Leverage rose and yawned.

"It's me for the hay, Carroll. I'm played out; and I have a hunch that
to-morrow I'm going to be busy as seven little queen bees--and you, too."

Carroll reached for his overcoat.

"A little bit of thinking things over isn't going to hurt me, either.
Good night!"

Thirty minutes later Carroll reached his apartment, and a half-hour after
that he was sleeping soundly. The following morning he waked "all over,"
as was his habit, and turned his eyes to gaze through the window.

During the night the sleety drizzle had ceased, and the sun streamed
with brilliant coldness upon a city which shone in a glare of ice.
Leafless trees stretched their ice-covered tentacles into the cold,
penetrating air; pedestrians and horses slipped on the glassy pavements;
automobiles either skidded dangerously or set up an incessant rattle
with their chains.

Carroll glanced at his watch. It showed nine o'clock. He started with
surprise. Then he reached for the newspapers on the table at the side of
his bed, and spread open the front pages.

They had evidently been made up anew with the breaking of the Warren
murder story. Eight-column streamers shrieked at him from both front
pages. He read the stories through, and smiled with satisfaction. Just as
he had anticipated, both reporters, hungry for some definite clue upon