Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fourth chapter of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

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Today we'll be continuing The Strange Case of Dr.

Jekyll and Mr.

Hyde by Robert Lewis Stevenson the Crew Murder Case nearly a year later, in the month of October 18, London was startled by a crime of singular ferocity and rendered all the more notable by the high position of the victim.

The details were few and startling.

A maid servant, living alone in a house not far from the river, had gone upstairs to bed about eleven.

Although a fog rolled over the city in the small hours, the early part of the night was cloudless, and the lane which the maid's window overlooked was brilliantly lit by the full moon.

It seemed she was romantically given, for she sat down upon her box, which stood immediately under the window, and fell into a dream of musing.

Never, she used to say with streaming tears, when she narrated that experience, never had she felt more at peace with all men, or thought more kindly of the world.

And as she so sat, she became aware of an aged, beautiful gentleman with white hair drawing near along the lane, and advancing to meet him another and very small gentleman, to whom at first she paid less attention.

When they had come within speech, which was just under the maid's eyes, the older man bowed and accosted the other with a very pretty manner of politeness.

It did not seem as if the subject of his address were of great importance.

Indeed, from his pointing, it sometimes appeared as if he were only inquiring his way.

But the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and the girl was pleased to watch it.

It seemed to breathe such an innocent and old world kindness of disposition.

It was something high too, as of a well founded self content.

Presently her eye wandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognize in him a certain Mr.

Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she had conceived a dislike.

He had in his hand a heavy cane with which he was trifling, but he answered never a word, and seemed to listen with an ill contained impatience.

And then all of a sudden he broke out in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing the cane, and carrying on, as the maid described it, like a madman.

The old gentleman took a step back with the air of one very much surprised and a trifle hurt, and at that Mr.

Hyde broke out of all bounds and clubbed him to the earth.

And next moment, with ape like fury, he was trampling his victim underfoot and hailing down a storm of blows under which the bones were audibly shattered and the body jumped upon the roadway.

At the horror of these sights and sounds, the maid fainted.

It was 02:00 when she came to herself and called for the police.

The murderer was gone long ago, but there lay his victim in the middle of the lane, incredibly mangled.

The stick with which the deed had been done, although it was of some rare and very tough and heavy wood, had broken in the middle under the stress of this insensitive cruelty and one splintered half had rolled in the neighboring gutter, the other, without doubt, had been carried away by the murderer.

A purse and gold watch were found upon the victim, but no cards or papers except a sealed and stamped envelope which he had been probably carrying to the post and which bore the name and address of Mr.

Utterson.

This was brought to the lawyer the next morning before he was out of bed, and he had no sooner seen it and been told the circumstances than he shot out a solemn lip.

I shall say nothing till I've seen the body, said he.

This may be very serious of the kindness to wait while I dress.

And with the same grave countenance he hurried through his breakfast and drove to the police station whither the body had been carried.

As soon as he came into the cell, he nodded.

Yes, said he, I recognize him.

I'm sorry to say that this is Sir Danver's crew.

Good God, sir.

Exclaimed the officer, is it possible?

And the next moment his eye lighted up with professional ambition.

This'll make a deal of noise, he said, and perhaps you can help us.

To the man.

And he briefly narrated what the maid had seen and showed the broken stick.

Mr Utterson had already quailed at the name of Hyde, but when the stick was laid before him, he could doubt no longer.

Broken and battered as it was, he recognized it for one that he had himself presented many years before to Henry Jekyll.

Is this Mr.

Hyde?

A person of small stature, particularly small and particularly wicked looking is what the maid calls him, said the officer.

Mr Utterson reflected, and then raising his head.

If you will come with me in my cab, he said, I think I can take you to his house.

It was by this time about nine in the morning and the first fog of the season a great chocolate colored paw lowered over heaven.

But the wind was continually charging and routing these embattled vapors, so that as the cab crawled from street to street, mr Utterson beheld a marvellous number of degrees and hues of twilight.

For here it would be dark, like the back end of evening, and there would be a glow of a rich lurid brown, like the light of some strange conflagration.

And here for a moment, the fog would be quite broken up and a haggard shaft of daylight would glance in between the swirling wreaths.

The dismal quarter of Soho, seen under these changing glimpses, with its muddy waves and slanternly passengers and its lamps, which had never been extinguished or had been kindled afresh to combat this mournful reinvasion of darkness seemed in the lawyer's eyes like a district of some city in a nightmare.

The thoughts of his mind, besides, were of the gloomiest die, and when he glanced at the companion of his drive, he was conscious of some touch of that terror of the law and the law's officers which may at times assail the most honest.

As the cab drew up before the address indicated, the fog lifted a little and showed him a dingy street, a gin palace, a low French eating house, a shop for the retail of penny numbers and two penny salads.

Many ragged children huddled in the doorways, and many women of many different nationalities passing out key in hand to have a morning glass.

And the next moment the fog settled down again upon that part, as brown as umber, and cut him off from his black, gardly surroundings.

This was the home of Henry Jekyll's, favorite of a man who was heir to a quarter of a million sterling.

An ivory faced and silver haired old woman opened the door.

She had an evil face, smoothed by hypocrisy, but her manners were excellent.

Yes.

She said this was Mr Hydes.

But he was not at home.

He had been in that night very late, but he had gone away again in less than an hour.

There was nothing strange in that.

His habits were very irregular and he was often absent.

For instance, it was nearly two months since she had seen him till yesterday.

Very well then.

We wish to see his rooms, said the lawyer, and when the woman began to declare it was impossible.

I'd better tell you who this person is, he added Mrs.

Inspector newcoming of Scotland Yard.

A flash of odious joy appeared upon the woman's face.

Ah, said she, he is in trouble.

What has he done?

Mr.

Utterson and the inspector exchanged glances.

He don't seem a very popular character, observed the latter.

And now, my good woman, just let me and this gentleman have a look about us.

In the whole extent of the house which, but for the old woman, remained otherwise empty.

Mr.

Hyde had only used a couple of rooms, but these were furnished with luxury and good taste.

A closet was filled with wine.

The plate was of silver, a napper y elegant.

A good picture hung upon the walls, a gift, as Utterson supposed, from Henry Jekyll, who was much of a connoisseur.

And the carpets were of many plies and agreeable in color.

At this moment, however, the rooms bore every mark of having been recently and hurriedly ransacked closely about the floor with their pockets inside out.

Lock fast drawers stood open, and on the hearth there lay a pile of gray ashes as though many papers had been burned.

From these embers, the inspector disinterested the b*** end of a green checkbook which had resisted the action of the fire.

The other half of the stick was found behind the door, and as this clinched his suspicions, the officer declared himself delighted.

A visit to the bank, where several thousand pounds were found to be lying to the murderer's credit completed his gratification.

You may depend upon it, sir, he told Mr.

Utterson.

I have him in my hand.

He must have lost his head or he never would have left a stick or, above all, burned the checkbook.

Why?

Money's.

Life to the man.

We have nothing to do but wait for him at the bank and get out the handbills.

This last, however, was not so easy of accomplishment for Mr.

Hyde had numbered few familiars.

Even the master of the servant maid had only seen him twice.

His family could nowhere be traced.

He had never been photographed, and the few who could describe him differed widely as common observers will only on one point where they agreed, and that was the haunting sense of unexpressed deformity with which the fugitive impressed his beholders.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of the Strange case of Dr.

Jekyll and Mr.

Hyde.

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