"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 coupé 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