter of a million pounds.

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.

An old woman with an ivory-white face and silver hair opened the door. She had an evil face, made smooth by hypocrisy, but her manners were excellent. Yes, she said, this was Mr. Hyde’s home, but he was not in. He had come home very late that night, but had left again in less than an hour. There was nothing strange about his coming and going. His habits were very irregular, and he was often away. For instance, until yesterday, she had not seen him for nearly two months.

“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.”

“All right, then, we want to see his rooms,” said the lawyer. When the woman began insisting that they couldn’t, he added, “I’d better tell you who this man is. 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?”

A flash of nasty delight crossed the woman’s face. “Ah!” she said, “he’s 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.”

Mr. Utterson and the inspector exchanged glances. “He doesn’t seem very popular,” the inspector remarked. “And now, my good woman, just let this gentleman and me look around.”

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 piles 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.

Mr. Hyde had used only two rooms in the whole house, otherwise empty except for the old woman. But these rooms were furnished luxuriously and tastefully. A cupboard was filled with wine, the tableware was silver, and the table linen was elegant. A fine painting hung on the wall, a gift, Utterson supposed, from Henry Jekyll, who knew a great deal about art. The carpets had different pile thicknesses and pleasing colours. At that moment, however, the rooms showed every sign of having recently been searched in a hurry. Clothes lay scattered across the floor, their pockets turned inside out. Drawers that had been locked stood open. On the hearth lay a pile of grey ashes, as though many papers had been burned. From these ashes, the inspector dug out the remaining end of a green chequebook that had survived the fire. The other half of the stick was found behind the door. Since this discovery confirmed his suspicions, the officer declared himself delighted. A visit to the bank completed his satisfaction. Several thousand pounds were found in the murderer’s account there.

“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.”

“You can count on it, sir,” he told Mr. Utterson: “I’ve got him in my grasp. He must have lost his head. Otherwise, he would never have left the stick or, above all, burned the chequebook. Why, money means everything to the man. All we need to do is wait for him at the bank and send out the wanted notices.”

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.

This last task, however, was not so easy, because Mr. Hyde had few acquaintances. Even the servant maid’s employer had seen him only twice. No trace of his family could be found, and he had never been photographed. The few people who could describe him gave widely differing accounts, as ordinary observers tend to do. They agreed on only one point. The fugitive left everyone who saw him with a haunting sense of some deformity they could not describe.