The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: Dr Jekyll & Mr Holmes (22 page)

‘Mother of God!’ he cried in a choked voice. ‘It is too soon! Too soon after the last time!’

Holmes repeated his query, more urgently.

Jekyll snapped, ‘I am quite well. Please leave.’ It was a demand as well as a plea. He was shaking visibly.

‘Watson is a physician. Perhaps —’

‘I am well, I said!’ He was shouting now. He seized us each by the shoulder and propelled us with a madman’s strength towards the open doorway. ‘Get out!’ He pushed us outside and slammed the door. The report of the bolt sliding home followed an instant later.

For a moment we stood there, neither of us knowing what action to take, whilst from inside came the sounds of violent convulsions punctuated by breaking glass. Then silence. Holmes rapped tentatively upon the door.

‘Dr. Jekyll?’

‘Who is it?’ The answering voice was harsh, little more than a grating whisper. Holmes appeared taken aback by it.

‘It is I, Sherlock Holmes. Are you well?’

‘I am all right. Go away!’

‘You are certain?’

‘Begone, I said!’ The roar shook the door panels. Reluctantly we obeyed.

‘What do you suppose that was all about?’ I asked my companion back in the cab.

‘I do not know.’ He appeared deep in thought.

‘Did you really believe that he was concealing Hyde?’

‘Not for one minute. I wished merely to get a look at Jekyll’s laboratory and confirm my suspicions. I succeeded in doing both.’

‘And?’

‘No doubt you wondered what prompted my return to Professor Armbruster’s study at the University of Edinburgh,’ said he.

I pretended tolerance of this seeming irrelevance by nodding. ‘I supposed that you would tell me when you thought it right.’

‘Your patience is commendable. I have been convinced for some time that the roots of Jekyll’s recent behavior go back to his career at the University. When the blackmail theory evaporated, I decided to concentrate upon his course of study. One can learn much about a man by his interests. With this in mind I asked the professor for Jekyll’s reading list during his student days. As I said, the old scholar has a remarkably lucid memory in some areas; he provided me, in short order, with a complete rundown of those titles which occupied most of the young man’s time. Many of the works are out of print, and I had the devil of a time tracking them all down. But track them down I did, and here you see the results.’ He patted the parcels which lay beside him upon the seat.

‘I fail to see what that has to do with this latest confrontation,’ said I.

‘Many of the works deal with chemistry and science, though I have Armbruster’s testimony that none of them was required for the classes which Jekyll attended. A glimpse of the great man’s laboratory — a chemical storehouse such as I dream of someday owning myself — confirmed my belief that he is still engaging in chemical research. I feel certain now that I am on the right track.’

‘On the track of what?’

‘If I knew that, Watson, I could save myself many weeks of work.’ He looked at me then, and his eyes were as bright as twin suns. ‘I intend to bury myself in the perusal of those volumes which sent Henry Jekyll upon his current path of destruction. In so doing, I shall follow the trail laid down by a brilliant mind exactly as I would follow that left by a culprit’s boots. It is a task well-nigh impossible, for it pre-supposes that I can arrive within these next few weeks at the same conclusion which took Jekyll thirty years to reach. But there is no alternative. Everywhere else lies impasse.’

‘And in the meantime?’

‘In the meantime a killer will be free to roam the streets. We can but pray that his urge to destroy will remain in check until we have enough to ensure that he will roam them no more.’

Having delivered this statement, he tore the wrapping from one of the parcels — a weighty volume entitled
Wilton’s Elements of Chemistry
— and began reading from page one whilst the hansom in which we were riding bucked and rumbled over the cobblestones on the way to Baker Street.

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A
s is typical for London, the spring of 1885 was heralded by days of cold and bluster which were every bit as severe as anything which the long winter had offered. Icy gales howled down deserted streets, whimpered round chimneys and beneath cornices, cast great handfuls of snow and freezing rain rattling against windowpanes thick with frost. Wisps of greasy brown fog clung to the gas lamps as if holding on lest they be torn asunder by the relentless wind. The streets themselves glistened beneath a sheen of ice, and what little traffic there was made less than snails’ progress upon the slick surface. Like almost everyone else in the besieged city, Holmes and I were content to remain prisoners in our own home, engaged in sedentary pursuits and drawing comfort from our own little hearth whilst the elements raged without. The weather was of little consequence, however, as for two months my fellow-lodger had scarcely stirred from his armchair before the fire save to dine and replenish his supply of shag, so engrossed was he in the study of that ponderous stack of reading material which he had brought with him from Edinburgh. He read rapidly, finishing an average of a volume a day, then casting it aside to reach for another from atop the pile. In no time at all the floor round his feet became a litter of discarded books, some of which he returned to on occasion in order to check some point which he either had forgotten or wished to confirm with what he had just read. By the beginning of March our sitting-room had begun to resemble Professor Armbruster’s cluttered study.

The extent of his immersion may be measured by the fact that he barely commented when, less than a fortnight after our return from Scotland, Dr. Hastie Lanyon’s obituary appeared in all of the newspapers. Death was attributed to ‘overwork and a weakened constitution.’ His own prediction regarding his life expectancy had come true almost to the day. For Holmes, however, he had become a non-entity the moment he ceased to play a crucial role in the problem upon which we were engaged.

Thus undistracted, I succeeded in putting together a satisfactory first draft of those events which had led to the solution of the Lauriston Gardens mystery and began the laborious process of translating it into acceptable English. I expended several bottles of ink and tossed away something in excess of a ream of foolscap during this stage of the project, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Hudson, whose task it was to empty our trash baskets each morning and afternoon. I confess that Holmes and I were too busy to take much notice of her complaints.

