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Page 5
"Tut-tut," said Mr. Utterson.
"I see you feel as I do," said Mr. Enfield. "Yes, it's a bad
story. For my man was a fellow that nobody could have to do with,
a really damnable man; and the person that drew the cheque is the
very pink of the proprieties, celebrated too, and (what makes it
worse) one of your fellows who do what they call good. Black mail
I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the
capers of his youth. Black Mail House is what I call the place
with the door, in consequence. Though even that, you know, is far
from explaining all," he added, and with the words fell into a
vein of musing.
From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking rather
suddenly: "And you don't know if the drawer of the cheque lives
there?"
"A likely place, isn't it?" returned Mr. Enfield. "But I
happen to have noticed his address; he lives in some square or
other."
"And you never asked about the--place with the door?" said
Mr. Utterson.
"No, sir: I had a delicacy," was the reply. "I feel very
strongly about putting questions; it partakes too much of the style
of the day of judgment. You start a question, and it's like
starting a stone. You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away
the stone goes, starting others; and presently some bland old bird
(the last you would have thought of) is knocked on the head in his
own back garden and the family have to change their name. No sir,
I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks like Queer Street, the
less I ask."
"A very good rule, too," said the lawyer.
"But I have studied the place for myself," continued Mr.
Enfield. "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. There are three windows looking on the
court on the first floor; none below; the windows are always shut
but they're clean. And then there is 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."
The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then
"Enfield," said Mr. Utterson, "that's a good rule of yours."
"Yes, I think it is," returned Enfield.
"But for all that," continued the lawyer, "there's one point I
want to ask: I want to ask the name of that man who walked over
the child."
"Well," said Mr. Enfield, "I can't see what harm it would do.
It was a man of the name of Hyde."
"Hm," said Mr. Utterson. "What sort of a man is he to see?"
"He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his
appearance; something displeasing, something down-right
detestable. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce
know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong
feeling of deformity, although I couldn't specify the point. He's
an extraordinary looking man, and yet I really can name nothing
out of the way. No, sir; I can make no hand of it; I can't
describe him. And it's not want of memory; for I declare I can
see him this moment."
Mr. Utterson again walked some way in silence and obviously
under a weight of consideration. "You are sure he used a key?" he
inquired at last.
"My dear sir ..." began Enfield, surprised out of himself.
"Yes, I know," said Utterson; "I know it must seem strange.
The fact is, if I do not ask you the name of the other party, it
is because I know it already. You see, Richard, your tale has
gone home. If you have been inexact in any point you had better
correct it."
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