half meditatively, "it's funny we haven't seen anybody else show up
in the halls. I heard that shot way down at Lawrence Avenue. At
least the people across the hall ought to have been waked up by it.
Are you sure it was in this house?"

"Why certainly," retorted Marsh. "Didn't I tell you that we heard
the struggle and the shot right over our heads?"

"Well, it sure takes a lot to disturb some people," said Murphy, as
he placed the telephone receiver to his ear and called for his
connection. After some words he got his precinct station.

"Hello!" he called. "Is that you, Sergeant? This is Murphy. I'm in
the Hillcrest apartments on Sheridan Road. . . . Yes, that's right.
. . . Just north of Lawrence Avenue. I think somebody's been
murdered and we'll have to break in. Send the wagon, will you? . . .
Don't know a damn thing yet," he added, evidently in reply to a
question. "Hurry up the wagon." He replaced the receiver on its
hook; then turned to Marsh as he stood up.

"I think I'll hang around the door up there until the boys come.
Much obliged for your help. You'd better get back to bed now."

"Oh, no," objected Marsh. "I couldn't sleep with all this excitement
going on. And then--Mr. Ames is a friend of mine. He would want me
to look after things for him."

Murphy looked Marsh over in evident speculation. The man was tall
and broad shouldered. His face was clean shaven. The features were
strong, with a regularity that many people would consider handsome.