the key to the by-street door

The key to the by-street door is the material hinge of Henry Jekyll's double existence, the object that allows Edward Hyde to come and go unseen and that, in its final broken and rusted state, becomes a silent witness to the collapse of the entire deception. More than a mere convenience, the key is the instrument by which Hyde enters and exits the world, and its fate mirrors his own: from a tool of secret power to a discarded relic of a failed experiment.

Identity and Function

The key belongs to the by-street door, a sinister block of building that thrusts its gable forward on a busy London thoroughfare. This door, which is equipped with neither bell nor knocker, is blistered and stained, and has for close on a generation borne the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. It is the back entrance to Dr. Jekyll's laboratory, and the key is the only means of access. Mr. Enfield, recounting the child trampling incident, describes how Hyde, after being cornered, "whipped out a key, went in, and presently came back with the matter of ten pounds in gold and a cheque for the balance on Coutts's." The key is thus established from the first as the device that enables Hyde to produce money and authority from a place that looks like nothing but a cellar. When Mr. Utterson later asks Enfield, "You are sure he used a key?" Enfield confirms, "The fellow had a key; and what's more, he has it still. I saw him use it not a week ago." The key is not a one-time prop; it is a permanent possession, kept on Hyde's person and used regularly.

The Key in Action: Utterson's Stakeout

Mr. Utterson, haunted by the will and by Enfield's story, begins to haunt the door in the by-street of shops, determined to see Hyde for himself. His patience is rewarded on a fine dry night when he hears an odd light footstep drawing near. The lawyer, looking forth from the entry, sees a small, plainly dressed man who "made straight for the door, crossing the roadway to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his pocket like one approaching home." The gesture is telling: Hyde does not fumble or hesitate; he draws the key with the automatic familiarity of a man returning to his own dwelling. Utterson steps out and touches him on the shoulder, and after a brief, tense exchange, Hyde "unlocked the door and disappeared into the house." The key is the instrument of his vanishing, the means by which he slips back into the secret space that shelters him. Later that same evening, Utterson questions Poole, the butler, and learns that "Mr. Hyde has a key" and that the servants have all orders to obey him. The key is thus the token of Hyde's authority within Jekyll's household, a physical sign of the trust—or the bondage—that Jekyll has granted him.

The Key After the Murder

After the murder of Sir Danvers Carew, Hyde disappears, and the key becomes a piece of evidence in the investigation. When Poole and Utterson, on the last night, break into the cabinet and find Hyde's dead body, they turn to examine the door in the by-street. It is locked, and lying nearby on the flags they find the key, already stained with rust. Utterson observes, "This does not look like use," but Poole corrects him: "Do you not see, sir, it is broken? much as if a man had stamped on it." Utterson then notes, "Ay, and the fractures, too, are rusty." The key is not merely discarded; it has been deliberately broken, stamped on, and left to rust. This act of destruction is Hyde's final gesture of spite or despair, a physical severing of the link between the two identities. The rust on the fractures indicates that the break occurred some time ago, not on the night of the suicide, suggesting that Hyde had already, in his last days, abandoned the key as useless. The key, once the emblem of his freedom of movement, has become a broken relic, as powerless as the man who wielded it.

Symbolic Significance

The key to the by-street door functions as a material symbol of the entire Jekyll-Hyde relationship. It is the object that allows Hyde to exist as a separate entity, to come and go without being seen by the servants or the world. It is the physical counterpart to the will, the letter, and the drug—all the mechanisms by which Jekyll attempts to control his double. But the key also betrays the fragility of that control. It is used by Hyde, not Jekyll; it is Hyde who carries it, Hyde who unlocks the door, Hyde who, in the end, breaks it. The key thus becomes a sign of Hyde's autonomy, his ability to act independently of Jekyll's will. And when it is broken and rusted, it marks the point at which that autonomy has become self-destructive. The key, like Hyde himself, is a thing that was once useful and is now only a remnant of a failed experiment. Its final state—broken, rusted, lying on the flags—is a silent epitaph for the double life that could no longer be sustained.