glanced east and west along the lonely stretch of Lawrence Avenue.
He saw nothing, and concluded that the sound he had heard must have
come from one of the many apartment buildings which surrounded him.

Murphy pondered for a moment. Was it a burglary, a domestic row, or
perhaps a murder? The position of the shot was hard to locate, for
it had been but the sound of a moment on the still night. Murphy,
however, decided to take a chance, and started stealthily north on
Sheridan Road, keeping within the shadow that clung to the
buildings.

He had moved only a short distance in this way when a man in a bath
robe dashed out of the doorway of an apartment house just ahead of
him and ran north. Murphy instantly broke into pursuit. At the sound
of his heavily shod feet on the pavement, the man in the bath robe
stopped and turned. Murphy slowed up and the man advanced to meet
him.

"I'm glad you're handy, Officer," panted the man. "I think somebody
has been murdered in our building. Come and investigate."

"Sure," assented Murphy. "That's what I'm here for," and as they
mounted the steps of the apartment house, he inquired, "What flat
was it?"

"The top floor on the north side," replied the man, who then
informed Murphy that his name was Marsh, and that he lived on the
second floor, just below this apartment. "You see," Marsh continued,
"a little while ago my wife and I were awakened by a noise in the
apartment over us. It sounded like a struggle of some kind. As we