Chapter 1
Mr Utterson was a lawyer by profession but a kind man indeed. He had a harsh face mostly occupied with cold expression. He rarely smiled. He was tall and considerbably lean but one could get to adore him eventually. He liked wine but settled to gin when he was alone. Though he always stood for what was right, he had a sense of tolerance for those who did wrong. He, in fact, helped them where the others used to banish their presence. He managed to have a good influence in life of all the unsuccessful people he came across in his profession. He never changed his attitude towards these people. He was someone who loved the theatre but had never been to a single one in a time of 20 years.
A good-natured man he was but had a tendance to hide his feelings. Humble and reserved but still had a skill to socialise at family gatherings for a dosage of wine. He considered friends as family and had ample of affection for everyone who had been there with him for a long time. His affection increased as more and more time passed. The epitome of the strongest of bonds could be seen in his bond with Mr. Richard Enfield, who was a relative and a famous personality in the town. People wondered as to what possibly could have united these two for they rarely had a single common subject to have a discussion about. But all of this didn’t keep these two from having moments of pleasure and pleasant meetings.
It was a fine Sunday with streets having wealthy trade for a weekend. The street was small and what was called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays. These two were walking down a by-street in a busy part of London waving out to all the sellers and saleswomen trying to trade with the two gentlemen. The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their grains in coquetry; so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. The street neighbourhood was newly painted and unlikely clean which was seeking attention of all the by-passers.
As they went further, they reached the entry to the court. Just there, a gloomy building with a worn off door caught their eyes. It was a two–storey building with a door bolted on the lower story. The building defined negligence. The steps were barely a shutter for the children trying to sell their goods on the streets. No one in an eternity had taken the pain to do any kind of repair work with the damaged ravages. It showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower storey and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. Mr Enfield and Mr. Utterson crossed the road but before they entered the court, Mr. Enfield pointed towards the door with his cane and said, “Have you ever noticed that door?”
His companion nodded in agreement and he further added, “It is connected to a very odd story in the back of my mind.”
“Really!” said Mr. Utterson, his voice showing signs of curiosity, “and what was that?”
Mr. Enfield started with his story, “It was three o’ clock and I was coming back to home in the winter morning, and the path I walked was deserted and my only companions on that lonely road were the street lamps. Everyone was slept but the streets were lighted as if for a fair. I had reached a mental state where longed for the sight of at least a night guard on the way but to my disspaointment no was to be seen. At once, my eyes caught the sight of two people, a short man walking briskly towards a girl about ten years of age running scared across the street. It was not long before a moment that they ran into each other and the other moment he left the scene with the girl lying on the ground screaming. It was a terrible sight. I took the pursuit ending up catching that man soon enough. When I came back her family had surrounded the girl. The man was looking at me calmly but that look scared me terribly. The doctor arrived at the scene. Before everything went back into the place I was confused and puzzled to see a murderous rage in the eyes of the doctor for my prisoner.
He joined me in an attempt to scare the gentleman off a scandal that could be made out of this and his name to be buried in mud all over Lndon. He could lose all his closed ones and also his reputation if he had any. In amidst of all this we had a hard time controlling the women from attacking the man out of rage and fury. It was the most hateful bunch of kins I had ever seen in my life.
The man buying the risk of a scandal said, “I would naturally be cornered if you make a big deal out of this accident, why don’t we make a settlement.” His voice started to get firm, “Name your figure.”
“We firmly claimed a hundred pounds of compensation for the child’s family and he agreed, rather reluctantly, to pay every penny. The man gave them ten punds in cash and signed a cheque for the rest of the money for coutt’s. We had a certain doubt in the back of our mind that the signature could have been fake and I pointed out the shady aspect of the situation. But he assured us, “I will encash the cheque myself and stay in your sight until the bank opens.” I had a strong feeling for the cheque to be a fake but to my amazement the banks referred to it as genuine when we tried to encash it in the morning.
At the tuttering of Mr. Utterson, Mr Enfield said, “I am aware that it is a bad story. The man I caught was someone who no one would ever want to befriend, but somehow the person who encashed the cheque was a respected personality and renowned for his wealth and good deeds. Blackmail is something a good man paying a compensation for the momentary wrong that he does in his youth. Black Mail House is what I call the place with the door, in consequence.”
Mr. Utterson suddenly came up with a question, “Do you know if the person who drew your cheque lived there?” He further asked, “Have you tried asking about the place?”
“No, not yet sir,” he replied in return, “I feel something odd about asking questions; it partakes too much of the style of the day of judgment. It’s like a domino when you ask a question, many more questions pour in. I reserve my curiousity and questions when something odd is going on. But I studied the place myself. It seemed more like a warehouse with wrecked furniture, only two windows and a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must live there. And yet it’s not so sure; for the buildings are so packed together about the court, that it’s hard to say where one ends and another begins. It seems scarcely a house. There is no other door, and nobody goes in or out of that one but, once in a great while, the gentleman of my adventure.”
The two friends walked further in silence. After a while the lawyer said, “I want to ask one thing. What is the name of that man who walked over the child?”
“Hyde!” said Mr. Enfield.
“What did he look like?” inquired Mr. Utterson.
“He had a rather displeasing appearance. He gave a certain sense of deformity though it’s difficult to be specific. It’s difficult to describe his strange appearance. He’s an extraordinary looking man, and yet I really can name nothing out of the way. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why.”
They walked another mile not speaking a single word before Mr. Utterson broke the silence again, “Are you certain he used a key to open the door?”
Mr Enfield nodded in agreement.
Mr Utterson further added, “I am aware of the strangeness of the whole thing. But my advice is for you to be compeletely accurate with all the details and be exact at every point.”
“Sir, I have been completely exact. The man surely had a key which he still has. I saw him use it last week itself.”
Mr. Utterson took a sigh but didn’t say a word. They concluded the conversation with an agreement of never referring to that subject again.
