A voice answered from within: “Tell him I cannot see anyone,” it said complainingly. “Thank you, sir,” said Poole, with a note of something like triumph in his voice; and taking up his candle, he led Mr. Utterson back across the yard and into the great kitchen, where the fire was out and the beetles were leaping on the floor. “Sir,” he said, looking Mr. Utterson in the eyes, “Was that my master’s voice?” “It seems much changed,” replied the lawyer, very pale, but giving look for look. “Changed? Well, yes, I think so,” said the butler. “Have I been twenty years in this man’s house, to be deceived about his voice? No, sir; master’s made away with; he was made away with eight days ago, when we heard him cry out upon the name of God; and who’s in there instead of him, and why it stays there, is a thing that cries to Heaven, Mr. Utterson!” “This is a very strange tale, Poole; this is rather a wild tale my man,” said Mr. Utterson, biting his finger. “Suppose it were as you suppose, supposing Dr. Jekyll to have been—well, murdered, what could induce the murderer to stay? That won’t hold water; it doesn’t commend itself to reason.” “Well, Mr. Utterson, you are a hard man to satisfy, but I’ll do it yet,” said Poole.