The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: Dr Jekyll & Mr Holmes (5 page)

‘Please do.’

‘“When a great man dies”,’ I read, ‘“we are given to discourse upon the nature of the man, and to list the glowing achievements which this nature produced during his span. What we ignore — and ‘ignore’ is the proper word, since we all know that it exists but prefer not to speak of it — is his second nature, that baser, less noble member which, depending upon the degree to which it is suppressed, threatens to drag its owner down meaner channels than those its lofty counterpart has chosen. For man is not one but two, and those two are for ever in conflict over which shall be the master. It is the victor which decides what direction the man’s life will take.” It goes on in that vein for six pages.’ I closed the book.

‘Eloquent,’ said Holmes.

‘But simplistic. He says nothing that everyone does not already know.’

‘Which is, perhaps, why it is important to say it. But I wonder that it appeared in a medical journal. It smacks of philosophy rather than science.’

‘He makes the point later on that understanding the conflict between man’s two selves may one day lead to a cure for diseases of the mind. Far-fetched, I call it.’

But Holmes was not listening. He thrust a hand inside the pocket of his frock-coat and stared at the smoke floating from his pipe towards the ceiling. ‘Two natures, one noble, the other base. I wonder if it is perhaps Jekyll’s own baser nature which made him a target. If he is indeed a target. A most tantalising problem, this.’

‘I trust that the solution is worth the danger to your health,’ I remonstrated, for I could control my fury no longer. ‘It is obvious that I failed in my attempts to make you appreciate the importance of this holiday.’

‘Holiday be damned!’ he cried unexpectedly. ‘Blackmailers are the absolute worst of criminals, for they bleed their victims dry and leave nothing but the empty husk behind. There is, for instance, a man in Hampstead — with whom there will one day be a reckoning — who holds the fates of a dozen men and women in his hands, and who dallies with them as does a child with his cup and ball. No, Watson, there will be no holiday whilst one of our worthiest citizens squirms beneath the thumb of such a scoundrel. Nottingham is postponed, and we shall speak no more of it until we have closed the book upon the strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.’ He snatched his great-coat and hat from their hook and put them on.

‘Where are we bound?’ I asked.

‘It’s going to be a fine night, Watson,’ said he, handing me my own outer garments. ‘What say you to a little journey down to Soho?’

A C
ONFRONTATION
I
N
S
OHO

A
few minutes’ travel by hansom saw us in Soho Square, that haphazard conglomeration of dingy streets and ramshackle buildings in which a dozen different nationalities flourish like so many varieties of exotic plants in a hothouse. It was a clear night, and yet the scenery was scarcely discernible in the inadequate light trickling through the sooty panes of the gas lamps which stood on every corner. Some vandal had hurled a paving-stone through the one nearest the address which we sought, extinguishing it, so that our driver had to climb down from his seat and strike a match beneath the wrought-iron numbers upon the door before he could be certain that he had brought us to the right place.

‘This is it, gentlemen,’ he announced cheerily, shaking out the match as he returned to the hansom. ‘Though why a pair of upstandin’ gentlemen like yourselves’d be visitin’ the kind of bloke what lives in a dump like this is beyond me, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

Ignoring the implied question, Holmes alighted and handed the driver a half-crown. ‘There’s more where that came from if you’ll take your cab round the corner and wait for us,’ the detective told him.

‘Blimey!’ exclaimed the other, secreting the coin in his coat pocket. ‘For ‘arf a crown I’d kidnap the Tsar of Rooshia single-handed.’

‘That won’t be necessary. Just wait round the corner.’ When he had clattered off: ‘It’s a rare fellow who speaks his mind like that, Watson. He’d sing a different tune if he knew what the man who resides in this particular “dump” is heir to. Did you think to bring your revolver, by the way?’

‘I did not think it necessary.’

