 Every human being, it is said, is part of the social fabric, and indeed so obvious does this seem that if ever we should happen to hear of a man who was actually isolated, actually alone, we might well assume that he was a stranger among us, an intruder on the earth. Yet the case of at least one such man has been recorded. He was lying in a proud field when they found him. Gillum, the hired man, was the first to notice the body. It lay white and naked and terrible under the noonday sun. A dead man lying out in the field. He's naked as the diary was born. I never seen him in these parts before. You'd better come out and have a look, sir. The owner of the farm, having examined the corpse carefully, announced that he had never seen him before either. And so the Petersville police were called in. And the local inspectors decided that identification should not be too difficult. It's simply a matter of finding the tapped clothes, that's all. He must have been wearing them when he came out here. There are no fresh card tracks in the road, and he could scarcely have walked up and down naked without causing some comment. Though the clothes must be around here somewhere. But the clothes were not to be found. During the search, however, the hired man made one important discovery. Footprints, Inspector. They've been mined by bare feet, if you'll notice. Though they must be eggs. So they followed the stranger's footprint. They followed them through the road a half mile away. And across the road, it entered the field on the other side. There the footprint stopped. Why, it's almost as if the blow came from another planet. Just dropped down out of the ovens he did and died. But the inspector, who was a practical man, chose to ignore Mr. Gilliam's fantastic suggestion. It might prove a little more difficult than he thought at first, but in the end, the body would be identified. The inquest, the coroner reported that there were no wounds on the deceased. There were neither drugs nor poison in the contents of his stomach. He was obviously not the victim of foul play. His death was due simply to exposure. Exposure? How could he have joined him exposure? How could he have joined him exposure? He could see the hospital where he was. All he'd have had to do was knock on the door and walk him. What the gentleman says may be quite true. Nevertheless, death was due to exposure. To continue, the man was between 35 and 40 years of age. He was not a manual worker. His hands and nails indicate that. He was well-nourished, and I should say well-educated. A man of considerable substance. Would it not be difficult to learn the identity of such a person? The efforts that were exerted during the weeks that followed were more than adequate. A photograph of the man, together with the description of him, was published in practically every paper throughout England. Two months later, on April 16th, the London Daily News reported that the police were still without a clue. That there was no record of any missing person bearing the slightest resemblance to this man. If most Englishmen were puzzled by the affair, Mr. Gilliam, the hired man, was not. They're wasting their time with their photographs and whatnot, I tell you. The bloke was a stranger, and not just the renampure either. He was a stranger on the earth. They'll never find anyone who ever knew him. Today, the identity of the dead man still remains a mystery. The incident takes its rightful place in the annals of amazing stories. Stories incredible, but true.