A commotion down a side street on my right shattered this glorious picture. Hoarse cries rang out, and a sound of blows. I could make out a small dark struggling mass which seemed to break into separate parts and then coalesce again. A police whistle sounded. The mass again broke up, and some figures came rushing down the street in my direction. They passed me in a flash, and vanished. At the far end of the street two twinkling lights appeared. After a period of hesitation--what doctor goes willingly into the accidents of the streets?--I walked slowly in their direction. When I reached them I found two policemen bending over the body of a man, which lay in the gutter face downwards. "Good evening," I said. "Can I be of any service? I am a doctor." They shone their lamps on me suspiciously. "What are you doing here?" "Walking," I replied. Exercise had calmed me. I felt cool and collected. "I often walk far at nights. Let me see the body." I stooped down and turned the body over. The policemen watched me in silence. The body was that of a young, fair-haired sailor man. There was a knife between his ribs. His eyes were screwed up into a rigid state of contraction which death had not yet relaxed. His whole body was rigid. I knew that the knife had pierced his heart. But the most extraordinary thing about him was his expression. I have never looked on a face either in life or death that expressed such terror. Even the policemen were startled. The light of their lamps shone on that monstrous and distorted countenance, and we gazed in horrified silence. "Is he dead?" asked one at last. "Quite dead," I replied, "but it is odd to find this rigidity so early." I began to press his eyelids apart. The right eye opened. I uttered a cry of astonishment. "Look!" I cried. They stared. "Blest if that ain't queer," said one. "It's that Blue Disease. He must 'ave come from Birmingham." "Queer?" I said passionately. "Why, man, it's tragedy--unadulterated tragedy. The man was an Immortal." They stared at me heavily. "Immortal?" said one. "He would have lived for ever," I said. "In his system there is the most marvellous germ that the world has ever known. It was circulating in his blood. It had penetrated to every part of his body. A few minutes ago, as he walked along the dark street, he had before him a future of unnumbered years. And now he lies in the gutter. Can you imagine a greater tragedy?" The policemen transferred their gaze from me to the dead man. Then, as if moved by a common impulse, they began to laugh. I watched them moodily, plunged in an extraordinary vein of thought. When I moved away they at once stopped me. "No, you don't," said one. "We'll want you at the police station to give your evidence. Not," he continued with a grin, "to tell that bit of information you just gave us, about him being an angel or something." "I didn't say he was an angel." They laughed tolerantly. Like Mr. Clutterbuck, they thought I was mad.