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 their headlights splitting the
frigid night. He was at the curb to meet them as they pulled up. He
told his story briefly and concisely. Leverage inspected the young man
closely, made note of his license number and the number of his
taxi-cab. Then he turned to his companion, who had stood by, a silent
and interested observer.

"S'pose you talk to him a bit, Carroll."

"I'm David Carroll," introduced the other man. "I'm connected with the
police department. There's a few things you tell which are rather
peculiar. Any objections to discussing them?"

In spite of himself, Spike felt a genial warming toward this boyish-faced
man. He had heard of Carroll, and rather feared his prowess; but now that
he was face to face with him, he found himself liking the chap. Not only
that, but he was conscious of a sense of protection, as if Carroll were
there for no other purpose than to take care of him, to see that he
received a square deal.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Carroll, I'll be glad to tell you anything I know."

"You have said, Walters, that the passenger you picked up at the Union