INCIDENT AT THE WINDOW

by Robert Louis Stevenson

On a Sunday afternoon, Mr. Utterson was taking his usual walk with Mr. Enfield when they found themselves once again in the familiar by-street. As they approached the door, both men paused to stare at it.

“Well,” Enfield said, “at least that story is over. We won’t be seeing Mr. Hyde again.”

“I hope not,” Utterson replied. “Did I ever mention that I saw him once? I felt just as repulsed as you did.”

“It was impossible to feel one without the other,” Enfield shot back. “And by the way, you must have thought I was a fool for not realizing this was a back way to Dr. Jekyll’s! It was partly your fault that I figured it out at all.”

“So you figured it out, did you?” Utterson said. “If that’s the case, let’s step into the courtyard and take a look at the windows. To be honest, I’m worried about poor Jekyll. I feel like having a friend nearby might do him some good.”

The courtyard was cool and slightly damp, filled with an early twilight, even though the sky above was still bright with the colors of sunset. The middle window of the three was half open, and sitting close by it, looking out with a profound sadness, like a forlorn prisoner, was Dr. Jekyll.

“Jekyll! Jekyll!” Utterson called out. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I’m very low, Utterson,” the doctor replied drearily. “Very low. But it won’t last long, thank God.”

“You’re spending too much time indoors,” the lawyer said. “You should be out, getting some fresh air like Mr. Enfield and me. (This is my cousin, Mr. Enfield—Dr. Jekyll.) Come on, get your hat and take a quick walk with us.”

“You’re very kind,” Jekyll sighed. “I’d love to, but no, no, it’s impossible; I can’t. But truly, Utterson, I’m glad to see you. This is a real pleasure. I would invite you and Mr. Enfield up, but the place isn’t fit for visitors.”

“Well then,” the lawyer said with a friendly tone, “the best thing we can do is stay down here and talk to you from where we are.”

“That’s exactly what I was about to suggest,” Jekyll replied with a smile. But before he could finish, the smile vanished, replaced by an expression of sheer terror and despair that chilled Utterson and Enfield to the bone. They caught only a fleeting glimpse of it before the window was slammed shut, but that brief moment was enough. Without saying a word, they turned and left the courtyard.

They walked in silence through the by-street, and it wasn’t until they reached a nearby thoroughfare, where even on a Sunday there was some activity, that Utterson finally turned to Enfield. Both men were pale, and they shared a look of horror.

“God forgive us, God forgive us,” Utterson murmured.

Enfield nodded gravely, and they continued walking in silence.