there when the body was found," continued Spargo, and gave a
brief resume of his doings. "I'm certain this is a most unusual
affair," he went on. "It's as full of mystery as--as it could be. I
want to give my attention to it. I want to specialize on it. I can make
such a story of it as we haven't had for some time--ages. Let me have
it. And to start with, let me have two columns for tomorrow morning.
I'll make it--big!"

The editor looked across his desk at Spargo's eager face.

"Your other work?" he said.

"Well in hand," replied Spargo. "I'm ahead a whole week--both articles
and reviews. I can tackle both."

The editor put his finger tips together.

"Have you got some idea about this, young man?" he asked.

"I've got a great idea," answered Spargo. He faced the great man
squarely, and stared at him until he had brought a smile to the
editorial face. "That's why I want to do it," he added. "And--it's not
mere boasting nor over-confidence--I know I shall do it better than
anybody else."

The editor considered matters for a brief moment.

"You mean to find out who killed this man?" he said at last.

Spargo nodded his head--twice.

"I'll find that out," he said doggedly.

The editor picked up a pencil, and bent to his desk.

"All right," he said. "Go ahead. You shall have your two columns."

Spargo went quietly away to his own nook and corner. He got hold of a
block of paper and began to write. He was going to show how to do
things.

CHAPTER SIX

WITNESS TO A MEETING

Ronald Breton walked into the _Watchman_ office and into Spargo's room
next morning holding a copy of the current issue in his hand. He waved
it at Spargo with an enthusiasm which was almost boyish.

"I say!" he exclaimed. "That's the way to do it, Spargo! I congratulate
you. Yes, that's the way--certain!"

Spargo, idly turning over a pile of exchanges, yawned.

"What way?" he asked indifferently.

"The way you've written this thing up," said Breton. "It's a hundred
thousand times better than the usual cut-and-dried account of a murder.
It's--it's like a--a romance!"

"Merely a new method of giving news," said Spargo. He picked up a copy
of the _Watchman_, and glanced at his two columns, which had somehow
managed to make themselves into three, viewing the displayed lettering,
the photograph of the dead man, the line drawing of the entry in Middle
Temple Lane, and the facsimile of the scrap of grey paper, with a
critical e