‘A pity. Well, we have our sticks.’ He placed his hand upon my arm. ‘Do not be alarmed, old fellow; I expect no trouble of the physical sort. But one cannot be too careful after what we have heard concerning this man Hyde.’ So saying, he led the way to the low wooden door of the squat, two-storey dwelling and rapped upon the panel.

The door was opened by an old woman wearing a severe black dress with a collar of white lace, in the center of which reposed a plain ivory brooch which she twisted between the fingers of one hand whilst studying the two men on her stoop. Once the ensemble had been very fine, but in the intervening years the black had begun to turn purple, the white had yellowed, and the ivory had grown loose in its setting of tarnished silver. The face above the frayed collar was of a hue and texture reminiscent of that same ivory, and this together with the pure silver of her hair, might have made her a genteel figure but for the avaricious gleam in her eye and an expression which denoted pure hypocrisy. Swiftly placing her role in the household, I was suddenly grateful for a landlady like Mrs. Hudson. I would hardly have trusted such a creature as this with a key to my rooms.

‘If it’s lodgings you’re after,’ she said, looking from one to the other of us, ‘I’ve rooms upstairs in back. Rates are five quid per week in advance, and I shan’t sit still for tobacco nor dogs.’

‘My dear woman, we are not after lodgings but have come on a visit,’ said Holmes. ‘You have, I believe, a tenant by the name of Edward Hyde; it is he whom we wish to see.’

At the mention of the name, she drew back from the doorway as if Holmes had produced a snake. ‘You are friends of his?’ Nervously she twisted the brooch, straining the material to which it was pinned.

‘I fail to see what difference that makes,’ he responded.

‘He is from home. He is often thus sometimes for weeks at a stretch. I have not seen him for some days. Come back later in the week.’ She started to close the door. Holmes blocked it with his foot.

‘May we at least see his rooms?’

Outrage at his action and strange request dawned over the old woman’s features, but the expression quickly changed to one of greed as Holmes held a glittering sovereign before her face. She started to reach for it, then her hand drew back and resumed fiddling with the brooch.

‘I cannot allow you to do that,’ said she. ‘The gentleman would be very angry.’

She said it calmly enough, but fear was stamped upon her every feature. The hatred and terror which she felt for her lodger were nearly tangible. What sort of monster was this Edward Hyde?

Holmes made his voice gruff. ‘Very well, if that’s the way you prefer it. We can always get a warrant. Come along, Inspector.’ He turned away. She caught his sleeve.

‘Why didn’t you say that you were with the police?’ She flung the door wide. Holmes winked at me surreptitiously and led the way inside.

The door shut, the woman wiped her hands absentmindedly upon her apron, staring at the coin in Holmes’s hand. ‘I am a poor woman, sir,’ she ventured.

He gave her the sovereign. ‘Your silence is of course included in the price.’

She cackled mirthlessly and dropped the coin into the pocket of her apron. ‘You needn’t pay for that, sir. Hyde would kill me if he found out. He is in trouble, then?’ Her expression became eager. When Holmes did not reply, she shrugged her shoulders, seized a lamp and a ring of keys from a table beside the door, and, picking up her skirts, led us across a faded rug and up a narrow and exceedingly noisy staircase.

‘What sort of tenant is Hyde?’ asked the detective on the way up.

‘He is quiet and he pays his rent on time. That is good enough for me.’

‘Yet he does not seem to have made himself popular.’

‘No other lodgers will live beneath the same roof.’

‘Indeed! And why is that?’

‘If you had ever met him, you would not ask that question.’

Stopping at the first door in the hallway atop the stairs, she unlocked it and pushed it open. ‘There they are, sir; two rooms only. I beg you to do whatever it is you have to do quickly, and leave everything as you found it.’ She handed Holmes the lamp and descended.

‘Is it not unlawful to impersonate a police officer?’ I asked Holmes once she was out of earshot.

‘I did not say that we were police officers. If she leapt to that conclusion, who am I to contradict her?’ He turned his attention to the open doorway. ‘Come, Watson.’

