me see the last two pages, will you?"

These were handed to him, and, running his eye through them, he drew his
knife across one of the pages, and put at the bottom the cabalistic mark
which indicated the end of the copy.

"There! I think I will let it go at that. Old Rickenbeck don't amount to
much, anyhow. We'll let him go."

"All right," said the city editor. "I think we won't want anything more
to-night."

[Illustration: "She's pretty as a picture."]

Stratton put his hands behind his head, with his fingers interlaced, and
leaned back in his chair, placing his heels upon the table before him.
A thought-reader, looking at his face, could almost have followed the
theme that occupied his mind. Suddenly bringing his feet down with a
crash to the floor, he rose and went into the city editor's room.

"See here," he said. "Have you looked into that Cincinnati case at all?"

"What Cincinnati case?" asked the local editor, looking up.

"Why, that woman who is up for poisoning her husband."

"Oh yes; we had something of it in the despatches this morning. It's
rather out of the local line, you know."

"Yes, I know it is. But it isn't out of the paper's line. I tell you