Facade

 

“Who, may I ask, are you?” Jekyll’s butler asked when he answered the door.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” I answered. “I am a consulting detective and these are my colleagues, Dr. John Watson, and Monsieur Erik.”

“And what business do you have at this residence?” The man refused to move from the doorway, blocking us from entering. Despite being a rather small man, he had a presence about him that made him seem larger than his five-foot-five frame. Also, his elderly appearance had taken none of the sharp awareness from his pale green eyes. He regarded us, especially Erik, suspiciously.

“I assure you, we are of no threat, sir,” I said. “I’ve spoken with John Utterson who told us we would possibly be allowed an audience with Henry Jekyll.” I had contacted Utterson and he’d come to Baker Street two days before. The story he had told was extremely sad and explained much of Henry Jekyll’s background. His experiment, however, remained elusive to me. I needed an audience with the one person who could explain what I needed to know. While I understood a butler’s natural protectiveness for the family he serves, I found my patience for hindrances in cases had grown thin.

“They speak the truth, Poole,” a voice behind us said. Erik, Watson, and I turned to see Utterson walking up. “Let us all come in out of this weather.”

Still eyeing Erik, Poole did back away to let us come in out of the particularly foggy and chilly air. When we were seated in the parlor, near an exquisite fireplace with a life-size painting of an older man above the mantel, Poole brought us drinks and commented, “I don’t see how bringing in outsiders will help Henry.”

“You have never read the stories Dr. Watson has published in the Strand, I assume?” Utterson said. “Sherlock Holmes is a genius who can piece together the most minute tapestry of clues. If anyone can discern why Henry is behaving as he is, it is this man.”

Watson seemed immensely impressed that Utterson should think so highly of me based on his own writings. I, however, viewed things differently.

“Mr. Utterson, I thank you for your over-inflated sense of confidence in me. However, I assure you, it is over-inflated. While I can, and have, pieced together intricate tapestries of clues, they are not, as Watson’s writings suggest, done in a matter of hours or days.” I glanced at Erik. “In fact, I met Erik on one such case. It took a month or more before a conclusion could be reached.”

The two men looked shocked, so I felt I had to continue. “I will do my absolute best to quickly delve into whatever Henry Jekyll is doing. But if you wish to place time constraints on me, I’m afraid you need to find a new man.”

“The only issue of time is that in approximately six weeks, Henry is to marry to Miss Emma Carew,” Poole said. “She may, understandably, wish you to solve this before their wedding.”

“Ah, yes. That would most definitely be a concern.” I leaned forward and said to Utterson, “Well, that is an understandable time constraint and I promise you, I will do my best. Please, start at the beginning. Tell me anything you can about Henry Jekyll and why his recent behavior disturbs you.”

“But you sought me out for these details two days ago,” he said.

“Yes, but my companions were not with me. Please, reiterate for their benefit.”

“Very well. I have been friends with the Jekyll family for some thirty years, back when I first began to practice law. Henry’s father was my intial client, and thus began a lifelong friendship.

“When Henry was first born, I was as proud as if he was my own son. I watched him grow into a fine young man, but as he grew . . . his father seemed to deteriorate. The man would stare off into space for hours at a time. At first, it seemed he was just daydreaming, and anyone calling his name could pull him back to us. But as the months, then years passed, he stopped responding to all but Henry. Finally, about seven years ago, he stopped reacting even to his son. He gave no verbal replies to anything, nor any physical sign of acknowledgement, and eventually gave no notice of hearing anything said to him. It was as if he was trapped in his own world, or so Henry believed. Henry was unable to care for him day and night, though for a short period he did try. His attempt failed and his father was placed in a mental institution. But Henry still visited him faithfully. He became obsessed with the idea that his father’s mind was still whole, but that something was blocking his ability to express himself.”

“Almost a concept of ‘mind over brain,’” I murmured. “I apologize. Do go on.”

“Henry, when his father began rapidly declining, began working with different chemicals in an effort to find some way to save the man. Make his mind whole, I believe. For the past seven years, Henry has been trying to convince the St. Jude Board of Governors to allow him a subject upon which to test his theories. Despite Henry’s stories of success with rodents, the Board has continually denied him, calling his experiments unethical, dangerous, and presumptuous. They’ve accused him of riding roughshod over lines a scientist and doctor should not cross, and the more insistently they refused, the more it infuriated Henry. He is determined to save his father and can’t understand how they would deny him when he is so sure his experiments will save many lives.”

“And what has he said of this experiment of his? Has he ever described to you what it entails?”

Utterson and Poole looked at one another and Utterson said, “I’ve heard precious little. It has something to do with human nature and the duality of man. Sir Danvers Carew would be the better man to inquire about such things. He is part of the Board and the only man who did not reject Henry.”

“What was his vote?” Watson asked.

“He abstained,” Utterson answered.

“I’ve something to add, sirs,” Poole interjected.

