Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted and swept the room.

Yes, everything was in disorder, as though there had been a struggle--a chair upturned, a table canted against the wall, broken pieces of crockery from the washstand on the carpet, and-- "Metzer was a stool pigeon, see ?" went on Clayton, "and he lived here.
Moriarty wasn't on to him.

Metzer stood in thick with a wider circle of crooks than any other snitch in New York." Jimmie Dale, still scribbling as Clayton talked, stepped to the bed and leaned over the murdered man.

The murder had been done with a blackjack evidently--a couple of blows.

The left side of the temple was crushed in.