The Outsider Test, 1. The Spectre in Spitalfields.

London is my home. I like it. Where I live is rather Bohemian, lots of artists, little cafes, that sort of thing. But London, like any big city, attracts criminals. Some are little petty crooks, driven by a desire for drugs, or alcohol - or just some sort of authority and power. But others are big crooks, men and women who think in millions.
Lambert Lamont was one of them. A blackmailer who specialised in the daughters of millionaires and had driven at least five girls to suicide. I don't recommend suicide. It doesn't solve anything. Strangling the blackmailer with a nice sturdy stocking, on the other hand, works wonders. Or so Mrs. Arcos tells me.
Still, I was stalking Lambert Lamont.
The trail had led me to London's East End, and to the rabbit-warren of houses that is Spitalfields. Once the homes of Huguenots, French protestant refugees driven from their homes by an intolerant king, then the residence of persecuted Jews, now there are many Muslims in the area. I passed a woman in a full-face veil in the darkness. She did not notice my grey form in the fog that had come off the river.
All the better for me. In fog I'm almost invisible.
I moved quickly and silently through he narrow street between tall houses that had once been a whole lot more respectable than they are these days. Lamont was ahead of me.
I drew my whip from my belt and caugt a fire-escape with it. Quickly I climbed the sturdy leather.
And then I was outside Lamont's window.
Looking in, I saw the greedy blackmailer, a tall, handsome man who wore an Italian suit. He was pacing the room, an evil smile on his face. The other person in the room was a girl. I recognised her as Felicity Crewe, a noted society air-head who I'm glad to say is only a self-inflicted blonde.
"Lambert!" she sobbed. "I thought you loved me!"
"Don't be a bigger fool than you already are, Felicity! I care nothing for you. Just for money. Now, if you pay what I ask I won't tell that idiot footballer you married that I've been having an affair with you. But if you don't..."
Suddenly the lights went out. Felicity screamed, and Lamont yelled.
"What's going on?"
I heard a little girl's voice begin to speak.
"Ding dong bell, pussy's in the well..."
"Felicity!"
"It's not me, Lamont!" Felicity sounded terrified.
The little girl voice began to laugh.
"Lambert Lamont! You've ruined many girls..."
"I got the light!" Felicity cried. She flicked the switch.
The room was illuminated again. The speaker was revealed.
All any of us could see was a swirling, smoke-like figure with a pair of glowing red eyes.
Felicity and Lamont both screamed.