Part One: Story of the Door
Mr Utterson was a lawyer in London. He was a very serious man, and he
did not often smile or laugh. He lived alone, and he had a very quiet life. His
friends liked him because he was kind. They trusted him with their secrets.
One of Mr Utterson's closest friends was Mr Richard Enfield, who was a
relative of his. Mr Utterson and Mr Enfield walked together every Sunday.
They did not say much to each other, but they enjoyed their walks.
One Sunday Mr Utterson was walking with Mr Enfield. They were in a
quiet street of the city. All the houses in the street were clean and cheerful,
except for one. The door of this house was dirty. No one seemed to live there.
Mr Enfield looked at the house for a moment, and then he said to Mr
'Do you see that house? I know a strange story, and that house is part of
'Oh!' said Mr Utterson. 'What is the story?'
'I'll tell you,' Mr Enfield said. 'One night I was walking home along this
street. It was winter, and it was very late. There was nobody in the street. I
was frightened. Suddenly I saw two people. One was a little girl, and the
other was a man. The little girl was running towards the main street. The
man was walking down the main street. They ran into each other at the
corner, and the little girl fell down.
Then something horrible happened, and I have never been able to forget it.
The little girl was on the ground. The man continued walking. He walked
right over the girl's body! She began to scream and cry. It was very
frightening, the way he walked over her.
'I went after the man, and I brought him back. He was a small man, I
remember, and there was something strange about him. I hated him the
moment I saw him, I don't know why.
'When we came back to the little girl, there was a crowd in the street.
The girl's family was there. There was also a doctor. Everybody was very
angry. The girl was all right, but she was crying. Her family was very angry
with the man.
'I hated the man, and I could see that everybody hated him. We all wanted
to kill him. We decided to punish him. I told him that he had done a horrible
'"We will tell everybody," I said. "You will have no friends when they
know what you did tonight."
'The man was frightened. We told him to pay the girl's family some money.
We told him to give the family one hundred pounds. It was a lot of money.
'''Very well," agreed the man, "I will give the family one hundred pounds."
'It was late at night,' Mr Enfield told Mr Utterson. 'It is difficult to find one
hundred pounds in the middle of the night. We went with the man, and he
came to this old house. He opened the door with a key. He went inside, and
he came out with the money. He had ten pounds in notes, and a cheque for
ninety pounds. The cheque was not his — it was signed by another man. The
other man is very well known in London.
'"This is very strange," I thought. "Perhaps the cheque is a forgery." I
told the man my suspicions. He laughed at me.
'''You don't trust me," he said. "I will stay with you until the bank
'So the man stayed with us,' Mr Enfield went on, 'and in the morning we
all went to the bank. The bank paid the cheque—it was not a forgery, after
'Oh!' said Mr Utterson sadly.
'I know what you are thinking,' Mr Enfield said. 'How was it possible for
this terrible man to be a friend of the man who wrote the cheque? Perhaps
the terrible man is blackmailing him.'
Mr Utterson looked at the house again. Then he asked Mr Enfield a
question. 'The man who wrote the cheque,' he asked, 'does he live in that
'No,' said Mr Enfield, 'he doesn't live there. I discovered that later. He lives
'So who actually lives in the house?' Mr Utterson asked.
'I don't know,' Mr Enfield said. 'I didn't want to ask too many questions. I
don't like asking questions. But I know that the strange man uses the house
very often. I have seen him come in and go out.'
Mr Utterson was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'I agree with you: it is
best not to ask questions sometimes. But tell me, do you know the name of
the strange man?'
'Yes,' answered Mr Enfield. 'His name is Mr Hyde.'
'What is he like?' asked Mr Utterson.
'He is small,' said Mr Enfield, 'and there is something ugly about him. I
hated him the moment I saw him. So did everybody else that night.'
'You say that he had a key to the door of this house?' asked Mr Utterson.
'Yes, he did,' Mr Enfield replied. 'He opened the door with a key.'
Mr Utterson looked sad. Then he said, 'I have not asked you the name of
the man who wrote the cheque. That is because I already know his name.'