Странная история доктора Джекила и мистера Хайда / Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

And there was the man, really like Satan. ‘If you choose to make capital out of this accident,’ said he, ‘I am naturally helpless. Gentlemen always wish to avoid a scene. How much?’

Well, we demanded a hundred pounds for the child’s family. The next thing was to get the money; and where do you think he carried us but to that place with the door?—whipped out a key, went in, and presently came back with ten pounds in gold and a cheque for the rest, signed with a name that I can’t mention, but it was a name at least very well known and often printed.

He was quite easy and sneering.

‘Set your mind at rest,’ says he, ‘I will stay with you till the banks open and cash the cheque myself.’

So we all set off, the doctor, and the child’s father, and our friend and myself, and passed the rest of the night in my chambers; and next day, when we had breakfasted, went to the bank. I gave in the check myself, and said I had every reason to believe it was a forgery. Not a bit of it. The cheque was genuine.

”

“Tut-tut![5 - Tut-tut! – Да неужели!]” said Mr. Utterson.

“I see you feel as I do,” said Mr. Enfield. “Yes, it’s a bad story. For my man was a fellow that nobody could have to do with, a really damnable man; and the person that drew the cheque is the celebrated person, and (what makes it worse) one of your fellows who do what they call good. Black-mail[6 - black-mail – шантаж], I suppose. Black-Mail House is what I call that place with the door, in consequence. Though even that, you know, is far from explaining all,” he added.

Mr. Utterson asked rather suddenly:

“And you don’t know if the drawer of the cheque lives there?”

“A likely place[7 - likely place – подходящее место], isn’t it?” returned Mr. Enfield. “But I happen to have noticed his address; he lives in some square or other.”

“And you never asked about the place with the door?” said Mr.Utterson.

“No, sir: I had a delicacy,” was the reply. “I feel very strongly about putting questions.

You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone. You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others; and presently some man (the last you would have thought of) is knocked on the head in his own back-garden. No, sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks queer, the less I ask.”

“A very good rule,” said the lawyer.

“But I have studied the place for myself,” continued Mr. Enfield. “It seems scarcely a house.