Nevertheless, not more than a minute or two had elapsed before Constable F 18, the point policeman at the corner of Marylebone Road, arrived on the scene, and, having first of all whistled for any of his comrades on the beat, began to grope his way about in the fog, more confused than effectually assisted by contradictory directions from the inhabitants of the houses close by, who were nearly falling out of the upper windows as they shouted out to the constable.
"'By the railings, policeman.' "'Higher up the road.' "'No, lower down.' "'It was on this side of the pavement I am sure.' "No, the other.' "At last it was another policeman, F 22, who, turning into Park Square West from the north side, almost stumbled upon the body of a man lying on the pavement with his head against the railings of the Square.

By this time quite a little crowd of people from the different houses in the road had come down, curious to know what had actually happened.
"The policeman turned the strong light of his bull's-eye lantern on the unfortunate man's face.
"'It looks as if he had been strangled, don't it ?' he murmured to his comrade.
"And he pointed to the swollen tongue, the eyes half out of their sockets, bloodshot and congested, the purple, almost black, hue of the face.
"At this point one of the spectators, more callous to horrors, peered curiously into the dead man's face.

He uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
"'Why, surely, it's Mr.Cohen from No.

30!' "The mention of a name familiar down the length of the street had caused two or three other men to come forward and to look more closely into the horribly distorted mask of the murdered man.
"'Our next-door neighbour, undoubtedly,' asserted Mr.Ellison, a young barrister, residing at No.

31.
"'What in the world was he doing this foggy night all alone, and on foot ?' asked somebody else.
"'He usually came home very late.