light was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey tinge to
everything, which was intensified by the thick layer of dust
which coated the whole apartment.

All these details I observed afterwards. At present my
attention was centred upon the single grim motionless figure
which lay stretched upon the boards, with vacant sightless
eyes staring up at the discoloured ceiling. It was that of a
man about forty-three or forty-four years of age, middle-sized,
broad shouldered, with crisp curling black hair, and a
short stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth
frock coat and waistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and
immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushed and
trim, was placed upon the floor beside him. His hands were
clenched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs
were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a
grievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression
of horror, and as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I have
never seen upon human features. This malignant and terrible
contortion, combined with the low forehead, blunt nose, and
prognathous jaw gave the dead man a singularly simious and
ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing,
unnatural posture. I have seen death in many forms, but
never has it appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than
in that dark grimy apartment, which looked out upon one of
the main arteries of suburban London.

Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by the
doorway, and greeted my companion and myself.