15 Poole’s Story

CHAPTER 15 Poole's Story "Imust ask you to remain quiet, sir," Poole whispered as they walked. "I think it would be best if he didn't know you were here. Listening in would be best." "I understand," Utterson said. It was hard for the lawyer to keep his hand from shaking. Candle wax dripped on his hand, but he made no noise.

He followed Poole to the top of the laboratory stairs. The butler indicated that he should stand to one side and listen. He took a deep breath, and knocked with a somewhat uncertain hand on the door. "Sir," Poole called through the door. "Mr. Utterson is here to see you." A voice answered from within. "Tell him I cannot see anyone," it said shakily. "Thank you, sir," Poole answered. He seemed pleased with the voice's response. He started back down the stairs. Utterson followed behind him.

When they were once again in the courtyard, Poole turned back to the lawyer. "Now, tell me, sir," Poole said. "Was that my master's voice?" "It seems much changed," answered Utterson, very pale. "Well, I certainly think so," said the butler. "Could I work in this house for twenty years and not know my master's voice? No, sir. That voice is not my master's.

Something has happened to him, or he has been taken away. It has been eight days now and I am at my wits' end." "This is a very strange, Poole. It is rather a wild tale, my man," Utterson said. "Suppose you were right and Dr. Jekyll has been murdered or kidnapped. Why would the culprit stay in the room? Why wouldn't he escape?" "You are a hard man to satisfy, Mr. Utterson, but I'll do my best to convince you," Poole said. "All this past week, he—or it—or whatever is locked in that office—has been crying night and day for special medicine. He writes orders for medicine on notes and leaves them on the stairs. This practice was continued all this week. Not just one or two notes, but dozens. I've traveled to pharmacies across the city, filling these orders and sending complaints. You see, every time I returned with the medicine I

was told that it was not pure. I was told to return it and go to another pharmacy. I have no idea what the medicine is, but he is desperate for it." "Do you have any of these notes?" Utterson asked. Poole reached into a pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. The lawyer bent over his candle and carefully examined the writing. It read as follows: "I return this medicine purchased from your firm, as it is not pure and therefore useless to me. I purchased a large quantity some years ago. I am in desperate need to refill this order. I must ask you to carefully search your supplies to find a pure and proper sample. I can not stress enough the importance of this order." It was the last line of the note that disturbed Utterson the most. There was a sudden splash of ink as the author's emotions became too strong. "I beg you," the note

read, "please find the medicine of old." "This is a strange note," Utterson said. "Why is it open?" the lawyer asked rather sharply. It seems that Utterson would defend his friend Jekyll to the end. Even though he realized Poole was only trying to help, he was suspicious that Poole opened private notes. "One of the pharmacists was so angry that he threw it back at me," Poole said. "Do you recognize this as Dr. Jekyll's handwriting?" Utterson asked. "It does look like it," the butler said rather sulkily. "But what does that matter when I've seen the man who wrote this?" Poole blurted out. "Seen him?" Utterson said. "Where? When?" "I stepped into the garden unexpectedly," Poole said. "He must have come out to look for a delivery of medicine. I saw him standing at the other end of the courtyard looking