This 1944 remake hasn't really improved a great deal on the story, which is still fairly uninvolving for the most part, until the rousing finale, but it makes up for it somewhat with the central haunted performance of Laird Cregar (who starved himself to death the very same year) and the first-rate atmosphere.
As with Hangover Square (shot back-to-back with much the same cast and crew) the film opens with the camera swooping and creeping through echoey Victorian London streets, filled with thick fog and impending danger. Magnificent. Unfortunately after that it settles down into too much drawing room talkiness and not enough thrills or plot twists, and after that it's pretty much a straight line of padding until the splendid ending, with Cregar's character being hunted down and closed in on, that same creeping camera closing in on his bloodied face, the sound of him breathing hard eclipsing all else.
If the whole film was like that it would be a masterpiece, the equal of The Thirty-Nine Steps or The Third Man. And it really is a pity it's not.