Round the corner from the by-street, there was a square of ancient, handsome houses, now for the most part decayed from their high estate and let in flats and chambers to all sorts and conditions of men: map-engravers, architects, shady lawyers, and the agents of obscure enterprises. One house, however, second from the corner, was still occupied entirely, and at the door of this, which wore a great air of wealth and comfort, though it was now plunged in darkness except for the fan-light, I stopped and knocked.

It was a well known house to me, as well known as the well-dressed, elderly servant who opened the door.

'Is Doctor Jekyll at home, Poole?' I asked, greeting the man by name.

'I will see, Mister Utterson,' said Poole, as he let me in to a large, low-roofed, comfortable hall, paved with flags, warmed by a bright, open fire, and furnished with costly cabinets of oak. 'Will you wait here by the fire, sir? or shall I give you a light in the dining room?'

'Here, thank you,' I replied, for the warmth of the fire was just what I needed to dispel the cold that I had started to feel since meeting with Mister Hyde.