Some months passed. One evening Poole, the doctor's old servant, appeared at the lawyer's house with a face of terror. "Mr Utterson," he said, "there is something wrong. The master has shut himself up in the room above the laboratory, and he will not come out. For a week he has been crying night and day for a certain medicine, and nothing is right. And, sir, I have heard the voice through the door, and it is not the master's voice." They walked through the wind and the empty streets to the old house. Poole knocked and called out that Mr Utterson had come. "Tell him I cannot see anyone," said a strange voice from inside. "That was never my master's voice," said Poole, turning white. "Have I been twenty years in this house to be deceived? No, sir. The master has been made away with, and whatever is in there has been crying for that drug for eight days." "Poole," said the lawyer, "if you are sure of that, it is my duty to break down that door."