SEARCH FOR MR. HYDE

von Robert Louis Stevenson · 2026-03-31

That evening, Mr. Utterson returned to his bachelor home feeling downcast and sat down to dinner without any appetite. As was his Sunday routine, once the meal was finished, he would settle by the fire with a dry theological book on his reading desk, waiting for the clock from the nearby church to strike midnight before heading to bed, grateful for the day.

However, on this particular night, once the table was cleared, he picked up a candle and made his way to his study. There, he opened his safe and retrieved a document marked on the envelope as Dr. Jekyll’s Will. With a furrowed brow, he sat down to examine its contents. The will was handwritten, and although Mr. Utterson was now responsible for it, he had refused to assist in its creation. It stated that, in the event of Henry Jekyll’s death, all his possessions would go to his “friend and benefactor Edward Hyde.” Furthermore, if Dr. Jekyll were to “disappear or be absent without explanation for more than three months,” Edward Hyde would take over Dr. Jekyll’s affairs immediately, with no obligations other than to pay a few small sums to the doctor’s household.

This document had long been a source of frustration for the lawyer. It troubled him both as a legal professional and as someone who valued the rational and conventional aspects of life, viewing the fanciful as inappropriate. Until now, his ignorance of Mr. Hyde had fueled his anger; now, it was his knowledge that stirred his discontent. It was already unsettling when Hyde was just a name without substance. It became even worse when that name began to take on repulsive qualities, and from the murky uncertainties that had long eluded him, a clear image of a fiend emerged.

“I thought it was madness,” he muttered, placing the troubling paper back into the safe, “and now I fear it’s disgrace.”

With that, he extinguished his candle, donned a heavy coat, and set off toward Cavendish Square, the heart of the medical community, where his friend, the esteemed Dr. Lanyon, had his practice and a steady stream of patients. “If anyone knows, it will be Lanyon,” he thought.

The solemn butler recognized him and welcomed him without delay, leading him straight to the dining room where Dr. Lanyon sat alone, enjoying a glass of wine. Lanyon was a hearty, healthy man, dapper and red-faced, with a shock of prematurely white hair and an exuberant, confident demeanor. Upon seeing Mr. Utterson, he jumped up from his chair and greeted him warmly, shaking his hands. The warmth was somewhat theatrical, but it was rooted in genuine friendship. They were old friends, having known each other since school and college, both men who respected themselves and each other, and who truly enjoyed one another’s company.

After a bit of casual conversation, the lawyer steered the discussion toward the topic that weighed heavily on his mind.

“I suppose, Lanyon,” he said, “you and I must be Henry Jekyll’s two oldest friends?”

“I wish the friends were younger,” Dr. Lanyon chuckled. “But I suppose we are. What of it? I see little of him these days.”

“Really?” Utterson replied. “I thought you shared some common interests.”

“We did,” Lanyon said. “But it’s been over ten years since Henry became too fanciful for me. He started going off the rails, mentally. Though I still care for him out of old friendship, I’ve seen very little of him. Such unscientific nonsense,” he added, his face suddenly flushing with anger, “would have driven apart even the closest of friends.”

This brief outburst was somewhat of a relief to Mr. Utterson. “They’ve only disagreed over some scientific matter,” he thought, and being a man with no scientific interests (except when it came to legal matters), he reassured himself, “It’s nothing worse than that!” He allowed his friend a moment to regain his composure before broaching the question that had brought him there. “Have you ever come across one of his protégés—someone named Hyde?” he asked.

“Hyde?” Lanyon echoed. “No. I’ve never heard of him. Not since my time.”

That was the extent of the information Mr. Utterson took back with him to his dark, lonely bed, where he tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning began to creep in. It was a restless night for his troubled mind, besieged by unanswered questions.

The church bells chimed six, echoing through the quiet streets near Mr. Utterson's home. Yet, he remained lost in thought, grappling with a troubling mystery. Until now, it had only engaged his intellect, but now his imagination was ensnared. As he lay in the oppressive darkness of his room, Mr. Enfield's story played out in his mind like a series of vivid images.

