“I was called at ten-thirty, about. I live in the High Street. My name’s Mason. I found deceased here upon the floor and the constable attempting artificial respiration. Life was extinct.”
“How long had the man been dead?”
“A very short time; possibly not more than half an hour, perhaps less.”
“Cause of death?”
“Strangulation. The man has been, in my opinion, garrotted, seized from behind by the throat and literally strangled. The thyroid cartilage has been broken, and there are the marks of fingers upon the skin of the neck.”
“No other marks or wounds?”
“I have found no other.”
“Thanks. Constable, remove the sheet.”
The officer stripped away the sheet, revealing a terrible spectacle. Upon the floor lay the body of a middle-aged man, judging from the scanty hair streaked with grey; the face was of a dull purple, the tongue and eyes were protruding.
The body was well dressed in a frock coat and grey pepper and salt coloured trousers.