CHAPTER TEN

The Ten Bells

Holmes himself drove the hansom that clattered like a bat out of hell down the cobbled streets of Whitechapel towards the home of Henry Jekyll. When we arrived, Holmes leapt down from the cab and rushed to Jekyll's door. He knocked franticly as I got out of the hansom and ran to the door. When there was no answer, Holmes tried the door knob and - to my surprise but not, evidently, Holmes' - the door swung open. I was about to hurry in when Holmes held up a hand to stop me.

"No, no, Watson. Hyde may yet be lurking inside. Do you have your revolver, old boy?"

"Of course," said I, producing my trusty old service revolver.

"Good. I too, am armed. Shoot only if absolutely necessary. Remember, Hyde is a monster, but within that monster lurks Dr. Jekyll." Holmes stepped over the threshold into the darkness of the hall. Our eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in light but when they did we were faced with a horrible sight. The hall was completely wrecked; tapestries were ripped down, paintings were slashed, the banister was broken and, in the middle of this carnage, lay Poole, Jekyll's old family retainer, battered and bruised, but alive.

"My God, Poole" said I, keeling beside the old butler, "what happened here?"

I helped Poole sit up and he spoke in a broken voice. The tale he told Holmes and I beggared belief but confirmed everything than Holmes had said.

"Shortly after you left, Mr. Holmes," Poole began, "I went to Dr. Jekyll's room and I saw that he had cut himself. I approached to help and the doctor turned to me with a wild look in his eyes. He looked more animal than man; like a savage beast."

"Then what?" Holmes asked.

"Then, sir...oh God..." Poole's voice trailed off.

"Poole! Poole, what happened next!" Holmes pressed.

"Mr. Holmes, you will think me mad but...as the doctor started at me his features - the features I had known since he was born - changed. They changed, before my very eyes, Mr. Holmes, into the evil face of Mr. Hyde!"

"Hyde!" I ejaculated. "Is he still here?"

"Of course he isn't, Watson" Holmes said examining a shard of glass he had found embedded in the rug, "the devil could be halfway across London by now!"

"Then what are we waiting for?" said I, rushing outside and hailing a hansom. Holmes and I put helped Poole inside and I told the driver to take him to the London hospital immediately. "Ask for Sir William Gull; say Dr. Watson sent you, there's a good chap" I said.

"God bless you, Dr. Watson," Poole said gratefully, "and God bless you too, Mr. Holmes."

"Just see that you get to the hospital, Poole" said I and the hansom sped off.

"What now, Holmes?" I asked.

"Now, Watson my dear fellow, we find Hyde."

"But how? As you said, he could be halfway across London by now."

"How right you are, Watson. But Hyde will not go halfway across London. He will not even leave Whitechapel."

"Whitechapel is a very large area, Holmes" I said as we climbed into another hansom.

"Then we must work quickly, old man." Holmes said to the driver "the Ten Bells public house, driver, quickly now!"

As the coach sped off I asked Holmes why we were heading to the Ten Bells. In response Holmes handed me the piece of glass he had found and his magnifying glass. Under the lens I could see that the shard was from a pint glass. Etched onto the surface of the glass was "10B."

"It is common practise in this part of London for publicans to etch the name or initials of their establishment onto the glasses to discourage theft."

"Evidently it did not discourage Hyde" I commented.

"It would seem that very little would discourage Hyde from his demonic work" Holmes said, a grim look of resolve coming over his face.

The hansom arrived at the Ten Bells and, after paying the driver, I hurried inside after Holmes who, in his single-minded determination to catch Hyde, had already leapt from the cab and entered the pub. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the light and the fog of smoke was as thick as any of London's pea soupers. The denizens of the pub looked up from their drinks at us and I suddenly felt distinctly out-of-place. Holmes spoke, his voice instantly commanding respect.

"Many of you recognise me," Holmes announced, "as I have been personally responsible for the prosecution of several of your number. For those of you who don not recognise me, I am Sherlock Holmes." Holmes paused, then added "and I need your help."

A low murmur echoed through the public house at the mention of Holmes' name. A particularly rough looking character near the back stood up.

"And why should we help you?" the ruffian shouted. "You sent my brother to the gallows!"

"Your brother murdered three men, Waxman" Holmes said, coolly.

I sensed trouble brewing and suggested to Holmes that we find out what we came to find out as quickly as possible.

"I quite agree, Watson. I am no mood to trade fists today. Especially not with the likes of Waxman here."

The landlord spoke. "Mr. Holmes, what do you want?"

"Information, my good man" Holmes said and walked to the centre of the pub. "There is, at this very moment, a monster stalking the streets of London - and you can help me find and stop him."

"How?" asked a voice from the back of the pub.

"By answering a very simple question."

The landlord again spoke. "To stop Jack the Ripper? Ask anything, Mr. Holmes."

"Where is," Holmes said, "Mr. Edward Hyde?"

A hushed silence fell over the pub. "We don't know anyone by that name, sir" the landlord said eventually.

"So it's like that, is it?" Holmes asked. "You don't know him, never seen him, never heard of him." Holmes scanned the faces of the men in the pub before settling on one he knew. "Well, well, well, if it's not Maurice Stark. The bare knuckle boxer known as the 'Brick Lane Bruiser.' Too scared to challenge Hyde to a bout, eh?" Holmes continued scanning the faces. "Hello, here's Giles Conover - the man who stole the infamous Pearl of Death from under my nose, reduced to hiding out in a Whitechapel pub." Again, Holmes looked around. "Look, Watson," said he, "it's our old friend Hal Moffat. How could we have missed the 'Hoxton Creeper' - a man who would snap your spine as soon as look at you. You could do your country a great service and break the back of Edward Hyde. But you're too afraid. You're all too afraid. The most feared men in London, trembling in terror at the very mention of the name Edward Hyde."

"You go too far, Mr. Holmes!" It was Giles Conover who spoke.

"Then tell me where this man is and I shall be gone."

Again, the same silence.

"He was here, Mr. Holmes." It was the landlord who spoke. "But he left. About an hour ago."

"Where did he go?" Holmes asked.

"I don't know sir, I swear to God, I don't know."

"Did he leave with anyone?" Holmes pressed.

"Yes, sir. Redheaded lass. Pretty."

"A name!"

"I don't know, sir."

Holmes threw his hands up in exasperation. The turned on the drinkers, his eyes narrow slits.

"A name. Only one among you - you, the most dangerous men in London - has the nerve to speak up and what is he? A thief? A killer? A rapist? No, he is a publican. You disgust me, damn you." Holmes turned on his heel. "Come Watson. These cowards are of no use to us."

As we were leaving, a deep voice said, "Mary Kelly." It was the voice of Hal Moffat - the Hoxton Creeper. Holmes stopped and turned to face him.

"Mary Kelly?"

Moffat nodded as Holmes scribbled the name on his cuff.

"Thank you, Mr. Moffat" Holmes said. Moffat again merely nodded.

"Come on, Watson" Holmes cried as he again turned to leave the pub. "We haven't one moment to lose!"