Chapter 978:

"Foul play!" The lawyer cried, frightened by many things, so he was easily irritated. "What a joke! What does this person mean?"
The answer is: "Sir, I dare not say." "But will you come and see with me?"
Mr. Utterson’s only answer was to stand up and pick up his hat and coat. But he was surprised to observe the huge breath emerging on the butler's face, perhaps not a lot. When he put down the wine to taste it, it was still untasted.
It was a wild, cold, and pleasant night in March. The full moon was a pale moon, lying on her back, as if the wind had tilted her, and the flying wreckage was the most thorough and hassle. The wind makes it difficult to speak, and makes blood fly to the face. It seems to have swept an unusually large number of unmanned streets. Because Mr. Utterson thought he had never seen such a desolate part of London. He had hoped for something else. In his life, he never realized the strong desire to see and touch his compatriots. In order to do his best, he was deep in anticipation of a disaster. When they got there, the square was full of wind and dust, and the sparse trees in the garden bound themselves along the railings. Poole, who had been leading by one or two steps, now stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Despite the bad weather, he took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a red handkerchief. However, even though he was very anxious, these were not his toiled labor, but some painful nourishment. Because he was pale when he spoke, and his voice was harsh and broken.
"Well, sir," he said, "we are here, and God promises nothing wrong."
"Amen, Poole," the lawyer said.
So the servant knocked on the door very carefully. The door opened on the chain; a voice inside asked, "Are you Poole?"
"It's okay," Poole said. "Open the door."
When they entered the hall, the lights were bright. The fire is high. All the servants, men and women, are crowded on the hearth like a flock. In front of Mr. Utterson, the maid fell into a hysterical chant. With the cook, shouting "Bless God! It's Mr. Utterson," ran forward, as if to hold him in his arms.
"What? Are you all here?" the lawyer said angrily. "Very irregular, very unreasonable; your host will be very happy."
"They are all scared," Poole said.
It was silent, and no one protested afterwards. Only the maid raised her voice, now crying loudly.
"Hold your tongue!" Poole said to her, with a harsh accent that proved his tingling nerves. Indeed, when the girl suddenly expressed her lament so loudly, they all started, turning to the inner door with frightening expectations. "Now," the butler continued to say to the knife boy, "give me a candle and we will do it immediately." Then he begged Mr. Utterson to follow him and took him to the back garden.
"Now, sir," he said, "you will come as gently as possible. I want you to hear, but I don't want to hear you. Sir, please look here, if he has the opportunity to ask you to come in, please don't leave. "
Mr. Utterson's nerves were overwhelmed, which made him almost lose his balance. But he regained his courage and followed the butler through the surgical theater into the laboratory building, where there were wooden boards full of boxes and bottles, and walked to the foot of the stairs. Pool was here to beckon him to stand and listen. But he himself put down the candle, issued a strong and obvious appeal to his resolution, climbed the steps, knocked on the red baking tray of the cabinet door with a somewhat uncertain hand.
"Sir. Sir, Utterson, want to see you. Even when he did this, he violently signed it to the lawyer again.
A voice replied from the inside: "Tell him I can't see anyone," it complained.
"Thank you, sir." Poole said something like victory in his voice. Then picking up the candle, he led Mr. Utterson back to the yard and into the large kitchen, where the fireplace was turned off and the beetle jumped on the floor.
"Sir," he said, looking into Mr. Utsen's eyes, "is that the voice of my master?"
The lawyer replied: "This seems to have changed a lot." His face was pale, but he took a careful look.
"Has it changed? Well, yes, I think so." said the butler. "I have lived in this man’s house for twenty years, have I been deceived by his voice? No, sir; the master gave up; eight days ago, when we heard him shouting God’s name, he was released It’s a matter of crying to heaven with who is there, not him, and why it stays there, Mr. Aterson!"
"This is a very strange story, Poole; my man, this is really a ridiculous story." Mr. Utterson said, biting his finger. "Suppose it's your hypothetical situation, suppose the doctor was killed-well, murdered, what caused the murderer to stay? It won't accumulate water; it doesn't praise itself for reasoning."
"Well, Mr. Utterson, it's hard for you to satisfy, but I will do it," Poole said. "You must know all of this last week, or whether he lives in the cabinet, whether it is day or day, he has been crying for some kind of medicine, but he can't think of it. Sometimes it's his way-Master's way -Write his order on a piece of paper and throw it on the stairs. We had nothing before this week; besides the papers, there was a closed door, and the rest of the meals could be smuggled there when no one was watching. Well, sir, every day, twice, twice, three times a day, after receiving orders and complaints, I was sent to all the wholesale chemists in town. Every time I bring these things back, there will be another paper telling me I want to return it because it is not pure, and there is another order to be given to another company.
"Do you have these papers?" Mr. Utterson asked.
Pool touched his pocket and handed out a crumpled banknote. The lawyer who was near the candle checked it carefully. The content is as follows: Jekyll expressed his appreciation to Mr. Hua. He assured them that their last sample was impure and useless for his present purposes. At the age of 18. The doctor bought a considerable amount from the husband. He now pleads with them for the most serious care, and if you leave anything of the same quality, please forward it to him immediately. The cost is not considered. This is almost self-evident for the importance of Dr. "So far, this letter has been organized enough, but here, the pen moved suddenly, and the author's emotions dispersed. He added: "For God's sake, find me some old s things. "
Mr. Utsen said: "This is a strange note." Then he said sharply: "How do you open it?"
"The man with flower gum is very angry, sir, he threw it at me like so much dirt," Poole looked back.
"There is no doubt that this is the doctor's hand, do you know?" The recovery lawyer.
"I thought it looked like," the servant said vaguely. Then said in another voice: "But is handwriting important?" he said. "I saw him!"
"Have you seen him?" Mr. Utterson repeated. "it is good?"
"That's it!" Poole said. "That's it. I suddenly walked into the theater from the garden. It seems that he has sneaked out looking for this medicine or any kind of medicine. Because the cabinet door is open, he is digging in the crate at the end of the room. When I came in, he raised his head, cried, and then slid into the cupboard upstairs. I only saw it for a minute, but his hair stood upright on my head like a quill. Mr. Chairman, if it were mine Master, why wear a mask on his face? If it is my master, why would he yell like a mouse and run away from me? I have served him long enough. Then... "The man stopped and stretched out his hand.
Mr. Utsen said:
These are very strange situations, but I think I’m starting to see daylight. Your master Poole is obviously troubled by one of the diseases that afflicts patients. So, as far as I know, he His voice changed; therefore, he masked and avoided his friends; therefore, he was eager to find the drug, and the poor soul retained hope of ultimate recovery through this drug-God bless him not to be deceived! With my explanation Poole, shocking, shocking, and considering. But it is simple and natural, and can hang together nicely, saving us from all excessive alarms."
"Sir," the butler turned a little messy and pale, "that's not my master, it's a fact. My master-here he looks around and starts to whisper-"a tall man, this is a little man. . Utterson tried to protest. "Oh, sir," Poole shouted. "Do you think I will not know my master in twenty years?" Do you think I don’t know where his head is on the cabinet door? Where have I met him every morning in my life? No, sir, the thing in the mask was never Doctor Jekyll-God knows what it was, but it was never Doctor Jekyll; I believe in my heart that the murder is complete. "
The lawyer replied: "Poles," if you say so, I have a responsibility to make sure. I very much hope to ease your master’s feelings, just as I am confused by this note that seems to make him still alive, I think it is my responsibility to break into that door. "
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