It was Dan O'Leary, night desk sergeant, who was on duty at headquarters
that night, and Sergeant Dan O'Leary was a good deal of an institution on
the city's force. He hopped excitedly from his desk into the office of
Eric Leverage, the chief of police.

Chief Leverage, a broad-shouldered, heavy-set, bushy-eyebrowed
individual, looked up from the chess-board, annoyed 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?"