He steps out from the doorway and accosts me. It is only early, but I have been out for a night and a day, wandering, watching, and acting. Weariness finally impels me to the bottle and glass which will give me my sleep. But first there is this man to deal with. I have the key in my hand, just shy of putting it in the lock, when his hand touches my shoulder. I turn, expecting a blow, but am met with a half-familiar face and the words 'Mister Hyde, I think?'

It's a strange thing to hear one's name spoken out loud for the first time. It sounds good coming from this man's mouth, and I straighten from my habitual crouch, and peer at him from under my brows. 'That is my name. What do you want?' I respond.

'I see you are going in,' says the man pointing to the door. 'I am an old friend of Doctor Jekyll's -- Mister Utterson of Gaunt Street -- you must have heard my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me.'

Ah, yes. As he speaks the name of the other I remember this one and his boring foolishness.