I became suddenly aware of the babel of voices about me, of the noisome smell of Malay Jack’s, and of the presence of Jack in person, who was inquiring if there were any further orders.  I was conscious of nausea.

“Excuse me,” I said, rising unsteadily, “but I fear the oppressive atmosphere is affecting me.”

“If you prefer to go out,” said my acquaintance, in that deep voice which throughout the dreadful story had rendered me oblivious of my surroundings, “I should be much favoured if you would accompany me to a spot not five hundred yards from here.”

Seeing me hesitate: 

“I have a particular reason for asking,” he added.

“Very well,” I replied, inclining my head, “if you wish it.  But certainly I must seek the fresh air.”

Going up the steps and out through the door above which the blue lantern burned, we came to the street, turned to the left, to the left again, and soon were threading that maze of narrow ways which complicates the map of Pennyfields.

I felt somewhat recovered.  Here, in the narrow but familiar highways the spell of my singular acquaintance lost much of its potency, and already I found myself doubting the story of Dr. Kreener and Tcheriapin.  Indeed, I began to laugh at myself, conceiving that I had fallen into the hands of some comedian who was making sport of me; although why such a person should visit Malay Jack’s was not apparent.

I was about to give expression to these new and saner ideas when my companion paused before a door half hidden in a little alley which divided the back of a Chinese restaurant from the tawdry-looking establishment of a cigar merchant.  He apparently held the key, for although I did not actually hear the turning of the lock I saw that he had opened the door.

“May I request you to follow me?” came his deep voice out of the darkness.  “I will show you something which will repay your trouble.”

Again the cloak touched me, but it was without entirely resigning myself to the compelling influence that I followed my mysterious acquaintance up an uncarpeted and nearly dark stair.  On the landing above a gas lamp was burning, and opening a door immediately facing the stair the stranger conducted me into a barely furnished and untidy room.

The atmosphere smelled like that of a pot-house, the odours of stale spirits and of tobacco mingling unpleasantly.  As my guide removed his hat and stood there, a square, gaunt figure in his queer, caped overcoat, I secured for the first time a view of his face in profile; and found it to be startlingly unfamiliar.  Seen thus, my acquaintance was another man.  I realized that there was something unnatural about the long, white hair, the gray face; that the sharp outline of brow, nose, and chin was that of a much younger man than I had supposed him to be.