“Yes?” I said, turning my attention to the butler.

“Master Jekyll had come home late one night, a bit over a week ago. He briefly asked me what his father’s personality was like years ago, before this affliction. And he asked if his father’s will was strong.”

“What did you reply?”

“The truth, sir. The man possessed an incredibly strong will and a personality like none other. He was the finest man I’ve ever known.”

“Once again, I‘m fascinated by this,” I said. “Now that all three of us have something of an understanding of Henry Jekyll’s life, may we speak with him directly?”

“I’m unsure, sir.” Poole said. “He instructed me this morning that he would be in his laboratory all day and that no one was to disturb him.” At a look from Utterson, he sighed heavily, turned, and as he walked away, we heard him muttering, “I suppose I’ll find out if that’s still the case.”

Once he was gone, Utterson cleared his throat. “I apologize in advance if this is a sensitive issue, Monsieur Erik, but why are you masked? You are not a wanted man, are you?”

I let out a short bark of laughter at the irony in his question. Though Utterson gave me a sidelong glance, he kept his attention on Erik.

Erik avoided his second question by responding, “I merely have a severe facial deformity that most find unbearable to gaze upon.”

“Ah. I’m sorry for my intrusion into your privacy, then.”

Behind the mask, Erik’s eyes showed intense surprise and gratitude. “Merci, monsieur,” was his quiet reply.

I saw Watson put a reassuring hand on Erik’s shoulder just as Poole reappeared. “I’m sorry, sirs, but Master Jekyll insists he cannot be disturbed by anyone today.”

“Very well,” I said, standing with the assistance of my cane. Watson and Erik rose as well. “Is there a more convenient time I can come back to speak with him?”

“I’m unsure, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’ll simply come back in a day or two. If I am fortunate, he will see me.”

“Yes, sir.”

As we were shown out the door, Erik and I exchanged a smile.

From the Journal of John H. Watson, M.D.

 

As we left the Jekyll household, I witnessed Holmes and Erik exchange a peculiar smile. I’d seen the same expression on Holmes’s face numerous times before, and knew they’d both observed something to which I was completely oblivious.

“What do you make of it, Watson? Erik?” Holmes asked as we hailed a hansom and got out of the ever-foggy air to return to Baker Street.

“Poole may know more than he’s willing to reveal in front of a masked man,” Erik volunteered immediately. “Or, as a butler, he has that immense of a sense of loyalty to Jekyll and his behavior and secrets.”

“Yes, I received that impression as well,” Holmes agreed.

“If Jekyll’s father is truly his motivation, however, that seems a logical place to begin our investigation,” Erik added.

“Holmes, that’s right,” I said. In regard to the senior Jekyll, whatever did you mean when you said ‘mind over brain?’”

“Simple, my good man. Jekyll Senior’s thoughts and emotions wish for some kind of release, or ability to be released, which his brain, the mechanics of it, is unable to provide.”

“Holmes,” Erik said, “you and I seem to have arrived at the same conclusion. You don’t suppose . . . ?”

“I’m afraid I do.”

Though I gave them extremely confused glances, both men fell into contemplative silence, and neither spoke until we were back in 221B.

Erik went straight to what seemed to be his favoured spot by the window behind Holmes’s desk. I perched on the couch, waiting for one or the other to explain their shared conclusion, but Erik only stared, and Holmes caned over to sit in his favourite armchair and light his pipe. The ticking clock began to grind on my nerves and finally, I could stand the silence no longer.

“Explain yourselves!” I exclaimed. “I admit to not having the mental fortitude of the likes of you, but please explain your conclusion so I’m not completely lost and may offer my opinion!”

Both men turned surprised eyes on me.

“I do apologize, Watson,” Holmes said. “I truly thought this was a clear enough process of logic.”

“Not in my case,” I muttered.

“Allow me,” Erik interjected. “We learned of Jekyll’s father. A man in a mental institution. Utterly forgotten by society and unable even to communicate anymore. Jekyll’s need for a subject, finding one not sanctioned by the Board . . .”

“Dear God . . . You believe he kidnapped his own father in order to experiment on him?”

“Men have done far stranger and more desperate things,” Erik said, adding darkly, “I should know.”

“However, we must not accept this as absolute fact,” Holmes said. “True, this theory appears to fit the data, but our minds must remain open.”

“Open? But how, Holmes?” I asked, still stricken.

“By gaining more data before we theorize.” But something in my expression must have stopped him, for he continued, “All right. I suppose it would behoove us to see where this theory may take us.”

“It - it’s despicable!” I sputtered. “Using his father for an experiment when the man is unable to consent? It goes against everything a doctor stands for! This man must be nothing but a lunatic!”

“Lunatic? That’s quite a rash conclusion to come to, Watson. Sanity is actually quite subjective.”

“How is that?” I demanded, indignant that my horror was being under-rated.