He envisioned a sprawling city illuminated by countless lamps, then a man striding purposefully down the street. Next, he saw a child darting from a doctor's office, only to collide with that very man, who carelessly trampled her as she cried out in terror. Alternatively, he pictured a lavish bedroom where his friend lay asleep, dreaming peacefully. Suddenly, the door swung open, the curtains were drawn back, and the sleeper was roused by a figure that commanded attention, compelling him to rise and obey, even in the dead of night.

This figure haunted Utterson throughout the night. Whenever he dozed off, he would dream of it slipping silently through sleeping homes or racing through the city’s labyrinthine streets, always crushing a child at every corner, leaving her wailing. Yet, the figure remained faceless, eluding his grasp even in his dreams. This only fueled Utterson's intense curiosity about the true identity of Mr. Hyde. He believed that if he could just see him once, the mystery would unravel, as it often does when examined closely. He hoped to understand his friend's strange attachment to this man, and perhaps even the unsettling stipulations of the will. At the very least, he thought, it would be a face worth seeing—a face devoid of compassion, one that could ignite a lasting hatred in the heart of the unflappable Enfield.

From that moment on, Utterson began to frequent the door on the side street filled with shops. He visited in the early mornings before work, during busy lunch hours, and late at night under the hazy glow of the moon. No matter the time or the level of activity around him, the lawyer was always at his post.

“If he is Mr. Hyde,” he mused, “then I will be Mr. Seek.”

Finally, his patience paid off. It was a crisp, clear night, with frost in the air and the streets as spotless as a ballroom floor. By ten o’clock, when the shops had closed, the side street was deserted, quiet despite the distant hum of London. Every small sound echoed clearly; the faint noises from the houses on either side were easily heard, and the approach of any passerby was announced long before they arrived. Utterson had been standing at his post for a while when he noticed an unusual light footstep approaching. Over time, he had become attuned to the distinct sound of a single person’s footsteps cutting through the city's noise, but this time, his attention was sharply captured. With a sense of superstitious anticipation, he stepped back into the shadows of the entryway.

The footsteps grew louder as they neared, and soon, Utterson could see the man coming toward him. He was small and dressed very plainly, and even from a distance, there was something about him that set off alarm bells in Utterson's mind. The man headed straight for the door, crossing the street to save time, and as he approached, he pulled a key from his pocket as if he were returning home.

Utterson stepped out and gently touched the man on the shoulder as he passed. “Mr. Hyde, I presume?”

Mr. Hyde recoiled slightly, inhaling sharply. His fear was fleeting, though, and even without meeting the lawyer's gaze, he replied coolly, “That’s my name. What do you want?”

“I see you’re going in,” Utterson said. “I’m an old friend of Dr. Jekyll’s—Mr. Utterson of Gaunt Street. You must have heard of me. Since we’ve met so conveniently, I thought you might let me in.”

“You won’t find Dr. Jekyll; he’s not home,” Hyde replied, inserting the key into the lock. Then, without looking up, he asked, “How did you know me?”

“From your side,” Utterson replied. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” Hyde said. “What is it?”

“Will you let me see your face?” the lawyer asked.

Mr. Hyde hesitated for a moment, then suddenly turned to face Mr. Utterson with a defiant look. They locked eyes for a few seconds.

“I’ll recognize you again,” Mr. Utterson said. “That might come in handy.”

“Yes,” Mr. Hyde replied, “it’s good that we’ve met. By the way, you should have my address.” He gave Utterson a street number in Soho.

“Good God!” Utterson thought. “Could he have been considering the will too?” He kept his thoughts to himself and simply nodded in acknowledgment of the address.

“Now, how did you know me?” Hyde asked.

“By description,” Utterson answered.

“Whose description?”

“We have mutual friends,” Utterson said.

“Mutual friends?” Hyde echoed, his voice a bit hoarse. “Who are they?”

“Jekyll, for instance,” the lawyer replied.

“He never told you,” Hyde exclaimed, anger flashing across his face. “I didn’t think you would lie.”

“Now, hold on,” Utterson said. “That’s not appropriate language.”

Hyde let out a harsh, mocking laugh, and in an instant, he had unlocked the door and vanished inside the house.

