One evening, Poole, Jekyll's butler, visited Utterson. His face was white, his manner frantic. 'I think there's been foul play,' he rasped. The wind bit sharply as they hurried to the square. Inside, the servants huddled like sheep. Poole led Utterson to the laboratory door. A voice answered them--a voice that was not Jekyll's--crying out to be left alone. 'That is not my master!' Poole whispered in the dark.