Somewhat surprisingly, the two rooms occupied by Hyde, in contrast to the rest of the house, were spacious and decorated in the finest taste, with a rich carpet upon the floor of the combination bed-and sitting-room, heavy velvet curtains over the single window, an exquisite oil upon one wall, and in the bathroom a silver basin upon a marble stand. There was, in addition, a closet stocked with expensive wines, a bureau, a pedestal table, two armchairs, and a tall wardrobe beside the bed in which hung half a dozen suits of varying degrees of richness, fromcoarsest wool to the very best that New Bond Street had to offer. One hanger was empty.

‘His dress-suit, I fancy,’ said Holmes, fingering the last item. ‘I see none here, and yet he seems to own every other form of attire required of a gentleman in this over-dressed age. Wherever he is staying, I should wager that it is not far removed from society.’

‘Judging by what I’ve heard of the man, I would hardly call him a gentleman,’ said I.

‘Quite right, Watson. These days, however, gentlemanly status seems to be more a question of appearance than conduct. I sometimes think that a gorilla would pass without comment at one of our West End social functions, so long as his shirt front remains spotless and he holds his teacup in the proper fashion.’

‘He seems well off, at any rate.’

‘And why not? His benefactor is one of the wealthiest men in London. But we are not here to confirm his credit.’

Several pairs of boots reposed side by side at the bottom of the wardrobe. Holmes examined these briefly, then replaced them and closed the door. After that his search began in earnest. I stood back out of the way as he slid open the drawers of the bureau, starting with the one on top, and, carefully so as to avoid dislodging anything, groped among the contents for I knew not what. Whilst searching through the second drawer, he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction and drew out a rectangular grey object which I recognised as an account book, its cover inscribed with the name of one of our oldest and most respected banking institutions. He opened it, whistled once whilst running his finger down the column of figures which he found inside, then closed it and returned it to its former place without further comment. After going through the rest of the drawers, he turned his attention to the remainder of the room.

He overlooked nothing, not even the trash basket in the corner, the contents of which he sorted through with both hands as he knelt beside it. He felt beneath the windowsill and peeped under the bed. At length he produced his pocket lens and crawled along the edge of the carpet, peering at it through the thick glass. Finally he stood up and returned the instrument to his pocket.

‘What —’ I began to ask. Holmes placed a finger to his lips.

He turned and, with a sly expression, crossed the room upon cat’s feet to the door. There he paused dramatically with his hand upon the knob, then suddenly twisted it and yanked open the door.

The old landlady spilled into the room amidst a rustle of skirts and fell sprawling to the floor.

‘The next time you seek to listen at the keyhole,’ Holmes informed her, smiling, ‘I would suggest that you climb the staircase upon the very edge of the steps, where they are not apt to creak quite so loudly. And lift your skirts as you near the door; your approach put me in mind of closing-time at a silk merchant’s.’ He extended a hand to help her to her feet.

The woman said, ‘Well!’ got up, dusted herself off, and turned to go.

‘One moment,’ said Holmes.

She paused and glared at him, her face a mask of suspicion and indignation.

‘What can you tell us of your lodger’s movements during the hours of daylight?’

Her expression grew stubborn. Holmes sighed and handed her another coin. She polished it upon her apron and pocketed it. It clinked against the one he had given her earlier.

‘He has none,’ said she. ‘The few times that he has been here in the daytime were spent in his rooms. He seldom ventures out before dark and does not return until almost dawn.’

‘Does he work nights?’

She cackled maliciously. ‘Not unless his work calls for him to sit all night drinking and carousing in a pub. I have seen him in Stunner’s on the corner when I go there for my dollop of rum. I have this condition, you see.’ She placed a hand to her throat and coughed delicately.

‘Thank you. That is all.’

Holmes took down the lamp where he had left it atop the bureau and we quitted the room, the landlady turning to lock the door behind us. At the foot of the staircase he handed her the lamp, wished her goodnight, and together we stepped out into the crisp air of the street.