Utterson stood there for a moment, feeling unsettled. Then he slowly made his way up the street, pausing every few steps to press his hand to his forehead, as if grappling with a difficult thought. The issue he was wrestling with was one that rarely has a clear answer.

Mr. Hyde was pale and small, giving off an impression of deformity without any obvious physical flaw. He had an unsettling smile and carried himself with a strange mix of fear and aggression. His voice was husky, whispery, and somewhat broken. All these traits contributed to Utterson’s growing sense of disgust, loathing, and fear toward him. “There has to be something more,” Utterson thought, feeling perplexed. “There is something else, if only I could put a name to it. Good heavens, the man hardly seems human! Is it something primitive? Or is it just the familiar tale of Dr. Fell? Or is it merely the aura of a corrupt soul that seeps through and distorts its physical form? I suspect it’s the last one; for, oh my poor old friend Harry Jekyll, if I’ve ever seen the mark of the devil on a face, it’s on that of your new acquaintance.”

Just around the corner from the side street, there was a square filled with old, elegant houses, most of which had fallen into disrepair and were now rented out as flats and rooms to all sorts of people: map engravers, architects, shady lawyers, and agents of obscure businesses. However, one house, the second from the corner, was still fully occupied. At its door, which exuded an air of wealth and comfort despite being shrouded in darkness except for the fanlight, Utterson stopped and knocked. A well-dressed, older servant opened the door.

“Is Dr. Jekyll home, Poole?” the lawyer asked.

“I’ll check, Mr. Utterson,” Poole replied, letting the visitor in. He led Utterson into a spacious, cozy hall with a low ceiling, paved with flagstones, warmed by a bright open fire, and furnished with expensive oak cabinets. “Would you like to wait here by the fire, sir? Or should I show you to the dining room?”

“Here is fine, thank you,” Utterson said, moving closer to the tall fender. This hall was one of Dr. Jekyll’s favorite spaces, and Utterson often referred to it as the most pleasant room in London. But tonight, he felt a chill in his blood; Hyde’s face weighed heavily on his mind. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of nausea and distaste for life. In the dimness of his mood, he thought he could sense a threat in the flickering firelight on the polished cabinets and the restless shadows on the ceiling. He felt a strange relief when Poole returned to inform him that Dr. Jekyll was out.

“I saw Mr. Hyde go in through the old dissecting room door, Poole,” he said. “Is that normal when Dr. Jekyll is away?”

“Quite normal, Mr. Utterson,” the servant replied. “Mr. Hyde has a key.”

“Your master seems to trust that young man a great deal, Poole,” Utterson remarked thoughtfully.

“Yes, sir, he certainly does,” Poole said. “We’ve all been instructed to obey him.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever met Mr. Hyde,” Utterson said.

“Oh, no, sir. He never dines here,” the butler replied. “In fact, we hardly see him on this side of the house; he usually comes and goes through the laboratory.”

“Well, goodnight, Poole.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Utterson.”

The lawyer walked home with a heavy heart. “Poor Harry Jekyll,” he thought, “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s in serious trouble. He was wild in his youth—though that was a long time ago. But in the eyes of God, there’s no statute of limitations. It must be that; the ghost of some old sin, the cancer of a hidden disgrace. Punishment creeping in, years after memory has faded and self-love has forgiven the fault.”

The thought scared him, and he found himself reflecting on his own past, searching through the corners of his memory, worried that some buried wrongdoing might suddenly resurface. His past was mostly unblemished; few could look back on their lives with less dread. Yet he felt humbled by the many wrongs he had committed and grateful for the countless others he had narrowly avoided.

Returning to his original concern, a flicker of hope sparked in him. “This Master Hyde, if he could be understood,” he mused, “must have his own secrets—dark secrets, judging by his appearance. Secrets that would make Jekyll’s worst look like sunshine. Things can’t go on like this. It chills me to think of this creature sneaking into Harry’s room; poor Harry, what a shock that would be! And the danger of it; if Hyde suspects the existence of the will, he might become impatient to inherit. I have to take action—if only Jekyll would let me,” he added, “if only Jekyll would agree.” Once again, he envisioned the strange clauses of the will, as clear as day.