"I know, Mother," he returned, "but I wanted to forget all about the
world this morning. That Brock case has tired me out."

"But," she protested, "I notice from the headlines that there was a
big murder on Sheridan Road last night. I didn't think you'd want to
miss the details of that."

Professional instinct was too strong. Morgan reached for the paper
and glanced quickly over the glaring headlines and the few words
below, while the mother proudly watched him.

Morgan made a good figure for a detective. Not so tall as to be
conspicuous, his breadth of shoulder and depth of chest clearly
showed that he possessed the strength to meet most of the
emergencies into which his work might lead him. His face had none of
the hardened sharpness that usually marks the detective. In fact,
although he was nearly thirty, his face still had a boyish look that
made him appear younger, and taken with his sleek dark hair and mild
brown eyes one would have presumed him to be just an average young
business man rather than a hunter of criminals.

"No details here," he said, a moment later, laying the paper on the
table. "They evidently received the notice just before going to
press. Anyway, there is seldom much mystery about a murder. The men
in that precinct probably have a line on who did it by this time."

"Yes, I know they use my boy only for the big cases," asserted the
mother, and giving him an affectionate pat on the head, she went to
her housework, while Morgan took a book from one of the cases,