“You meet someone. Someone obsessive about his hobbies. Someone who likes finding the unorthodox methods and solutions. A person who spends his time with dangerous chemicals, and is prone to clouds of melancholia consuming him. Occasionally during these periods, he takes cocaine solutions. He’s also a free shot with a rifle, indoors. Would you want to associate with this man?”

Not realizing the trap I was falling into, I said, “I would have to consider for quite some time before making that decision.”

Giving me a grin, he said, “You didn’t have to think about it very long before deciding to share Baker Street with that man.”

I sputtered for several minutes, not knowing what to say.

Holmes gave me an amused glance. “As I said, sanity is subjective.” Steepling his fingers in front of his chest, he asked, “And what do you think, Erik?”

“It is a reasonable assumption. Poole mentioned the screams that sounded like Jekyll, yet distorted.”

“Indeed,” Holmes agreed. “However, he could not have taken his father alone. Watson’s opinion would not be original, so I can’t imagine the one Jekyll would have found as an accomplice.”

Erik made a strange murmuring sound in the back of his throat. “I can.”

“Erik?”

“I apologize, Holmes, but there is a detail I’ve forgotten until now.”

“What is that?” Holmes asked. I had to wonder if Erik picked up on the trace amount of annoyance in Holmes’s tone. I knew it irked him immensely if even the smallest details were excluded in a case’s summarization.

“Just after Jekyll exited the premises, a young unfortunate caught up with him. I didn’t hear their conversation, but I watched him pass her what I can only assume was his business card.”

“An unfortunate used to retrieve someone whom society has deemed a madman.”

“It fits the timeframe. That hard, determined expression came over his face after they separated. Before she caught up to him, he merely looked thoughtful,” Erik clarified.

“Hmm. It also fits what Poole said about Jekyll coming home late and asking about the strength of his father’s will. He must have run into that woman the same night, made his decision, and asked Poole about his father.”

“So, he has his victim, he has an accomplice, and he’s given her a way to contact him,” I said. “And of course, if she tried to turn on him, who would believe her story? Even if someone bothered to listen, she would be immediately discredited because of who she is and because he’s a distinguished member of society. But why ask about his father unless that’s who his intended victim was?”

“Simple,” Holmes said. “There are two possibilities concerning that. One is that yes, Jekyll Senior was the victim. The other is that Jekyll wanted to know if some of his father’s strength also runs through his own veins. If he would have the mental fortitude to remain on the course he’s chosen.”

Erik nodded in agreement and Holmes said, “All right. I believe we’ve successfully theorized on this possibility long enough. We need more information on Jekyll Senior.”

“Allow me to be of assistance in this matter,” I said. “I shall visit the mental institution and discover all I can about Jekyll’s father.”

Holmes and Erik exchanged an amused glance and I sighed in exasperation, knowing once again that there was something vital I was missing. “What is it now?”

“Which institution is he in?” Holmes asked.

My mind drew a blank. It had never been said.

“Damnation,” I muttered. “Can I be of no assistance to you?”

Holmes chuckled and even Erik smiled. “Of course you can, Watson. If nothing else, by the humour you unwittingly provide. Check into St. Jude,” Holmes suggested. “If his father had to be put away, I can think of no better board to appeal to than the one that governs the hospital where one’s father is placed.”

I nodded, hopelessly trying to maintain the façade that I would have arrived at that conclusion sooner or later.

“Besides Jekyll’s father as the victim, what other hypotheses can we draw from the information at hand?” Holmes posed the question as he refilled his pipe.

I could come up with nothing. I found myself paralyzed by the horror of our first hypothesis. Well, I should say ‘theirs.’ It struck me once again that this was Holmes’s, and subsequently Erik’s, main advantage over the rest of society. Both were so easily able to put aside human emotion and focus purely on the puzzle at hand.

“Even if there are no others at this point, we should gather further information,” Erik said.

Holmes nodded. “That goes without saying. We shall each have specific jobs in what may turn out to be the coming days. Watson, you find any information available on the father. Start with St. Jude. Erik, you take me to where you saw that woman catch up with Jekyll. Then, go back to his residence and see if you can find an alternate way into the basement.”

“An alternate way? Holmes, do you wish to bypass Poole so much that you will break into a house?”

“No, of course not. It’s just unlikely that anyone Jekyll would experiment on would be brought through the front door.”

“Of course,” I muttered, once again feeling foolish.

“I wonder if it is something else, or if he does have that much obsessive devotion toward his father.”

“It is too fine a line to walk for long, Holmes.”

“Why do you say that, Erik?” I asked.

“One day, you are obsessively devoted, the next. .”

“You are kidnapping a chorus girl and bringing her to your lair,” Holmes finished slowly. “Yes, your point is well made.”

I nodded in agreement, though I’m sure the magnitude of what Erik got across to Holmes was partially lost on me. However, we all agreed to follow Holmes’s suggestion and go on our assignments the next day.

Erik rang for Mrs. Hudson to bring us some much needed tea.