Left it too late

Delbury of Scotland Yard, was a machine made model of all that is just and proper in a force the discipline of which is second only to that of the fighting services. Three minutes to eight every morning of his life saw him swinging off his tram in the shadow of Big Ben. The next three minutes saw him walking the three hundred steps from the tramline to the entrance under the great gloomy arch. The clamorous strokes of eight o'clock saw him hanging his hat up on his own private peg. His subordinates dubbed him 'Old Punctuous," a nickname bestowed on him by his unimpressed Irish second in command.

  Shaughnessy had only arrived ten minutes before his chief. But in that time he had scrambled through an immense amount of work. A trifle excited and not a little perturbed he met Delbury at the door.

 "Chief, there's the devil of a stew been brewing overnight," he said hurriedly. "I've been getting a line on it, but we're a bit patchy on information yet. Murder job.