100 Malicious Little Mysteries

The Physician and the Opium Fiend by R. L. Stevens

The lamplights along Cavendish Square were just being lit, casting a soft pale glow across the damp London night, as Blair slipped from the court behind Dr. Lanyon’s house. It had been another failure, another robbery of a physician’s office that yielded him but a few shillings. He cursed silently and started across the Square, then drew back quickly as a hansom cab hurried past, the horse’s hoofs clattering on the cobblestones.

At times he wished it could end this easily, with his body crushed beneath a two-wheeler. Perhaps then he might be free of the terrible craving that growled within him, forcing him to a life of housebreaking and theft.

William Blair was an opium fiend. He still remembered the first time he had eaten opium, popping the little pill of brown gum into his mouth and washing it down with coffee as de Quincey had sometimes done. He remembered the gradual creeping thrill that soon took possession of every part of his body. And he remembered too the deadly sickness of his stomach, the furred tongue and dreadful headache that followed his first experience as an opium eater.

He should have stopped the diabolical practise then, but he hadn’t. In three days’ time he had recourse to the drug once more, and after that his body seemed to crave it with increasing frequency. It was his frantic search for opium which now led him nightly to the offices of famous physicians, to the citadels of medicine that lined Cavendish Square. He had broken into ten of them in the past fortnight, but only two had yielded a quantity of opium sufficient to ease his terrible burthen.

And so it was in a state bordering desperation that Blair entered the quiet bystreet that ran north from the Square. He had gone some distance past the shops and homes when he chanced to note a high, two-storey building that thrust forward its windowless gable on the street. He was familiar enough with doctors’ laboratories in this section of London to suspect that here might be one, hidden away behind this neglected, discoloured brick wall. But only a blistered and disdained wooden door gave entry into the building from this street, and the door was equipped with neither bell nor knocker.

Hurriedly he retraced his steps to the corner, avoiding a helmeted bobby who was crossing the street in the opposite direction. He waited until the police-officer had disappeared from view, his hand ready on the dagger in his pocket. As he moved on, a few drops of water struck his forehead. It was beginning to rain.

Round the corner he came upon a square of ancient, handsome houses. Though many were beginning to show the unmistakable signs of age, the second house from the corner still wore a great air of wealth and comfort. It was all in darkness except for the fanlight, but the glow from this was sufficient for him to decipher the lettering on the brass name-plate. He had guessed correctly. It was indeed a doctor’s residence. He set to work at once as the rain increased.

It took him only a few moments of skillful probing with the dagger to prize open one of the shuttered windows. Then he was through it and into a flagged hall lined with costly oaken cabinets. The doctor was obviously wealthy, and Blair hoped this meant a well-stocked laboratory. He moved cautiously along the hall, fearful of any noise which might give the alarm. The house could have been empty, but it was possible the good doctor had retired early and was asleep upstairs.

Blair made his way to the rear of the first floor, heading in the direction of the windowless gable he had observed from the street. He passed into the connecting building and through a large darkened area that, by the light of his Brymay safety-matches, appeared to be an old dissecting room, strewn with crates and littered with packing straw, and dusty with disuse. Blair moved through it to a stairway at the rear. This would lead to the second floor of the windowless gable, his last hope of finding a supply of opium.

The door at the top of the stair was a heavy barrier covered with red baize, and it took him ten minutes ere he finally forced it inward with a loud screech. The disclosed room proved to be the small office-laboratory he sought — his work had not been in vain! The remains of a dying fire still glowed on the hearth, casting a pale orange glow about the room. The laboratory had been in use that very night, and in such a home the storage shelves would be well stocked.

It took him but a brief search to discover, amidst the chemical apparatus, a large bottle labeled Laudanum. This was a tincture of opium, he knew, and no less an authority than de Quincey had reckoned twenty-five drops of laudanum to be the equivalent of one grain of pure opium. Yes, this would satisfy his need.

His hand was just closing over the bottle when a voice from the doorway rasped, “Who is there? Who are you?”

Blair whirled to face the man, the dagger ready in his hand. “Get back,” he warned. “I am armed.”