There were times, however, as upon the Ides of March, when even such a sedentary soul as I grew alarmed at my friend’s immobility and demanded that he step out and take the air, if only for an hour. Rather than suffer further remonstration, on this particular morning Holmes climbed out from beneath his books and girded himself to face the weather, muttering something about visiting his favourite chemists’ shops as he went out the door. I did not see him again for the better part of the day, and when as the supper hour was approaching he re-appeared bearing his new acquisitions wrapped in bundles beneath his arm, he was in such visibly good spirits that I congratulated myself upon the wisdom of my advice, until he told me the reason for his cheer.

‘You are aware, Watson, of my observations upon the foolhardy human habit of attempting to reason without sufficient data,’ he said as he divested himself of headgear and wrap. ‘I am therefore placing myself in an embarrassing position by calling upon you to guess whom I encountered today at Maw & Sons.’

‘I cannot think,’ said I.

‘Our friend Poole.’

‘Jekyll’s butler! Whatever was he after in a chemist’s?’

‘Something for his master, without doubt. He was unsuccessful, as Maw informed him in no uncertain terms that Jekyll himself had taken the last of it from his shelf some months ago. I overheard this reply as I was coming in. Poole seemed greatly troubled on his way out and would have walked right on past me had I not called his name. He would not tell me what he was about. Orders from his master, I warrant, though I got the distinct impression that he knew little more about the business than I. I attempted to question Maw after he left, but that worthy gentleman had overheard us and did not deem it advisable to explain the nature of the order. That is of little consequence, however.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Ah, you must not ask me that just yet.’ He unwrapped his parcels — they contained the usual miscellany of bottles, phials, and packets of substances beyond my ken — and put them away amongst shelves above his chemical table. ‘Be satisfied to know that this latest development has a made-to-order place in the theory that I am formulating. All that remains is for me to satisfy myself that such things are possible.’ And with that he returned to his studies.

We were not without visitors during this period. I find it recorded in my notebook that we were blessed no fewer than seven times with the presence of Inspector Newcomen of Scotland Yard, and that upon each occasion he had departed in an even blacker humour than that in which he had arrived. The Inspector had gotten it into his head that Holmes was doing nothing to earn whatever fee he was charging the British Empire for his services in the Hyde case (he had, in fact, offered them free of charge), and finding the unofficial detective curled up in an armchair with a book across his knees each time he came to call did little to allay his suspicions. Since a scene was inevitable, I learnt to dread his visits much as an impoverished tenant fears the approaching footsteps of his landlord.

It was the evening of my fellow-tenant’s return from Maw & Sons when the Inspector stepped into the house just as Mrs. Hudson had been preparing to retire. She ushered him into our chambers and, after asking us to lock up when our visitor had left, withdrew to her own quarters. Holmes had a short time before flung down a scientific tract which he had finished reading and begun studying a half-century-old edition of
Faust
in the original German. Newcomen shot him a contemptuous glance as he handed me his billycock and shining waterproof.

‘I would expect more action from your brother Mycroft,’ he sneered. ‘I suppose that you are going to tell me that reading some hoary old epic will show you some clue to the whereabouts of Edward Hyde.’

‘I will not if you do not wish me to do so,’ said Holmes without looking up.

The Inspector slouched into the seat opposite him. ‘All right, tell me what you have found.’

‘A very interesting passage. It occurs in the Prologue, wherein the Lord speaks to Mephistopheles. I shall attempt to translate: “A good man, through obscurest aspiration, has still an instinct of the one true way”.’

‘Fascinating.’ Newcomen lit a cigar and tossed down the match with a savage gesture. ‘Now tell me what it means.’

‘Simply defined, it is an expression of the unsinkable nobility of Man.’

‘An admirable premise, but what has it to do with tracking down a murderer?’

Holmes shrugged. ‘Who can say? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything. But I believe that Watson will agree with me that the statement suits a man who is known to both of us.’

‘Bah!’ The Inspector sprang to his feet and began pacing the room in stiff strides, fists thrust deep in his trouser-pockets. ‘All of London lies naked at the feet of a madman and you persist in making up riddles which no-one can answer. More than once you have made reference to this other man, and yet when I ask you who it is you refuse to tell me. If you are withholding evidence in this case I shall see you in the dock, no matter how high your authority.’

‘A man’s theories are his own, Inspector. I have not divulged mine only because it is as yet untested. Rest assured that when it bears fruit you will be the first to know.’

‘How long must I wait? The newspapers are screaming for my badge and the Commissioner is beginning to listen. If something solid does not turn up soon I shall find myself back in uniform, patrolling the blackest alleys in the East End. I beg of you, Mr. Holmes, give me something to go on.’ Gone was the bullying symbol of authority of a few moments before, replaced by a supplicant. Desperation shone in his normally cold grey eyes. He chewed the ends of his moustache.

Holmes looked up at him for the first time. His expression was sympathetic. ‘That is beyond my power, Inspector.’ said he. Newcomen’s hopeful face fell in. ‘I can, however, give you my word that by the end of this month there will be no more mystery. If we are fortunate, the man whom you seek will be in the hands of justice shortly thereafter. Beyond that I promise nothing.’

‘It is a vague promise,’ said the other. But there was new hope in his voice.

‘It is vague merely because I cannot foretell upcoming events. I have, as I said, formulated a theory which fits all of the facts. I could not have done so but for the aid of these books. But it is a fanciful theory, and I fear that once you learn of it you will think me mad. I have yet to be convinced of it myself. If, however, I am correct, then the solution far exceeds the boundaries of simple domestic crime, and you and I may with some confidence expect to see our names included in the work of some ambitious historian before our span has ended. It may be that we have stumbled onto a stage more vast than any upon which ever we have performed. The very possibilities steal my breath away.’