Guest's eyes brightened, and he sat down at once and studied it with passion. `No, sir,' he said; `not mad; but it is an odd hand.'

`And by all accounts a very odd writer,' added the lawyer.

Just then the servant entered with a note.

`Is that from Dr Jekyll, sir?' inquired the clerk. `I thought I knew the writing. Anything private, Mr Utterson?'

`Only an invitation to dinner. Why? Do you want to see it?'

`One moment. I thank you, sir', and the clerk laid the two sheets of paper alongside and sedulously compared their contents. `Thank you, sir,' he said at last, returning both; `it's a very interesting autograph.'

There was a pause, during which Mr Utterson struggled with himself. `Why did you compare them, Guest?' he inquired suddenly.

`Well, sir,' returned the clerk, `there's a rather singular resemblance; the two hands are in many points identical; only differently sloped.'

`Rather quaint,' said Utterson.

`It is, as you say, rather quaint,' returned Guest.

`I wouldn't speak of this note, you know,' said the master.

`No, sir,' said the clerk. `I understand.'

But no sooner was Mr Utterson alone that night than he locked the note into his safe, where it reposed from that time forward. `What!' he thought. `Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer!' And his blood ran cold in his veins.