The figure in the doorway reached up to light the gas flame, and Blair saw that he was a large, well-made, smooth-faced man of perhaps fifty, with a countenance that was undeniably handsome. “What do you want here, man? This is my laboratory. There is no money here!”

“I need—” began Blair, feeling the perspiration collecting on his forehead. “I need opium.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the handsome doctor. “My God! Have conditions in London come to this? Do opium fiends now prowl the streets and break into physicans’ homes in search of this devilish drug?”

“Get out of my way,” returned Blair, “or I will kill you!”

“Wait! Let me — let me try to help you in some way. Let me summon the police. This craving that obsesses you will destroy you in time. You need help, medical treatment.”

As he spoke, the doctor moved forward slowly, forcing Blair back towards the far wall of the room. “I don’t want help,” sobbed the cornered man. “It’s too late to help me now.”

The doctor took a step closer. “It is never too late! Don’t you realize what this drug is doing to you, man? Don’t you see how it releases everything that is cruel and sick and evil in you? Under the influence of opium, or any drug, you become a different person. You are no longer in command of your own will.”

Blair had backed to the wall now, and he could feel its chill firmness through his coat. He raised the dagger menacingly. “Come any closer. Sawbones, and I swear I will kill you!”

The doctor hesitated a moment. He glanced at the darkened skylight above their heads, where the rain was now beating a steady tattoo upon the glass. Then he said, “The mind of man is his greatest gift. To corrupt it, to poison it with drugs, is something hateful and immoral. I hope that I am never in a position where I lose control of my free will because I have surrendered to the dark side of my nature. You, poor soul, are helpless in the grip of this opium, like the wretched folk who smoke it in the illegal dens, curled upon their bunks and oblivious of the outer world.”

“I... I—” began Blair, but the words were lost in his throat. The physician was right, he knew, but he was beyond caring now, beyond distinguishing between right and wrong. He only knew that the doctor had forced him further from the bottle of laudanum.

“Let me call the police,” urged the doctor, softly.

“No!”

The physician’s hand moved, all in a flash, seizing one of the bottles from the shelf beside him and hurling it upwards through the skylight. There was a shattering of glass and a shower of silvery white pellets from the bottle. Then a sudden violet flame seemed to engulf the entire skylight, burning with a hissing sound that ended almost at once with a burst of explosive violence.

Terrified, Blair tried to lunge past the doctor, but the large hands were instantly upon him, fastening on his coat and wrist, forcing the dagger away.

They were still locked in a life-and-death, silent struggle when, moments later, a helmeted bobby burst into the laboratory. “What’s happening here, sir? I saw the flame and heard the explosion—”

“Help me with this man,” shouted the physician. “He’s trying to steal opium!”

Within seconds Blair was helpless, his arms pinioned to his sides by the burly police-officer. “Take me,” he mumbled. “Take me and lock me up. Help me.”

Another bobby arrived on the scene, attracted by the noise and flame. “What was it?” he asked the doctor.

“I had to signal you somehow,” he told them. “There were potassium pellets in the bottle and I took a risk that enough rainwater had collected on the skylight to set off a chemical reaction. Potassium reacts even more violently with water than does sodium.”

“You were successful,” returned the second policeman. “I heard that boom two streets away.”

The doctor was busy moving some of his equipment out of the rain which was still falling through the shattered skylight. “I think with treatment this man can be saved,” said he. “It is his addiction that has led him into a life of crime.”

“I would not worry too much about him, sir. He could have killed you with this dagger.”

“But I do worry about him, as I would about any human being. As for myself, I was much more fearful that he would wreck my laboratory. I have been engaged in some important experiments here, relating to transcendental medicine, and I feel I am on the verge of discovery.”

The first police-officer pulled Blair towards the door. “Then we will leave you alone to clean up, sir. And good luck with your experiments.” He was half-way out the door when he paused and said, “O, by the by, sir, I will need your name for my report. I did not have time to catch it on the brass outside.”

“Certainly,” replied the physician, with a smile. “The name is Jekyll. Doctor Henry Jekyll.”