The lamp was shining full now upon the man's face, livid and white, upon his staring but sightless eyes, upon something around his neck, a fragment of silken cord, drawn so tightly that the flesh seemed to hang over and almost conceal it.
"Throttled, by God!" the cabman exclaimed.

"I'm off to the police station." He clambered up to his seat, and without another word struck his horse with the whip.

The cab drove off and disappeared.

Wrayson turned slowly round, and, closing the door of the flats, mounted with leaden feet to the fourth story.
He entered his own rooms, and walked without hesitation to the window, which was still open.

The fresh air was almost a necessity, for he felt himself being slowly stifled.