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.