is?to write his orders on a sheet of paper and throw it on the stair. We've
2. We'll deal with this. 3. Stored accumulation.
.
166 6 / ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
had nothing else this week back; nothing but papers, and a closed door, and
the very meals left there to be smuggled in when nobody was looking. Well,
sir, every day, ay, and twice and thrice in the same day, there have been orders
and complaints, and I have been sent flying to all the wholesale chemists in
town. Every time I brought the stuff back, there would be another paper telling
me to return it, because it was not pure, and another order to a different firm.
This drug is wanted bitter bad, sir, whatever for.' 'Have you any of these papers?' asked Mr. Utterson.
Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled note, which the lawyer,
bending nearer to the candle, carefully examined. Its contents ran thus: 'Dr.
Jekyll presents his compliments to Messrs. Maw. He assures them that their
last sample is impure and quite useless for his present purpose. In the year
18?, Dr. J. purchased a somewhat large quantity from Messrs. M. He now
begs them to search with the most sedulous care, and should any of the same
quality be left, to forward it to him at once. Expense is no consideration. The
importance of this to Dr. J. can hardly be exaggerated.' So far the letter had
run composedly enough, but here with a sudden splutter of the pen, the
writer's emotion had broken loose. 'For God's sake,' he had added, 'find me
some of the old.' 'This is a strange note,' said Mr. Utterson; and then sharply, 'How do you
come to have it open?'
'The man at Maw's was main angry, sir, and he threw it back to me like so
much dirt,' returned Poole. 'This is unquestionably the doctor's hand, do you know?' resumed the
lawyer.
'I thought it looked like it,' said the servant rather sulkily; and then, with
another voice, 'But what matters hand of write?' he said. 'I've seen him!'
'Seen him?' repeated Mr. Utterson. 'Well?'
'That's it!' said Poole. 'It was this way. I came suddenly into the theatre
from the garden. It seems he had slipped out to look for this drug or whatever
it is; for the cabinet door was open, and there he was at the far end of the
room digging among the crates. He looked up when I came in, gave a kind of
cry, and whipped upstairs into the cabinet. It was but for one minute that I
saw him, but the hair stood upon my head like quills. Sir, if that was my master,
why had he a mask upon his face? If it was my master, why did he cry out like
a rat, and run from me? I have served him long enough. And then . . .' The
man paused and passed his hand over his face.
'These are all very strange circumstances,' said Mr. Utterson, 'but I think
I begin to see daylight. Your master, Poole, is plainly seized with one of those
maladies that both torture and deform the sufferer; hence, for aught I know,
the alteration of his voice; hence the mask and the avoidance of his friends;
hence his eagerness to find this drug, by means of which the poor soul retains
some hope of ultimate recovery?God grant that he be not deceived! There is
my explanation; it is sad enough, Poole, ay, and appalling to consider; but it
is plain and natural, hangs well together, and delivers us from all exorbitant
alarms.' 'Sir,' said the butler, turning to a sort of mottled pallor, 'that thing was not
my master, and there's the truth. My master'?here he looked round him and
began to whisper?-'is a tall, fine build of a man, and this was more of a dwarf.'
Utterson attempted to protest. 'O, sir,' cried Poole, 'do you think I do not
