case that I first made the
acquaintance of Terry Patten, and at the time I should have been more
than willing to forego the pleasure.

Our firm rarely dealt with criminal cases, but the Patterson family were
long standing clients, and they naturally turned to us when the trouble
came. Ordinarily, so important a matter would have been put in the hands
of one of the older men, but it happened that I was the one who had
drawn up the will for Patterson Senior the night before his suicide,
therefore the brunt of the work devolved upon me. The most unpleasant
part of the whole affair was the notoriety. Could we have kept it from
the papers, it would not have been so bad, but that was a physical
impossibility; Terry Patten was on our track, and within a week he had
brought down upon us every newspaper in New York.

The first I ever heard of Terry, a card was sent in bearing the
inscription, "Mr. Terence K. Patten," and in the lower left-hand corner,
"of the Post-Dispatch." I shuddered as I read it. The Post-Dispatch was
at that time the yellowest of the yellow journals. While I was still
shuddering, Terry walked in through the door the office boy had
inadvertently left open.

He nodded a friendly good morning, helped himself to a chair, tossed his
hat and gloves upon the table, crossed his legs comfortably, and looked
me over. I returned the scrutiny with interest while I was mentally
framing a polite formula for getting rid of him without giving rise to
any ill feeling. I had no desire to annoy unnecessarily any of the
Post-Dispatch's young men.

At first sight my caller did not strike me as unlike a dozen other
reporters. His face was the face one feels he has a right to expect of a
newspaper man--keen, alert, humorous; on the look-out for opportunities.
But with a second glance I commenced to feel interested. I wondered
where he had come from and what he had done in the past. His features
were undeniably Irish; but that which chiefly awakened my curiosity, was
his expression. It was not only wide-awake and intelligent; it was
something more. "Knowing" one would say. It carried with it the mark of
experience, the indelible stamp of the street. He was a man who has had
no childhood, whose education commenced from the cradle.

I did not arrive at all of these conclusions at once, however, for he
had finished his inspection before I had fairly started mine. Apparently
he found me satisfactory. The smile which had been lur