"
"Have you any of these papers?" asked Mr. Utterson.
Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled note, which
the lawyer, bending nearer to the candle, carefully examined. Its
contents ran thus: "Dr. Jekyll presents his compliments to Messrs.
Maw. He assures them that their last sample is impure and quite
useless for his present purpose. In the year 18--, Dr. J.
purchased a somewhat large quantity from Messrs. M. He now begs
them to search with most sedulous care, and should any of the same
quality be left, forward it to him at once. Expense is no
consideration. The importance of this to Dr. J. can hardly be
exaggerated." So far the letter had run composedly enough, but
here with a sudden splutter of the pen, the writer's emotion had
broken loose. "For God's sake," he added, "find me some of the
old."
"This is a strange note," said Mr. Utterson; and then sharply,
"How do you come to have it open?"
"The man at Maw's was main angry, sir, and he threw it back to
me like so much dirt," returned Poole.
"This is unquestionably the doctor's hand, do you know?"
resumed the lawyer.
"I thought it looked like it," said the servant rather
sulkily; and then, with another voice, "But what matters hand of
write?" he said.
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