d at this interruption
of a game which had been in progress since ten o'clock that night.
O'Leary grabbed a salute from thin air.

"'Scuse my botherin' ye, chief, but there's hell to pay out at East End."

O'Leary was never long at coming to the point. Leverage looked up.
So, too, did the boyish, clean-shaven young man with whom he was
playing chess.

"An' knowin' that Mr. Carroll was playin' chess with ye, chief--an' him
naturally interested in such things--I hopped right in."

"I'll say you did," commented the chief phlegmatically. "I have you
there, Carroll--dead to rights!"

O'Leary was a trifle irritated at the cold reception accorded his news.

"Ye ain't after understanding" he said slowly. "It's murder that has been
done this night."

"H-m!" Carroll's slow, pleasant drawl seemed to soothe O'Leary. "Murder?"

"You said it, Mr. Carroll."

Leverage had risen. It was plain to be seen from his manner that the
chess-game was forgotten. Leverage was a policeman first and a
chess-player second--a very poor second. His voice, surcharged with
interest, cracked out into the room.

"Spill the dope, O'Leary!"

The night desk sergeant needed no further bidding. In a few graphic words
he outlined his telephone conversation with Spike Walters.

Before he finished speaking, Leverage was slipping into his enormous
overcoat. He nodded to Carroll.

"How about trotting out there with me, David?"

Carroll smiled agreeably.

"Thank goodness my new coupe has a heating device, chief!"

That was all. It wasn't David Carroll's way to talk much, or to show any
untoward emotion. It was Carroll's very boyishness which was his greatest
asset. He had a way of stepping into a case before the principals knew he
was there, and of solving it in a manner which savored not at all of
flamboyance. A quiet man was Carroll, and one whose deductive powers Eric
Leverage fairly worshiped.

On the slippery, skiddy journey to East End the two men--professional
policeman and amateur criminologist--did not talk much. A few comments
regarding the sudden advent of fiercest winter; a remark, forcedly
jocular, from the chief, that murderers might be considerate enough to
pick better weather for the practice of their profession--and that was
all. Thus far they knew nothing about the case, and they were both too
well versed in criminology to attempt a discussion of something with
which they were unfamiliar.

Spike Walters saw them coming--saw t