A front-page story, and exclusive."
"So it was a woman who held the key!" exclaimed Banneker.
Edmonds turned on him. "What does that mean? Do you know anything of the
story?"
"Not all that you've told me. I know the people."
"Then why did you let me go on?"
"Because they--one of them--is my friend. There is no harm to her in my
knowing. It might even be helpful."
"Nevertheless, I think you should have told me at once," grumbled the
veteran. "Well, I didn't take the story. The informer said that she
would place it elsewhere. I told her that if she did I would publish the
whole circumstances of her visit and offer, and make New York too hot to
hold her. She retired, bulging with venom like a mad snake. But she
dares not tell."
"The man's wife, was it not?"
"Some one representing her, I suspect. A bad woman, that wife. But I
saved the girl in memory of Marna Corcoran. Think what the story would
be worth, now that the man is coming forward politically!" Edmonds
smiled wanly. "It was worth a lot even then, and I threw my paper down
on it. Of course I resigned from the city desk at once."
"It's a fascinating game, being on the inside of the big things,"
ruminated Banneker. "But when it comes to a man's enslaving himself to
his paper, I--don't--know.
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