I tried to formulate a plan of action.  That perpetual sound of
"Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," confused my mind.  Perhaps I was too tired
to be very fearful.  Certainly I was more curious to know the reason
of this monotonous crying than afraid.  I turned back away from the
park and struck into Park Road, intending to skirt the park, went
along under the shelter of the terraces, and got a view of this
stationary, howling Martian from the direction of St. John's Wood.  A
couple of hundred yards out of Baker Street I heard a yelping chorus,
and saw, first a dog with a piece of putrescent red meat in his jaws
coming headlong towards me, and then a pack of starving mongrels in
pursuit of him.  He made a wide curve to avoid me, as though he feared
I might prove a fresh competitor.  As the yelping died away down the
silent road, the wailing sound of "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," reasserted
itself.