I can feel the other behind my eyes wishing to control this conversation, and who am I to deny him. I give him his head.

'You will not find Doctor Jekyll; he is from home.' I am bored already with this conversation, and noticing some fluff from my pocket has accumulated in the barrel of the key, blow into it. The man flinches and I have to suppress my smile. Then, 'How did you know me?' I ask, realising that he shouldn't know this face but only that of the other.

'On your side,' he weasels, avoiding the question, 'will you do me a favour?'

'With pleasure,' the other replies before I can respond. 'What shall it be?'

'Will you let me see your face?'

I must admit I am loathe to grant this request, but on reflection, maybe it will serve a purpose should I get into further trouble. The other informs me that this man is our lawyer, and so might be of future use. I lift my head and stare him straight in the eye and enjoy the look of fear and contempt on his face.

'Now I shall know you again,' says Mister Utterson. 'It may be useful.'

'Yes,' I reply, agreeing with this echo of my thoughts, 'it is as well we have, met; and a propos, you should have my address.' With which I tell him my address in Soho.